#a place in my heart and a space in my mind for the space combat sections

[dolicekiss]

A debt

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen X Velaryon niece!reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni please), dubcon, lucerys velaryon reader (basically reader is lucerys velaryon but female), toxic aemond, threats, unprotected sex (p in v), near death experiment, hair pulling, rough making out, attempted sexual asssult, breeding, virgin!reader, bickering, mentions of blood, tension, kinda angsty

SYNOPSIS: Aemond could never forget that you had taken his eye out, so when you both cross paths at Storm’s End, he demands for what was taken from him. Things went haywire when a sneak attack lead you to fall from your dragon and be swallowed by the large waves. Only that you didn't die, as Aemond finds you and saves you. With nowhere to take you, the prince takes you to a brothel hoping Sylvie would keep you safe there. Little did be know, a beautiful girl such as yourself was not a thing to be put in a brothel.

“I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine.”

Blue sapphire sparkled in the hollowness of Aemond’s eye when he peeled back his eye patch and revealed the wound you had left behind as a little girl. A regret at best but not anymore. You swallowed, heart thumping in your chest. You possessed no desire to fight him, nor did you wish to indulge with him.

You were only a messenger here.

“One would serve.” Aemond softly spoke, as you watched him reach for a dagger. “I would not blind you.”

The piercing sound of the dagger being tossed at you was more pellucid against your ears than the gushing rainstorm outside. Patterning aggressively on the cobblestones, striking thunder tearing through the sky. The seven were definitely upset, for what was about to take place. An ominous feeling looming over your head, putting your heart in a state of unease.

“Plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

There was no way he could expect you to take out your own eye. You had acted upon impulse but you were right to do so. He was going to injure your brother and you, that stone in his hand a vivid image embedded in your mind from childhood.

You held your head high, fierce gaze focused on him. “No.”

Aemond seemed disappointed by your response. “Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

You could hear Lord Borris’ rebuke in the back but it mattered little to Aemond as he marched towards you abruptly, causing you to retreat back. “Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!”

“Come fucking take it then.”

Swords were unsheathed and the sound of it echoed within the halls of Lord Borris' castle.

You were filled with panic, your long black braid moving behind your back when you took haste steps back. Before bloodshed could happen, Lord Borris stepped in and sent you back to your dragon. You were thankful for that as this could lead to something worse.

You went out, going to your dragon, Arrax who seemed in quite distress. You patted his back, once or twice and commanded for it to calm down in high valyrian but nothing seemingly worked. Rain had soaked into your clothes and the thunderstorm only grew heavier witch each second. As you mounted it, your gaze set on the empty space where Vhagar once sat.

You made it your goal to reach dragonstone safely and convey the Lord’s message to your mother.

As Arrax flew up in the grey sky, you looked around hoping to not find Aemond but when the massive shadow of Vhagar flew atop you in the clouds, your blood froze. Panic rising up and you knew very well that fighting Aemond in a dragon combat would end with you losing since he had claimed the largest dragon in all of Westeros.

You could feel your dragon’s uneasiness, same as yours and that was not a good sign.

Aemon had disappeared for now and you released a breath of relief, turning your dragon to head for dragonstone.

Only then Vhagar came in front of you, out of nowhere, with its wide mouth open sending your dragon in pure disarray. You tried to control it, in hopes that things will calm down if one dragon is calm enough but no.

Aemond’s laugh echoed in the open sky and it was enough to fill you with chills. You felt Vhagar right behind you, its loud roars having the same affect as Aemond’s malicious laughs. You saw a narrow pathway between two stones and went inside, knowing Vhagar would be incapable of fitting in there with its large size.

Your commands to calm your dragon down were pathetic and useless.

It was scared, as were you.

You could hear Aemond’s deep voice, and it terrified you.

“Jemēla gēlyēni enkā, riña.” Those words, you knew what they meant and you knew Aemond would only calm when he has ripped out your eye from your socket, a vision you would be.

Fearsome was the thought.

Your vision had blurred due to the constant pouring of the rain and your own head was everywhere. But then, out of nowhere your dragon spots Vhagar and in desperate need to protect itself, flies at the beast and breathes fire into her face.

“Lykiri, Arrax! Lykiri!” Your command in high valyrian flies over your tense dragon’s head as you fly away from Vhagar.

You can hear Vhagar losing its calm too, as Aemond’s high valyrian commands roared along with his dragon. You turned around, looking down but there was no sight of Vhagar chasing after you now, so you flew higher.

You broke through the barrier of the dark, looming clouds and when light greeted you, relief washed over you. False assumptions that everything was calm now became the reason of your fall as Vhagar out of nowhere leaped from the side, biting Arrax‘s head into two.

“Vhagar, no!”

Your eyes widened in horror, gaze locking with Aemond as you lost balance and fell down.

That was all you remembered, as you passed out due to the panic and lose of hope. You knew from then on, you were better off dead but what broke your heart the most was the gruesomely demise of your beloved dragon.

Aemond knew he had to find you.

Vhagar had missed you by an inch and the chances of you being alive were somewhat there. He did not wish to start a war, not like this, not by killing off his niece when she was at her weakest.

He had the advantage by being in the possession of the biggest dragon and he knew it was not fair to you.

Aemond dived in, lowering his dragon to the sea, in hopes that he would find you. Endlessly searching in the water, letting out frustrated grunts when he didn't find you. He flew over the shore, all deserted and he noticed something. Bringing Vhagar closer to it, he jumped off her back and ran towards your passed out body.

Thankfully you had washed up on the shore.

Your long braid wrapped around your stomach, the side of your head bloodied and Aemond fell to his knees, reaching for your face.

You were as lifeless as a corpse.

He checked your pulse and relief washed over him. You were alive, although unconscious.

Aemond buried his arms beneath your soaked body, lifting you up and taking you over to Vhagar. He somehow got you on his dragon’s back and tied you to him, your back pressed against his chest and head leaned over his shoulder.

“Fuck, what do I with you now?” He whispered, a mix of worry and frustration donning his face.

He couldn't take you back to the red keep, as they would capture you and hold you hostage. He didn't want that, not when he had not captured you with honor. Aemond was not some monster without morals but he sure could not take you to the blacks, knowing it would put his life in danger.

There was absolutely nothing he could do than fly around Westeros with you on his dragon.

An idea infiltrated the prince's mind.

There was only one place where he could keep you, without bringing you harm and that was the brothel he often visited. Under Sylvie’s care and under her orders, she surely would protect you and keep you safe.

He sighed, flying to where Vhagar usually rested. He allowed her rest while taking a horse, putting his hoodie over your very bright and pleasant features to conceal you.

The realm had seen you, he did not wish for people to take notice of you. Aemond pressed you into his chest as he rode in King's landing, making way to Sylvie’s brothel.

That was the best place to keep you.

As his own hostage.

For no one else to hurt, no one else to lay claim on you.

Sylvie was surprised to see the prince with an unconscious woman in his arms. Aemond only had to glare at her and she allowed him in. Thankfully it was broad daylight and there were not much customers — giving the young prince enough room to smuggle you in the confinement of a room in a secluded area of the brothel upstairs.

“My prince, who is she?”

Aemond sighed, tiresome all this was but it was his fault and deep down he knew that.

“Just know that she is mine and I am entrusting her to you.” Aemond said, staring at your unconscious body laying on the soft bed. “If harm comes to even a strand of her hair, I will behead you and your girls.”

Sylvie was terrified and it was rare of her to be this terrified of Aemond. His tone was dark and she knew that this woman, whoever she might be, was definitely not to sell to her customers. All the woman could do was nod at the prince, obeying his each and every command.

“Trust me, my prince. Rest assured. I shall take care of her like she is my own.”

Aemond was pleased. “Tend to her wounds, clean her and change her clothes. Give her your most expensive dress.”

Sylvie nodded, eyes lowered to the floor as Aemond continued analyzing you. You had the most longest hair he had ever laid eye upon. A long braid which reached your calves and it was as dark as a raven. You surely were no velaryon, as much as you went around parading it like your mother.

But you surely were a Targaryen.

He departed from the brothel, writing a mental note that he would visit again tonight.

Hours passed by and when you finally regained consciousness, it was not in the arms of death nor the waves but on a soft mattress, surrounded by candles everywhere and the strong sweet scent of oils and perfumes.

Your gaze fell on your attire and it was something you would never in your seven lives wear.

A long sleeved dress, made of sheer material, enough to expose your small clothes. Your shoulders revealed and glistening from the oils that had been rubbed on you. Your hand reached to feel your thick braid but instead wavy strands awaited you. Cascading down your back, surrounding you like a fucking gown. You were in a completely different attire than before.

Soft music orchestrated by someone unknown made its tunes inside the room you were in.

It was small, with a bed and a table side. A chair was also in the corner and you sucked in a deep breath, eyes flitting here and there to analyze the room further.

The door soon opened and it revealed a woman, in her mid fourties and you blinked upon seeing her disheveled state. She was practically naked and slowly the realization began to sink in.

“Is this a brothel?”

The woman had the sweetest smile on her lips as she nodded, in her hand a jug you assumed filled with wine. In her other, a golden cup. A grimace made its way on your face, disgust evident but there was also unmatched anger. You were going to slaughter whoever that had brought you here.

Had they sold you?

Did Aemond do this? It would not make sense at all since you knew he would have abandoned you the moment you fell off your dragon. There was no way he would search for you but if it wasn't him then someone else had found you and put you here.

Your head felt like it could burst at any given moment and you realized how bad of a throbbing pain was in the side of your head. It ached and when you reached for it, you flinched.

“By what means am I here? I need to know who put me in such a horrible filthy place.”

You watched with a sharp eye as she poured the liquid into the cup, extending it out for you once finished. You blinked, shaking your head. “I demand answers, not wine.”

“I'm afraid I'm not allowed to answer those but he will be here soon.”

You snatched the cup of wine from her hand and tossed it across the room, watching as the glass made contact with the wall and collapsed in the corner. The woman’s grin grew wider as she realized you were no low born for sure. The amount of money she could make off you was unmatched but she knew better than to defy Aemond’s orders.

“You have the temperaments of a high born lady.” Sylvie said, head tilted as she admired the beauty you were blessed with. “No wonder I was told to take care of you.”

There was not a mark on your face, like you'd been blessed by the seven themselves. You were a piece of art and how she'd gotten you ready only made you appear like Venus, the goddess of love and sex, fertility even.

Sylvie left the room, to attend to her guests but not before warning you. “Do not leave this room, girl. There are wolves out there and they won't hesitate to rip you to shreds. You are safe here.”

You felt chills at her words, well aware of the atrocities men committed here with women.

You chewed on your lip, knees brought to your chest as you hugged them tightly while your arms wrapped around them. You wanted to cry, you missed your brothers and your mother. Being her only daughter, you knew her whole being resided within you and you wished to send a letter at least about your whereabouts.

She surely would come to save you.

Confused, scared and cornered, you stayed glued to your position.

Then the room door opened and a man entered. Your head lifted up from your knee pads and you backed into the wall seeing how drunk this man was. His wobbly walk told you he had more than enough to drink and now he was staggering towards you.

“I knew that bitch was hiding something here.” He said, a sick grin on his face and your eyes widened upon catching a glimpse of the man's hands that were extended to grab a hold of you. “Such a pretty girl like you should be downstairs, not here. But then it's good you're here. I get to have you all for myself.”

“Touch me and I will make you wish you were never born.” You spat, a venom in your tone as your posture shifted.

You were on guard and you had always trained under your step father, Daemon. You knew how to defend yourself, as well as take down a life if you had to. There was nothing in this world that you would not do to protect yourself and when the man's flimsy endeavor to grab you slipped, you rolled over the bed to reach for the cup of wine.

You swallowed.

You had trained but you never once had to fight someone to save your life, dignity and honor.

This was real, this was what you had trained for.

Adrenaline pumped through your blood, since the man was evidently twice your delicate size. You watched with a sharp gaze as he scoffed, reaching for you. Before his hands could come in contact with your exposed shoulders, you struck down the man's hand with the sharp edge of the wine glass.

He let out a scream, nearly succumbing to his knees. “You fucking bitch.”

You stared as blood soaked his clothes, the cut deep and brutal on his hand. This only encouraged his lust for you, an anger igniting in his eyes. He seemed pretty sober now as he got back up and slammed you against the wall with newfound force.

“Fucking whore. You don't have to act this hard to get. I swear I'll pay more than what the others do.” His words were like salt to the wound, as he held you over the wall. You had nothing on him now, as the man buried his face into your neck.

He sniffed, satisfied with the scent of the oils staining your skin. Before his lips could come in contact with your skin, the door slammed open and you saw Aemond.

The moment he laid his gaze on you, in such a horrible and disgusting situation, something inside him snapped. His jaw tightened and Aemond forgot that he was in a brothel and causing a scene could put you in danger.

You felt the force of the man disappear as Aemond pulled him off you, pinning him to the ground with his knee into his neck. You watched as your uncle delivered punch after punch, ruining the set of very basic features on his face.

“How dare you lay your filthy hands on her? On her, of all people?” His voice was loud as for each word, a taut punch was sent to the man's face.

Sylvie entered the room, in a panicked state, witnessing the disheveled state of both Aemond and you in front of him. She recognized the man as one of her clients and when Aemond caught her in his eye, he stood up and grabbed the woman by her throat, pressing her into the wall.

He leaned in, darkness imposing a threat. “I gave you one fucking job, and you failed.”

“I-I swear I don't know how he found her. My Prince believe me, I-I would never misplace something you told me to take care of.”

You watched the whole scene unfold, with blurring tears in your eyes, a soft sniffle escaping you. The man's touch was disgusting and it still lingered over your shoulders, the stains of blood tainting the purity of your skin. You could not believe what was going on, all you knew that Aemond was aware of your whereabouts which could only mean one thing; he himself put you here. Was this how low the Greens were willing to go, to win the war? By tainting the Queen’s reputation and putting you in a brothel for commoners to use and throw?

“Get out of my fucking sight and hand this fucking filth to my guards. I will see what it is to be done of him.” Aemond elucidated each word for the woman and she nodded, grabbing the man and dragging him out. “And bring me some water and a clean cloth.” His head turned in your direction, gaze locking with your blurred one.

You were still frozen in that position, not being able to move an inch. Your body had stilled from how sudden and scary everything was.

Aemond took a step towards now that you two were alone and you flinched. “Please don't.”

He stilled, staring at you. You were close to breaking apart, he could see it. Tears falling down in small streams, glistening over the golden glow of the candle casting on your face.

“I would never force myself upon you.” He said, almost offended that you would expect something like that from him in the first place. He was cold, stoic, he knew but did you really see him in such a horrible light? It bothered him when it should not have, it shouldn't matter what you have got to say or think about him.

“Did you throw me in here as revenge for your eye, Uncle?” You spoke, throat feeling like it was being prickled by needles because of how much you were holding yourself back from breaking into a fit of sobs and tears.

He raised a brow and then proceeded to scoff. “You really do see me as some tyrant.”

“You chased me on your dragon and made me fall, I could have died!” You shouted, taking a step forward. Your sadness had transformed into anger, and now your tears were flowing freely. A ton of emotions overwhelming your little frame and Aemond saw it.

The tick in his jaw grew, fists still clenched and blood dripping from them. “But you didn't. I found you and I brought you here to keep you safe—”

“Safe? Safe?! You brought me here, to this god forsaken place to keep me safe? Just say it, Uncle.” You fumed, stepping up to the man you once feared. “You wanted to humiliate me. You want me to get used, be some common man's whore.”

Aemond’s patience was running thin and when he imagined you as a whore, it ran out right before you. His feet moved with such ability as he marched in your direction, slamming you against the corner, palms glued to the wall. He breathed down your face, his sharp chin brushing against yours.

Your breath hitched, being this close to your Uncle was completely new and you were rendered speechless.

“The greens will hold you hostage.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “They will parade you around on a fucking horse for the whole of King's Landing to bear witness.”

You stared into his one eye, chest rising up and down as suddenly your body had forgotten how to lure in some air. “Could've taken me home.”

“They would take me hostage for the cause of your injured state.” He whispered, in a much softer tone. “There was nowhere for me to take you in your current state, only here.”

“A brothel, Uncle.” You said, tears once again threatening to spill and they did. Your soft sniffles echoing in the room, remembering what the man had done and how filthy his touch felt. You felt defiled and he hadn't even done something worse, something that could never be taken back. Your bloodied shoulders shook violently from how much you were crying, body going slump and Aemond quickly held you in his arms, not allowing you to succumb to the floor.

His strong arms held you — with overbearing strength, holding you whilst you cried.

In truth, you hated every bit of this war. Things were much better before the death of your grandsire, King Viserys. The crown made people greedy, the more they looked at it. It possessed the type of power which was too overwhelming for anyone and everyone. Like a curse, it slowly poisoned the mind of its bearer. The same was happening with the Greens as they had usurped your mother's throne.

“You should've left me to die.” You managed to say through your broken cries.

Aemond released a bated breath. “It was never my intention for something as grave as that to happen. It was merely an attempt to intimidate you.”

You understood him. Despite all this fucked up shit, you did. You had taken his eye out, left him disabled. His siblings had all their parts but Aemond felt empty, he felt incomplete and you had played a big part in it. Both of you had realized your mistakes a long time ago yet no one owned up to it, no one possessed the courage to reach out the other for closure.

You never apologized for the bullying encouraged by his brother, he never apologized for assaulting your brothers. You never apologized for taking his eye and he never apologized for attempting to intimidate you with his dragon — which made you suffer a great loss. Remotely close to his.

“Arrax,” you sobbed, in the arms of the man who was the cause of your state. “my poor dragon. He was so scared, I could feel it. He was afraid.”

Aemond wanted to apologize. He wanted to because he was aware of a rider’s bond with its dragon. Yet no words left his mouth, his palm running up and down your back rather awkwardly. He had absolutely no idea on what to do with you now. Your forehead was pressed into his chest as you sobbed.

But then you looked up at him, with a piercing gaze. “You are as childish and as pathetic the day I took your fucking eye out, Aemond.” This time you did not address him as your uncle and your words riled him up even more. You were at his mercy, you should not have played with fire like that and Aemond snapped.

“I'm pathetic?” He asked with darkness behind his tone. “You're the one pinned neath me. I could easily have you, take my revenge.”

“You're going to take my eye out, Uncle? Do it. Finish it, once and for all.” You seethed through gritted teeth, glaring at him. Aemond tightened his hold on your frail wrists causing you to wince and flinch. He restrained both hands with one of his and moved the other to grasp your chin, fingers dimpling in your cheeks. “No, I will take something more precious, something that is worth more than an eye to a maiden such as yourself.”

“You wouldn't.” You said, shaking your head after realizing what he was hinting at. You knew the significance of your maidenhood and Aemond was going to hurt you right where it hurt the most. “I am your niece, you would not.”

“Did your mother not marry her uncle, Gevives?” (Beauty)

You flinched at the way his voice dropped when he spoke high valyrian. The situation you were in didn't help either, with Aemond’s whole body weight on top of you but enough to not crush you. The room elevated with tension as you opened your mouth to protest but a knock on the door interrupted you both.

“Come in.”

The door parted, revealing Sylvie along with a cloth in her hand and a bucket of clean water.

“Leave it on the table.” Aemond commanded, not paying her any mind and the woman obliged before leaving the room.

Your uncle reached for the cloth, soaking it into the water. You struggled, squirming in his tenacious grip and all Aemond did was keep his eye on you while he soaked the fabric fully into the water. Once it was soaked enough, he pulled it out and leaned down, face only a few inches apart from yours. Your breath got stuck in your throat.

He swiped the cloth over the blood stains on your collarbones, gently and carefully. The action itself caused arousal to pool in your cunt, your thighs squeezing together and Aemond felt it. He let out a breath, sending it to tingle your skin and you gasped out at how close he was to you.

“The idea of someone else's blood on you vexes me.” Aemond confessed, moving the fabric down to the cups of your small shoulders. He swiped it across the skin, watching as your skin became free from the taints of filth.

You licked your lips, breath ragged. “You have gone insane, Uncle.”

“I have, maybe I truly have.” Aemond’s eye was focused on the sharp bone embedded in your skin, known as your collarbone. His desires were taking the best of him and he hated himself for it. You were his niece, the same little girl who took his fucking eye out and is now his enemy — the same girl who would betray him in a heartbeat for her mother.

Abandon him for her pretender of a mother.

Yet the man did not care enough to stop whatever he was doing.

“How will you take something more precious when it is painfully obvious who is the more experienced brother, according to the rumors of the Keep.” You hissed and Aemond inhaled, a serpent you'd become in such a short span. Aemond stopped cleaning your skin, since he was finished and tossed the fabric aside.

His fingers clamped around your chin. “Keep your mouth fucking shut. You are only tempting me, niece.”

It was obviously a warning but you could not back out, not when you had held hostility all your life towards him. “For all I know, I am not even of your nature. I have heard you like them older, my Prince.” A mischievous smirk ceased your features. It was all a facade to come off strong. “Like her. Is she the one you visit in brothels? You know her too well.”

“Shut your fucking mouth before I shove my cock in it. Would you like that, hm? You're probably a pathetic little slut exactly like your mother.” Aemond threatened, suppressing the urge to strike his hand over your cheek. His grip on your chin tightened, his fingers craning your face up as his breath mingled with yours.

“How sad that the one who is putting all his effort in winning the war was never bound to get the throne nor become the object of his mother's affections.” You taunted and that hit Aemond where you wanted it to hit. “How does it feel, Uncle? To not receive an ounce of love from both your father and mother.”

“At least I am not a bastard.” He spat, and you knew that was coming. It was their one valid argument after all. “I might be a bastard but both my mother and father cherish me, love me, for who I was, for what I am. You are a sad, pathetic case.”

Aemond’s hand moved to your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and pulling you over to the bed to toss you on it like some ragdoll. You gasped when your frail body collided against the bed, feeling it bounce a little. Your brows furrowed as you turned around to face him but Aemond was already standing before you, his knee dipping into the bed.

“Let’s see if that mouth of yours can still produce coherent words when I am fucking your sweet cunt.” Breath uneven and lips shuddering, you stared at him as he pushed aside the curtains of the bed and maneuvered inside, crawling on top of you.

You tried to run, a feeble and failed attempt at escaping from the dragon you had awakened. Aemond locked you in place by one hand around your leg, pinning you down against the bed. His harsh actions made you miss the man in who's arms you had cried and how gently he held you, like you were a lover and not the one he despised the most.

“Even though you never apologized, I forgive you.” He whispered, reaching for his eye and removing the patch to reveal the familiar sapphire again. A reminder of the events that took place between you two.

You felt horrible, guilt overpowering and over consuming. “You threatened me with a stone. I was only protecting myself and my brother.”

“You humiliated me, at every chance you and that bastard brother of yours got. Were the indignities caused by my brother not enough that you two had to join in?” His tone was almost sad and you realized how awfully you had been to him, all for the sake of momentarily fun. The picture from his side was painted cruelly and your lips shivered.

Was apologizing going to be enough?

Is it going to be enough when your uncle was on top of you, about to commit the most vilest of crime.

“I'm sorry.” Came a wholehearted whisper from you, a sad expression adorning your face. “It is not enough to bring your eye back or take back everything and you do not have—”

“I told you, I forgive you.” He said, his hand cupping your shoulder, fingers tugging underneath the sleeve hanging around your arm. “But you must be punished. You must face the consequences of your own actions.”

“Uncle, we were children.” You attempted to justify but that was like sprinkle of fuel to the fire.

Aemond pulled your sleeve, causing it to rip and your eyes widened in horror. His other hand ripped the other sleeve as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. You were not only terrified but weirdly aroused too. Your uncle's anger was obvious but the subtle change between his rough tugs and gentle kisses left you light headed as well as overwhelmed. You breathed in, and then released it, in hopes that he would calm down but Aemond was too far gone.

“Uncle, stop it.” He tried to push at his chest.

Aemond grabbed your wrists, locking them over his chest. “I will only stop once I put a silver haired bastard inside you.”

“Fucking me in a whorehouse, putting a bastard in me. You have truly planned this out, no?” You said, putting up a strong facade but deep down you were scared. You did not wish to give birth to a bastard, knowing you yourself were one. Born out of wedlock to your mother and her guard, sir Harwin strong.

You knew how badly were they treated and the thought of giving birth to one pained you.

“Would you be so cruel to put a babe in me and then abandon it?” You asked — staring up at him with glossy eyes. You writhed in his hold but to no avail as his one hand clamped over your wrist while the other moved to tug at your neckline, causing your breasts to spill out.

Aemond hissed. He'd realized you had grown now and you were not the same little girl who helped his brother make his life a living hell. Your nipples rosy and hardened and he sighed, fondling the plush fat. “The image of you walking around dragonstone with my silver haired bastard tugging at the skirt of your dress, demanding attention. A reminder of what his father did to you swells my cock.”

“Get off me. You're fucking mad if you think I would carry your children.” Your endeavors to fight him were a lost cause, trying to land punches at his chest but they were gone in vain. Aemond had control, he had power over you by being stronger, more muscular. “I will drink moon tea. You cannot force me to have your child."

“Then I must keep you here and breed you every single night until you are swollen with my babe.”

He got off you and flipped you on your stomach, hands covetously ripping apart the expensive chiffon dress, revealing your bare back. Your small shoulders trembling and chills dancing down the small of your back when the cold air brushed against your skin.

“Stop it.” It came out muffled as Aemond buried your face into the mattress.

Not only had he intended to fuck you, he was going to do it like you were some common whore. Either taking you on your back or on your stomach. You bit back a soft cry as his fingertips danced across your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Tears glossed your vision and you let out a tentative whimper when his hand groped a handful of your plush ass.

“It is time to pay the consequences of your actions, Bastard.” Aemond’s words were hoarse making you flinch.

He had locked you in place with his own body and soon enough he also stripped himself off his attire. You could not see, but you could hear the metallic jingling of his sword and dagger against one another, his belt and briefs shuffling together. Aemond’s hand flew back to grip your nape, forcing your face deeper into the pillow.

Your body was not fully bare as his, some aspects still covered by the tethered pieces of fabric.

Aemond reached over and hoisted you up into his arms, pushing your body on your palms and knees. Despite your struggle and continuous objection, he still managed to put you in the most degrading position ever. You were like a fucking animal — ass pushed out for him and the tears finally fell. His fingers dug into the side of your hips, holding you in place.

“I hate you, I fucking hate you.”

Your constant expressions of your loathsome did not bother Aemond in the slightest. Your mouth did not matter to him, it was your cunt that did. He didn't even mind to prepare you, all he did was align his hardened leaking tip at your soaked hole and pushed. Loud grunts and high pitched whimpers tore through you both as you felt him breach your maidenhead and defile you with determination. Bittersweet pain had blossomed in between your thighs, your cunt a bleeding mess but Aemond continued, pushing his cock furthermore until he was fully sheathed inside your walls.

“The cunt of a bastard is surely more pleasurable than a whore's. I shouldn't let you go to dragonstone, I should make you my personal little whore. For me to use and breed.”

Your cries of pain and broken sobs did not falter him as he relished them — enjoying the way your hiccups sounded. Frail and light, allowing him to have the pleasure of revenge he was denied off all his life. But not anymore, as he had you right where he wanted. This humiliation was much better than taking your eye out.

“A-Aemond,” you sobbed mindlessly, trying to wriggle out of his grasp which lead it to grow firmer. “hurts, please it hurts. Be gentle, please for the Gods.”

You knew that begging him to stop was futile but maybe if you begged enough for him to be gentle, he would be kind enough to not ravage you like some beast. Your broken little sobs worked in your favor as Aemond allowed you a few moments to adjust to the sheer size of his manhood, as he had forgiven you after all.

He did not loathe you.

He only wished for consequences, for revenge.

This was it.

Aemond lowered his face next to your ears, taut chest pressed over your sweaty spine as he whispered in your ear. “If I don't take you now, I would continue to harbor ill intentions for you. This is for the best.”

It was all a lie, a way to manipulate you.

You nodded, finally succumbing and Aemond felt a strong overwhelming sense of victory wash over him.

He slowly pulled out of you before drilling back inside you, repeatedly and over the course of him pummeling his cock inside you, you became a writhing, blubbering mess. It was too much for your little body as Aemond continuously fucked his cock into you. Built like him it was. Long, slender and you'd assumed it was as beautiful as him too.

Your hands were let go from their tight hold and you found them buried into the soft sheets, fingers intertwined with the pale pillows and sheets. Each thrust sent your body forwards and you whined, feeling his cock head bruise your cervix, aiming upwards for that perfect spot of yours.

“Oh!” Your eyes rolled back to your skull at one particular thrust, feeling him hit an area unexplored.

Aemond’s brows creased together, realizing he had finally found the sweet spot he was hunting for. His movement grew relentless, in fast, deep drills he abused that sensitive area as he watched you ascend deeper into the stairs to heaven. Your knuckles had gone white from the strong hold and your knees shivered from Aemond’s force.

“If you'd given yourself up to me like this, I would not have had to hunt you to satisfy my thirst for revenge.” Aemond panted, his words accompanied by loud striking sounds of skin meeting skin. “You should have visited my chambers when you took my fucking eye out. Should have stripped naked, spread your legs for me to take your sweet cunt.”

“Please, stop,” came a broken murmur from you, wishing to forget about that god forsaken night. “d–didn't want to do it, didn't want to hurt you. I was scared, was terrified of Vhagar.”

“But you did. You took out my eye, left me hideous.” Aemond had always felt monstrous, empty and incomplete. These feelings were all gifted by you and now he wanted you to feel the same.

Left incomplete, defiled and empty.

Aemond’s hand moved down to grab a fistful of your hair from the roots, pulling up until you two were one body. His chest over your spine, as he fucked himself into you, deep and vigorous strokes. Tears streamed in tiny rivulets down your face, as Aemond circled another arm around your breasts, holding you in place to fuck you like you were some doll made for his sickly pleasures.

You made the grave mistake of moving your head and found him already staring at you. Lips parted, letting out breathless little pants and the sapphire danced in his empty socket, a reminder of your actions. He saw you, close and noticed all the features littered across your face. The freckles over your nose, the dark strands clinging to your perspired forehead and the way your nose scrunched up whenever he thrusted inside you. Gods, you were a heavenly sight, one that only he was fortunate enough to witness.

Aemond fought back the urge to claim your lips in a kiss — that action too intimate, than using your cunt to satisfy his hunger.

But eventually caved in as he took your lips into an aggressive lock, a firm kiss it was. He bite and licked at your lips, shoving a wet tongue past the pair and slithering inside like a snake. You whined, hoping that he would slow down but Aemond devoured you like a starved mad man. Teeth clashing with teeth, tongue battling with tongue, he swallowed all the little sounds you produced. His gruesome kiss had left you lightheaded when he pulled back to look at you.

In a daze you appeared.

Aemond stared at your swollen lips while you gazed upon his lips, dumbfounded and taken aback by his sudden desire to kiss you like a beast.

“I-I don't find you hideous.” It was a whimper but it caused his thrusts to stall, coming to a halt. He stared at you, surprised by your words and his stomach burned in anticipation knowing well enough you would say something worse.

But what you said next left him astonished and with a newly ignited desire. “I think you're.. pretty, prettier than Aegon.”

You couldn't compare him to your brothers as the famous targaryen features were not shared amongst them but Aegon had the same features as Aemond yet you have always found him the most prettiest Targaryen man ever. He was slim, but not in a bad way — he had the right amount of muscles and perfect height. Aemond possessed the type of beauty which did not decrease by losing an eye.

“A lie.” He growled, shaking his head.

You looked at him with the most innocent doe eyes. “I mean it. Losing an eye did not make you hideous, Aemond. You are still as beautiful as ever.”

He didn't respond and his impassive face told you that he was not phased by your genuine words but Aemond felt fucking butterflies nip at his stomach. His cock hardened even more if that were possible and he dropped you on the bed, continuing his assault. His hips snapped deliberately inside you, with newfound vigor and strength. You gasped out, your gummy walls tightening around his length as he drilled his cock inside you.

The compliment, the validation he'd received from you and how genuine it was — it drove him mad. Even his own mother failed to comfort him but you, the fucking preparator out of all people managed to. It angered him but also soothed over the burn you'd left.

Aemond felt his peak near, dancing around him and soon he reached it — his hips stuttering and his hot seed spurting inside you in ropes. “Fuck, fuck. I should fill you up and leave you here. A fucking whore with a Targaryen bastard.” You felt him taint your insides, leaving a mark that would always linger like how you'd left a scar on his face. Feeling his seed fill you up, you also unravelled as Aemond fucked the hot fluid into your womb, making sure you end up with a babe of his own.

Your eyes saw white and your thighs twitched, knees giving out and body finally colliding into the sheets. Yet Aemond continued thrusting, the wet squelching sound of your peak mixed with his grossing you out. Your tears had dried so more were released, going the same route as the ones from before.

You couldn't even resist anymore, nor rebel.

Aemond pulled his softened cock out of you and watched as your destroyed, gaping hole threw up his spent. It was hot and he shuddered at the thought of you swollen with his child.

He should've hated the idea of your breasts leaking with milk for his babe, swollen and peaked but instead he found himself aching to witness it in real life, not some fucked up imagination. He couldn't take you, as badly as he wished to. You were not his to keep but he was letting you go with a piece of him inside your womb.

He laid with you, but you'd not expected him to lay an arm over your small waist. Your body spent and completely frail from his monstrosity but Aemond wished for more, he craved more yet he gave you time to rejuvenate and collect yourself.

“Did you mean it?”

You raised your gaze at him, bemused.

“A-About me, being pretty. Did you mean it or was that also to deceive me?” He asked, failing to make eye contact. He stared ahead at the ceiling and you nodded your head slowly, throat parched. “I did. I would not lie about that.”

His chest swell up with an unfathomable feeling, something beyond his own understanding as he pulled you closer to him, subconsciously. Aemond was in a dilemma, confused about what had to be done. He wanted to be more cruel, more horrible but it was not in him to show you more cruelty than you deserved.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When You Give Them Space | Chan + Minho | Pt4

pt1 pt2 pt3

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Chan

Chan had been restless for days, pacing his studio floor, his heart heavy with guilt.

You were supposed to be back home in Korea three days ago. But instead he got these strange texts and hadn't heard from you since.

He hadn't texted since either. A part of him wished he did but he was scared.

Because what if-

No. You weren't the type to do that.

He deeply regretted the texts he had sent to you. The replayed in his mind, the words he’d typed out, the anger, the frustration…the way he said he had shipped you off because, as he so rudely put it, you were “nagging” him.

You dumb fuck what were you even thinking sending that??

Sure it was annoying to get notif after notif- especially when he was trying to finish a track for a show that would be premiering in the upcoming weeks. But it wasn't your fault that the company had fucked up with the time management- since he had already had to help three girl groups with their production.

So he had gotten you a ticket home, hoping that maybe he could knock everything out while you were away. Since he knew you would make him take a break if you were here.

You would make him take care of himself.

But even when you were thousands of miles away you still made sure he was taken care of.

And he took that for granted; and was an absolute jerk.

What the hell was I thinking?

Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of his own stupidity. His phone buzzed - a message from Han:

Lights are on at Y/N's place. Bro, fix it.

He didn't need any more encouragement. Grabbing his jacket and keys, Chan headed straight for your apartment, determined to set things right, even if he had to grovel.

I'll grovel. For as long as you make me.

Arriving at your apartment, Chan noticed a pair of men’s shoes at the door. Combat boots.

He stopped, confusion twisting in his gut. That wasn’t right. They weren't his. It was brand he was unfamiliar with; one he hadn't purchased from before so who-

No...Y/N wouldn't.

His heartbeat quickened as he pushed open the door cautiously. The smell of food wafted out from the kitchen, and he could hear someone rummaging around. Then, out walked a guy- tall, broad, and way too casual, holding a bowl of ramen in one hand a fork in the other and looking at Chan like he had every right to be there.

"Oh, hey bro," the guy said, grinning as he stuffed a mouthful of noodles in his mouth. "You must be the ex." He stretched out the "x" sound, stuffing a forkful of noodles in his mouth.

Chan froze. The word ex sent a sharp sting through his chest. "Ex?" he repeated, his voice low with disbelief.

"Yeah," the guy continued, setting the bowl down like this wasn’t the most awkward interaction ever. "Heard you shipped Y/N off. A little bit harsh, if you ask me, but hey, Y/N can be a handful."

Chan's jaw tightened, anger flaring up. Who was this guy? Why was he acting like you were-

"Who the hell are you?"

The guy smirked, wiping his hands nonchalantly. "Oh, me? I’m just the guy who loves Y/N."

Chan took a step forward, his fists clenched. "You better start explaining yourself before I-"

Before Chan could finish, the sound of your voice cut through the tension.

“What the hell is going on here?”

You stood at the bathroom doorway, still in a towel with wet hair dripping onto your shoulders, eyes narrowing in frustration.

Chan whipped around, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. "Who is this?" he demanded, pointing to the guy.

The guy grinned, looking entirely too smug. “Haven’t told him yet? Wow, you’re brutal.”

You shot him a deadly look. "You, sit your ass down and shut the hell up. I swear, you have no sense. Must have been all the times Dad dropped you."

Chan blinked, his anger momentarily paused by his confusion. "Wait…what?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as if dealing with two idiots at once was too much. "Chan, this is my brother. He’s on break from the military. And you," you turned your glare toward your brother, "are being an idiot for messing with him when you know damn well what’s been going on."

Your brother had the audacity to smirk, plopping down on the couch and grabbing his ramen again. "Well, maybe if someone hadn’t sent you those dickish texts, I wouldn’t have had to step in. You've always been a pushover." He stuffed his mouth again, speaking around the food. "You forgive too easily so I had to give your boyfriend a little hell for it."

Chan looked bewildered, turning between you and your brother. "Wait, you sent those texts?"

Your brother chuckled. "Yeah, saw what you sent her before, and well- someone had to put you in your place. ‘Nagging too much’? C’mon, man, that’s some weak stuff. Didn’t your mom teach you better than to talk to your partner like that?”

You slapped your brother’s arm. "You idiot! Do you know how much drama you just caused?! Chris is an overthinker!"

“Yeah, well, I figured it was time to teach your boyfriend some respect."

"How the hell did you even figure out my password?!"

"JiminJinfangirl21 has been your password to everything for the longest time. It was an easy guess."

Your face turned read and you looked at Chan. "I can explain-"

Chan, still processing the fact your brother sent the messages turned to you. "Wait- so when I got those texts-"

"I was taking a nap, and he was being an instigating moron!" You gestured to your brother, who just winked at Chan, clearly not sorry.

"But why didn't you come home..."

You rose an eyebrow. "Because I wanted to be petty. And my brother was going to fly out to meet you anyways- it was going to be a surprise- so I just waited so we could be on the same flight."

Chan looked between you two, and then it hit him. Everything. The argument, the misunderstanding, his own stupidity. His expression softened. “Y/N… I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much trouble I was causing by acting like this. You've always been forgiving and I was just expecting to apologize and get your forgiveness like always. Its idiotic of me to think that's a good excuse to say things like that to you. What I said, it was wrong. I have no excuses."

You crossed your arms, your tone firm but softening. "Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have said what you did. It was mean. And extremely hurtful. The fact that you would 'send me away' for it really made me feel like my existence is just a burden to you."

Chan's eyes widened in fear. "It's not! Y/N please please believe me it isn't."

"I know it isn't, pabo..." You sighed. "I do nag you sometimes, but it’s because I care. I care too much because I love you so much. I thought maybe if it came from me, you’d actually listen. But if you don’t want me to, I’ll stop."

"No." Chan stepped closer, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Please don’t. Don’t stop. I’d rather have you nag at me a thousand times than not hear from you at all. I-" he swallowed, his voice catching slightly. "I need you, Y/N. You’re my anchor. I know I’ve been an idiot, but I don’t want to lose you over my own insecurities and frustrations."

Your eyes softened, the weight of his words sinking in. "Chan I don’t want to lose you either. Ever. But you have to start listening when I’m trying to help, not just push me away. Rather than just me everyone. We all want to help. And you can't treat me like that because you know I will forgive you...it's a bit manipulative. And I know that's not you which is why I'm forgiving you. But you wouldn't feel so stressed if you listened." You pouted stubbornly.

He nodded, stepping closer and reaching for your hand. "I promise. I’ll listen, baby. I’ll be better. Just…please, don’t give up on me."

You rolled your eyes. "Chan, what in this conversation made you think I would ever give up on you. You're insufferable." You said giving a breathy laugh and planting a quick and light kiss on his lips.

Your brother, who had been watching this exchange with mild interest, suddenly chimed in, “Aww, look at you two. This is cute and all, but I’m too young to have nieces and nephews.”

Both you and Chan turned to him, your annoyance in perfect sync.

“No, that’s not what-” Chan stammered, waving his hands in protest.

"Didn’t I tell you to shut up?" You grabbed a throw pillow and launched it at your brother, who caught it with a grin.

“Oh, come on, I’m just playing-”

Before he could finish, you charged at him, and within seconds, the two of you were wrestling on the couch. Chan watched in half-horror, half-amusement as your brother tackled you, the bowl of ramen teetering precariously on the edge of the table before falling onto the floor with a crash.

"Y/N!" your brother howled, dodging your attempts to hit him with another pillow. "You’re too slow!"

“I swear, either you’re going back to the military today or we're doing bathroom surgery with my foot and you'll never give me any nieces or nephews." You growled as you tried to kick your brother off of you- him just dodging that DIY vasectomy as you struggled under his weight. “Babe, help me!”

Chan, shaking his head with a fond smile, stepped forward and pulled your brother off you. "Alright, man, that’s enough. She’s gonna break your neck at this rate."

Your brother sat up, wiping a bit of ramen broth off his cheek, still laughing. "Fine, fine, I surrender. But only ‘cause I don't think a 2v1 would be fair." He eyed Chan's muscle definition. "You box?"

You got up, smoothing your hair with a huff and looking at Chan cutting him off before he could answer your brother. "Can we please lock him out of my apartment?"

Chan chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Maybe after I get him to clean up his mess." He said squatting down to pick up the fork.

Your brother raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Clean up? If Mom were here, she'd tell you to do it since you started it. Unless your boyfriend wants to-"

This time it was Chan who grabbed the pillow and aimed it right at his face.

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Minho

As Chan’s car rumbled down the gravel road, Minho stared anxiously out the window, his leg bouncing restlessly. A location pin in the middle of nowhere. No explanation although he asked.

His mind was racing, the earlier argument replaying in his head on a constant loop.

"I bet Y/N is fine. There is no reason to lie about being fine in this kind of situation. If there was any immediate danger I'm more than sure there would have been a deeper explanation." Chan said as he swerved through the wooded road.

But Minho's mind was racing with other things.

You were fine. He believe you. But this was a harsh reality check for him.

God forbid if you weren't okay...

He would have lived with an immense guilt.

The words he had thrown at you- inadvertently calling you a moocher, saying you texted too much, basically calling you useless- they weren’t true, not really. Not at all.

He willingly gave you everything he had. And would give you more if it wasn't for you constantly saying he was too generous.

He’d just been frustrated, tired. In the middle of another useless meeting, coming back from an argument with a choreographer. But now, sitting in the car with nothing but the quiet hum of the engine, the crunch of the tires and gravel and his guilt gnawing at him, he wished he could take it all back.

As they neared the spot where you were supposed to be, Minho’s heart pounded in his chest. The second he spotted you illuminated in Chan's headlights standing in the distance, his breath caught in his throat while his Hyung letting out a traitorous gasp. You were hunched over something, and as the car rolled to a stop, his heart plummeted.

Blood.

Streaks of red were smeared across your white shirt. His stomach twisted, ice flooding his veins.

"Oh my God-" Minho’s voice cracked as he fumbled with the seatbelt, barely getting it off before stumbling out of the car. His hands were shaking, his mind racing through a million terrifying scenarios. His entire body felt like it was seizing up with fear. "Are you hurt?!" he shouted, his voice louder and more frantic than he intended. "Jagi, are you hurt?!"

Chan was quick to jump out after him, grabbing his arm to keep him grounded. "Minho, calm down," Chan said firmly, trying to steady him. "Let’s just see what’s going on."

Minho barely heard him, his eyes fixated on the blood staining your clothes. Not even able to notice the utterly calm look you had on your face. Although that hadn't been overlooked by Chan.

His heart was in his throat, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. Every worst-case scenario flooded his mind in an instant.

"Y/N!" he called again, stumbling toward you, his knees weak. But as he got closer, his eyes shifted to what was in your arms.

Not you.

The blood wasn't yours.

It was a cat.

Minho stopped dead in his tracks, his panic still buzzing in his veins, but slowly starting to ebb as he processed what he was seeing. The cat in your arms was bloodied, its fur matted and filthy. You were cradling it like it was made of glass, your expression filled with worry.

Chan’s hand was still on Minho’s arm, and he felt the pressure ease slightly as his best friend let out a long breath. "See? Y/N is fine," Chan said in quiet relief, though there was still a hint of concern in his voice.

Minho’s chest tightened, his heart hammering in his ears. Fine? You were standing in the middle of nowhere, covered in blood. Sure, it wasn’t yours, but the shock still rattled through him, his pulse thrumming wildly.

You only acknowledged your boyfriend when you looked up to see him hovering. In an instant he was sat next to you.

Minho’s fingers brushed lightly through the cat’s blood-matted fur, his touch so delicate you almost didn’t feel it. He gently took the cat out of your arms and cradled it closer, his thumb running carefully over its ear in slow, soothing motions. You watched as his face softened in a way you rarely saw, his eyes wide with awe, as if this was the first cat he had ever seen.

"Pretty girl..." He murmured as the cat purred lightly. "Such a pretty girl...shh it's okay...tsk tsk tsk." He bopped her nose.

It was almost amusing, the way he looked at the cat like it was a rare treasure. You knew Minho loved cats- he always had -but this was on another level. His gaze was intense, focused entirely on the creature in his arms, like nothing else in the world existed. It was hard not to crack a smile despite the situation. His affection for the cat was so consuming that it momentarily made you forget the harsh words from earlier.

The entire reason you had gone on a walk to clear your mind- which had turned into looking for the cat you had texted him about.

His fingers moved in a rhythmic pattern, slow and deliberate, as if he was committing every inch of the cat’s fur to memory. "You’re okay, baby" he whispered to the cat, his voice barely audible, yet full of so much tenderness it made your chest ache.

For a second, it was like he was in his own world, completely absorbed in comforting the injured animal. It was almost absurd, watching him act like this was the only cat that had ever graced the earth, and you internally laughed at the thought of Soonie, Doongie, and Dori seeing their dad like this.

The way his eyes never left the cat’s mismatched ones, like they had some sort of silent understanding between them- it would have been funny if it weren’t so strangely touching.

"“You’ve seen cats before, Minho," you teased lightly,brushing some dirt off of yourself and picking at the dried blood. "You look like this is the first one you’ve ever laid eyes on."

Minho didn’t even blink, his attention still locked on the cat, but the corner of his lips tugged upward slightly. "This one’s different," he murmured, and his voice held a possessiveness that surprised you. It was like he was staking a claim, not just over the cat, but over the moment itself, like this was something only the two of you shared.

You couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of him. The earlier argument seemed to fade into the background, and for a moment, it was just you, Minho, and the cat- your cat, you realized. In the moment you had decided she would be yours. There was something strangely comforting about the way he handled the situation, so focused on caring for the small, fragile life in his hands.

"I think it's just a rough cut...like she got her paw stuck in something." He said as he gently prodded the small creature. "She'll be okay if we bandage her up."

"Then I’ll take my baby home," you whispered after a while, trying to reclaim a little of the tension that had ebbed away out of pure pettiness, but it came out more tired than you expected, thus not receiving the response you wanted. You reached for your cat but Minho pulled back.

Without missing a beat, his eyes snapped up to yours. "Our baby," he corrected, his voice firm yet soft, almost possessive as he held the cat closer to his chest. There was a protective edge to his tone, like he wouldn’t let anyone, or anything come between him and this cat.

You blinked at him in surprise. "What?"

"Our baby," Minho repeated, more certain this time, his thumb brushing against the cat’s ear again with so much gentleness it made your heart twist. His eyes were locked on yours now, no longer just on the cat. "Ours."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. There was something about the way he said "ours" that made the pit in your stomach ease, a warmth spreading in its place.

The ride back to your place was quiet, with Minho still cradling the cat like it was the most important thing in the world. You leaned back in your seat, your mind replaying the argument from earlier. His words had hurt, but now seeing him like this- so tender and protective -it was hard to hold onto the resentment. You glanced at Chan through the rearview mirror, who gave you a small, reassuring smile from the driver’s seat.

After a long moment of silence, you decided to poke fun again, if only to see how Minho would react. "Seems like Minho cares about the cat more than me, huh, Chan?" You tried to keep your voice light, but a hint of sadness and hurt slipped through.

Chan’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, but before he could even respond, Minho cut in, his voice surprisingly soft. "That’s not true."

You turned toward him, eyebrows raised in surprise. He was still looking down at the cat, but his grip tightened just slightly, his thumb stroking its fur with the same gentle, careful touch. He bit his lip and swallowed.

Minho’s gaze lifted slowly to meet yours, his dark eyes holding an unusual tenderness. "You know…" he began, his voice quiet but steady. "This cat…it’s our first kid."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Our first kid?"

He gave a tiny nod, his lips curving into the faintest smile. "Yeah. It’s ours. Our baby." He paused as if he wanted to say more. "Y/N I'm...I might not be great with words, but I care." He glanced down at the cat again, his voice dipping lower. "A lot. More than you could ever know."

It was so Minho- awkward, roundabout, but sincere. It wasn’t a straightforward apology, but it was his way of telling you he regretted what he said earlier. His gaze softened even further as he looked at you, his grip still tenderly holding your "child".

Your heart swelled, the hurt from earlier dissipating as warmth replaced it. You smiled at him, leaning closer. "So, this cat is our first kid, huh?"

He hummed in agreement, his shoulder brushing against yours. "Yeah…our first kid," he said, the possessiveness in his voice almost endearing now. "She's so pretty just like you, hm?"

For the first time since the argument, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. The way Minho looked at the cat like it was something precious and irreplaceable made your heart soften.

And the way he looked at you with ten times the amount of affection on a daily basis.

Maybe he wasn’t the best with words, but moments like this reminded you that his actions often spoke louder. And to take somethings woith a grain of salt.

As the car continued down the road, you leaned your head back, sneaking another glance at Minho. He was still holding the cat with the same delicate care, his fingers lightly stroking her fur as she rested in his arm, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. He hadn’t let go of her for a second, as if she was the most precious thing ever.

Watching him now, the earlier harshness of his words seemed distant, like a bad dream that was already fading in the daylight. The Minho beside you- the one who was petting the cat like it was his lifeline, who quietly called it "our baby" -wasn’t the same person who had called you useless just hours ago.

You smiled softly to yourself, feeling a weight lift from your chest. This was how you knew that the hurtful words he had sent your way were nothing more than frustration, born out of a heated moment. They held no truth deeper than the fleeting anger that had fueled them. His actions now- the way he cradled the creature, the gentle way he spoke to you, the intimate words he used; even the panic in his voice at the mere thought of you being hurt -revealed the real Minho, the one who cared deeply, even if he wasn’t always great at showing it.

And somehow, in this quiet moment, that was all the apology you needed.

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Edit: People keep telling me Minho should have groveled😭 🙏 i know guys but i wanted to bring a little diversity cause unfortunately there are people in the world who wouldn't apologize for something like this or they will go about it in a roundabout way 😭🙏 And I figured either Minho or Seungmin would best fit those roles so that's why I wrote him that way - but next time I'll make him grovel 😭 🙏

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[internet-rat]

Taking a bath together

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

No warnings - just fluff

I just want him to feel loved and happy, okay?? ;_: He is a sweetie pie even if he does a little killing sometimes.

The warm water of the bath enveloped you both, steam rising and curling in the quiet air of the chamber, scented with the subtle hint of lavender from the bath oils. The large, marble tub was a luxurious expanse, allowing comfortable space for the both of you, a private sanctum isolated from the rest of the world and its demands. You and your husband, Aemond, preferred bathing alone and without any servants to assist you.

Warm water sloshed about as you cleaned your his silky pale silver hair. With Aemond sitting between your legs, his head tilted back slightly to let you have access to his hair, his guard was lowered in a way few ever saw. The absence of his eyepatch revealed the vulnerable side of a man typically known for his strength and intimidating presence, highlighting a rare intimacy shared between you alone. He was always gentle and sweet towards you, so different from how he came off to the courts and the world.

As you lathered his hair with soap, your fingers massaged his scalp, the action caring and methodical. Your voice, a gentle murmur, broke the silence, carrying affection and genuine admiration. "Your hair is so lovely, my sweet..."

Aemond's muscles, which so often held tension and readiness for combat, relaxed under your touch. The prince, the warrior, the brooding Targaryen—those identities faded into the background as he simply became a man at peace, indulging in the rare luxury of being cared for. You wanted to do your utmost to make sure he felt loved and cared for, and it seemed like it was taking effect.

"Your touch is as soothing as the Maiden's song," he replied, his voice a low hum that vibrated against your skin. A soft sigh escaped him, a sound of utter contentment that filled the space between you with a resonance more articulate than words could ever be.

Your tone took on a playful edge, teasing him gently while simultaneously offering praise, a balance that spoke to the depth of your relationship. "My, how poetic you are~ What have you been reading?" you inquired, the smile audible in your voice, a gentle prod at his scholarly habits.

Aemond leaned back further into you, the warm water and your closeness lulling him into a state of tranquility he found nowhere else. "A collection of verses from old Valyria," he admitted, a hint of sheepishness in his voice, revealing that even a prince could have his indulgences. "There’s a beauty in the old words, a power and grace that I find... comforting."

His hand rose to meet yours, fingers intertwining as he held your hand against his chest, a silent expression of gratitude for your teasing, your care, and everything you did to make him feel loved and at ease. Your laughter and light-hearted queries were as much a part of his reprieve as the soothing waters that enveloped him.

Aemond rested back against you, the solid warmth of his body pressed into the softness of your form, an intimate juxtaposition of strength and tenderness. With careful affection, you bent forward to press a kiss to the sapphire that sat in place of his missing eye, a gesture of acceptance and reverence for all that he was, imperfections included.

"Very good, my prince... You read such varied books and texts. Poetry is just as valuable as history," you murmured into the steam-kissed air. "Your diligent reading shall temper your mind into that of a great ruler." Through your words, you offered not just praise but a recognition of his efforts to grow beyond the warrior the world often mistook him for.

He could feel the vibration of your voice against his back as you spoke, the underlying message clear: he was valued not only for his title and the power he wielded, but for the depth of his intellect and character. A soft, pleased little "hmm" noise escaped him, a sound that held within it both gratitude and a burgeoning sense of pride.

Aemond turned his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of your face from over his shoulder, his good eye searching for yours. "With you by my side, I have no doubt of what I might become," he said earnestly, his voice steady and sure as the pull of the tide. "You see in me the king I am yet to be, and for that vision, I am eternally grateful." He had a soft smile and a devoted look in his eye.

As Aemond’s gaze met yours, searching and sincere, you leaned in to close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a gentle, loving kiss. It was a simple act, yet it spoke volumes—the touch of your mouth against his was a seal to the promise of your words, a silent reassurance of your faith in him.

The softness of the kiss, coupled with the intimacy of the moment, pulled a reaction from him that was both rare and endearing. His cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, the blush spreading across his fair skin. Even a man of Aemond Targaryen's stature, for all his fierce reputation, was not immune to the tender affections of the one he loved, especially not when delivered so unexpectedly and with such genuine emotion.

[daydreams-after-dark]

Free Use Jail Cell, Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 (final) | extra: Police Reports | extra: dinner date with Minho

full master list for additional installments

Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader

Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.

Word Count: 3k (part 2)

Chapter Summary: You're interrogated by 2min.

a/n: This fic will be in multiple parts because I get too impatient not to share what I’ve written so far. There will be two, possibly three installments (tag list is open).

I refer to the officers as “Officer Hyunjin”, “Officer Minho” etc just to make it quick to identify the characters. 

The whole premise is planned and explained in the fic. The story is purely fantasy, but please be mindful of content warnings, as it has potentially triggering content. I want you to be safe here on my blog.

CW: dom 2min, sex toys (various: anal and vaginal), stretch kink, harness restraints, paddles, spanking, nipple clamps, double pen same hole (toy and penis) double pen two holes (oral and vaginal), anal penetration, everything is unprotected, degradation, face slap, hair tugging, shoe on face (really quick), collar and leash, cum eating, creampie, safeguards are in place to stop everything if reader wants/needs to. Aftercare.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

Chief Chan leads you to the interrogation room himself. "Now I don't want to find out you've been insolent, you hear me? Although I know Officer's Seungmin and Detective Minho are more than capable of handling you. Go." he pushes you into the empty room, closing the door behind you and locking it.

You gulp and slowly take in the space around you. It's not a modern interrogation room. It looks like a morgue. The brick walls are cold and gray, the concrete under your bare feet is filthy. You're not sure what the dark stains that are splattered around the place are either, and you try not to think the worst. This isn't real. You remind yourself.

In the center of the room is a stainless steel table. Beside it a stainless steel trolley, with what appears to be dildos, straps, and various other paraphernalia, and - oh fuck - a paddle hanging from a hook on the side. The entire room is illuminated, barely, by a single naked globe hanging from the concrete ceiling above.

There are no chairs, nowhere for questioning to occur, but you have a sneaking suspicion that you'll be on that cold, hard slab of a table very soon.

You hear the door unlock and your heart pounds loudly. Fuck. This is it. You take a deep, grounding breath as you watch Officer Seungmin and Detective Minho enter the room.

"On your knees, pup." Seungmin spits, immediately shoving you to the ground and pushing the sole of his combat boot into your cheek. Your face presses against the disgusting concrete. He doesn't push harder than he needs to, but just the act itself makes you feel so small, helpless and filthy.

You sense the Detective walk over to the trolley, then back towards you, leaning over you and placing a leather collar and leash around your neck. Suengmin removes his boot, and Minho tugs you up until you're on your knees.

"Look at this pathetic little bitch." Minho leans over you and pushes your hair out of your face. "Someone has been a very bad little girl." He scolds. "And we're going to find out exactly what you're keeping from us." He smirks evilly.

"Up." Suengmin barks, from behind you, taking the leash from Minho and yanking on it until you're standing in front of him. He presses his body against your back, breathing in your ear menacingly, making you shudder. He snakes a hand up underneath the hem of your oversized shirt, the only thing you're wearing, and slides his fingers through your folds. "This is gonna be so much fun." he chuckles low. "Up on the table." he slaps you hard on the ass.

The table is barely big enough to fit you, and you realize it's designed so two people can access you easily from either end. You're instructed to kneel on all fours, with your feet almost hanging off one end, and your head extending precariously over the other end, so you get another view of the filthy floor.

Minho picks up a pair of metal scissors and your eyes widen as he cuts your clothing and rips it off you so you are naked and bare for them. Then you’re adorned with a ball gag with attached nipple clamps.

"We can't have you being a brat. We don't need you to say a word for us to get what we want from you." Seungmin says, as he secures the clamps tightly to your nipples. The sensation of your nipples being pinched sends a spark of arousal to your cunt and you immediately feel yourself becoming moist.

"Here. Keep this in your hand." Minho places a small device in your palm. "Press this button and everything stops immediately. You understand?" he says quietly looking into your eyes. You nod. Once he's certain you understand, he’s back in character.

The two men take their time circling you, taking you in, deciding how they are going to proceed. They look dominating, cold, mean. They start to touch you, stroke your body, your back, the backs of your thighs. All with villainous smirks plastered on their beautiful faces.

“Let’s start with a punishment.” Minho decides, grabbing the paddle.

Your eyes widen and you try to swallow, but it’s so hard with the ball gag in your mouth, and you brace yourself as he settles behind you. The impact of the paddle takes you by surprise, making you cry out a muffled sob. Again, Minho brings the paddle to your fleshy ass cheek with a loud slap. You drop your head and squeeze your eyes closed. It fucking stings, but at the same time your cunt throbs. How can this hurt so much yet feel so arousing?

Minho soothes the skin with the palm of his hand before delivering another hit. You grip onto the edge of the steel table with your free hand, while trying to stabilize yourself with the hand that’s holding your safety device. 

Another round of paddling ensues, and you’ve lost count of how many you’ve taken. Your ass feels red raw, and the tears are running freely down your face. You feel pathetic, useless, helpless. No one’s ever been able to make you feel this way before. You’ve finally found what you’ve been looking for.

“Enough.” Seungmin raises his hand signaling for Minho to stop. “Let me inspect.” he moves behind you to marvel at his partner’s work. “Fuck. Look how red she is.” He runs his palm over your red cheek and you wince. “Shh… Now now.” Suengmin purrs, but there is absolutely no hint of concern in his tone. “We haven’t even gotten started. That was just punishment for making our cocks so hard.”

You drop onto your elbows, already exhausted from “just the punishment”, and sob. Seungmin crouches in front of you and lifts your head so you’re looking directly into his cold eyes. “Hey, Pup.” He slaps your cheek, hard. The sting makes you feel more alert. “Minho’s going to do his probing now.” He raises an eyebrow. “And you’re going to be an obedient little pup and take. Every. Single. Inch.”

Your stomach drops, and you feel your juices leak from your cunt. The anticipation, the fear, the excitement of what is unfolding has your heart racing. 

Suengmin stands back up and leans against the wall to watch Minho, whom you can hear rustling around at the trolley. You hear the sound of a bottle opening and closing. Then with one hand holding your hip steady, he presses a solid, cold, lubed object against your vaginal entrance. 

“It’s just a dildo. Nothing to be scared of. Deep breath through your nose.” he commands and pushes the dildo into your cunt. The stretch feels good and you wonder why on earth you were fearful. It feels regular sized. He fucks you with it for a few minutes, until your hips are rocking back and you’re arching your back in a such away it makes their cocks throb. 

“Seungmin, come help hold her steady.” He instructs his partner, and he is at your side helping hold your hips still. You whine in protest around the gag, and then you feel Minho press the dildo in further. Your eyes almost pop out of your head and your whole body tenses, when you're abruptly spread twice as wide. You feel like you’re being ripped in two as you realize the dildo has a bulbous base. The tip now presses hard into your cervix as your opening is being stretched obscenely wide. You’re so full. You feel so full. 

“Suengmin, fuck look at how much she stretches. She’s gonna look good when two cocks are inside that slutty little cunt.” Minho declares.

“Fucking slut.” Seungmin says in a disgusted tone.

“She has to take more.” Minho says flatly, reaching for something from the trolley, and then another lubed object presses against your ass. You try to squirm to no avail, and cry out when a hand slaps you on your sore, red cheek. “Sluts have to behave themselves or they will regret it.” Suengmin warns.

You pause and try to relax as Minho pushes the device past the tight ring of muscle. “I don’t know why you’re squirming? This is just to prep you. You’re gonna have to take a much bigger one shortly.” he advises.

He’s right. After torturing your ass with increasingly bigger devices, he is ready to insert the “big” one. It’s thick and it feels endless, reaching places no one, or thing, has ever reached before. You can hardly hold yourself up, and you’re on the verge of what you can tell will be an earth shattering orgasm. You are scared. You’re not allowed to come without permission, and part of you thinks that maybe you won’t be given permission at all. Although, you are sure that they will rip at least one from you before this interrogation is over. All so they’ll have a reason to punish you further.

Minho, silently works on fucking your ass and cunt with the two oversized devices until you are a fucking mess. You can’t keep it contained any longer and a brutally intense orgasm hits you so hard you shake uncontrollably and almost slip entirely off the table.

“Fucking whore!” Growled Seungmin. “Who told you you could come?” he came around to the front and tugged your head up by your hair. “You just want us to punish you more, don’t you? Well. That’s exactly what you’re gonna get." He lets go of your head abruptly, and removes your ball gag, resecuring it around your neck with your collar. You can finally breathe properly and you start to cry.

“No. No one said you can cry. We haven’t given you anything to cry about yet.” Snarls Seungmin.

The dildos are removed and you’re repositioned onto your back, your knees thankful for the relief. But this new position isn’t any more comfortable. The table, being so short in length, means your head hangs over the edge, whilst you have no option to fold your legs up because your ass comes to the other edge. Perfect for what is about to happen.

Your legs are strapped with leather restraints to keep legs bent and folded towards your chest and your wrists are cuffed and attached to ankle restraints. You’re essentially folded in half and spread open, with no way of moving, and for them to do whatever they please. The little alarm buzzer is placed in your hand for safekeeping.

You see Minho in your upside down vision, unbuckling his belt and releasing his cock. Your mouth waters at the memory of taking him down your throat just a few hours before, and you are more than pleased when he approaches you. “Open up, time to be fed again.” he holds your face steady as he slides his cock all the way into your throat. You can take him a lot easier in this position, and he uses it to his advantage, fucking your face rough and deep. He doesn’t care that you’re gagging, or that you can’t breathe when he pushes his entire cock in and stills. He pulls out, letting you fill your lungs, and then he’s back inside cutting the air off. 

You squeak when you feel something cold, slimy and flexible being squeezed into your pussy. Minho pulls out. “Wanna see what Seungmin’s doing?” He taunts. He supports your head as you lift yourself and look down at your pussy. Seungmin is holding what looks to be a silicone or rubber snake-like device. It’s about an inch and half in diameter and so fucking long. Maybe three feet long? Your eyes widen. “Don’t be so alarmed. He’s not gonna stuff the entire thing inside you.” sneers Minho. “Now, back to being a cockslut.” he drops your head back down and resumes fucking your face.

All you’re imagining though, is Seungmin pushing more and more of that - was it a snake? A hose? Fuck, is it even a sex toy or is it some random thing from the hardware store? - into your cunt.

“Yup, that’s as far as it's gonna go.” Sighs Seungmin. It’s deep, but not filling you out too much, not like that monstrous dildo from earlier. Until you feel the tip of his cock pushing in alongside it. Minho, as if pre-empting your protests, holds you by your neck keeping you steady and deliberately fucks you hard and fast. “You’re gonna take it, kitten. Everything.” he hisses. 

You can’t cry. You can’t scream. You can only take what they are giving you. Your throat hurts, but Minho doesn’t seem like he’s going to tire anytime soon. 

Once Seungmin is fully inside you, he starts to thrust, building up the pace quickly. You’re so wet and stretched already that it doesn’t take long for your walls to adjust to him. The men fuck both ends of your body, using you like a fleshlight. Growling, grunting, making sounds of approval as you simply lay there and take it.

“I wanna fucking come in her mouth.” states Seungmin. 

They pull out of you simultaneously, leaving you gasping and gaping. You’re so empty, even with that fucking snake situation still in your cunt.

Your mouth is filled first, with Seungmin sinking into you. You can taste your juices coating his cock, mixed with lube. Like earlier in the cell, Seungmin is rougher, more erratic with his thrusts than Minho, and you gag much more as he fucks you. He runs his hands along your body then squeezes both your breasts hard. You arch off the table as he tugs on the nipple clamps. You moan around Seungmin, who must not have been expecting it, and he cums down your throat with a “how dare you, you fucking slut.”

You’re secretly satisfied as you swallow him down. “You still need your mouth stuffed. I don’t want to hear you and your pathetic little whines.” he finds the other end of his ‘snake-friend’, and starts to shove it into your mouth. He pulls some sort of extension out from the table, a headrest, so you don’t have to keep dangling your neck. How thoughtful.

Minho lubes himself up and presses himself to your anus, pushing in the entire way. He fills you so good. He pulls out halfway and thrusts back in, and it’s too much. You come again. You know they see you quivering, and they’re not happy. 

“Just keep fucking her, Minho. Might as well just force her to come over and over at this point. Until she begs us to stop. Oh wait. Her mouth’s full, she won’t be able to. Shame.” The Officer laughs.

Minho doubles down, on a mission to rip as many orgasms out of you as he can, overstimulating you in the process. How much can you take before you need to hit your safety alarm? You’re determined not to. You want to take everything. Minho grasps the snake dildo and tries to jam more of it into you, but it won’t fit, and you cry out.

“Fuck, I’m hard again. Haven’t you even blown yet?” Seungmin looks to Minho in disbelief. 

“Course I fucking have, but I’m not done, bitch feels too fucking good. Gotta fuck my cum deep into her, y’know.” he grunts. He reaches out to grab yet another device, this time a small vibrator and presses it onto your clit. “Fucking come, kitten.” He growls.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you convulse as you come again. Minho doesn’t stop, he continues to fuck into your ass, still hard as stone, turning you into a sobbing, overstimulated wreck.

“Again.” he pushes the vibrator harder against you with one hand and attempts to fuck you with the snake dildo, all whilst not missing a beat with his thrusts.

Where the fuck Seungmin gone you had no idea. Until you feel him tightening your nipple clamps and then pulling out the snake and replacing it with his cock.

“The detective said ‘come again’, pup.” He thrusts into your mouth and fills you with his cum again. He pulls out and wipes some on your cheek. 

One final time, you come, trembling on the table, the straps and restraints dig into your skin as you fight against your restraints. You can’t possibly take any more. They seem to know too.

Minho pulls out, and you wonder if he even came a second time. You manage a glance at his cock and it looks painfully hard, and you’re not sure why he just didn’t use you until he came again.

He pushes your cheeks wide, spreading your holes and sighs when you feel cum dribble out. He slips an anal plug in to keep the rest inside you.

The straps, restraints, chains, clamps are all removed from you carefully and you’re cleaned with warm, wet towels from a cabinet under the table.

Seungmin applies cream to soothe where you were spanked, and helps you put on a fresh oversized button down shirt, and Minho carries you bridal-style back to your cell. You nuzzle your head against him and close your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted. He enters your cell and places you down on the mattress, pulling a blanket over you. Such a contrast to the treatment just before.

“Detective?” You whisper, looking up at him. “You didn’t get to finish.” you say in a small voice.

He shrugs. “That back there wasn’t about me.” He half smiles. “It was about satisfying you.” 

“But what if finishing you off would satisfy me even more?” You ask.

“You need your rest.” He grunts, ignoring your advances, tucking the blanket around your chin.

“It’ll help me sleep.” You plead.

“Fuck!” He sighs and looks up to the ceiling. “Where do you want my cock then, kitten?”

“In my cunt.” You purr.

He swallows hard. “Fine.” he concedes. “But -  I come inside, and you gotta keep it safe in your tight little pussy. Got it?”

You nod fervently, lifting the blanket that he’d just tucked you snugly in, and let him slide on top of you. He removes his shirt and undoes his pants with nimble fingers and frees his cock, then grips your thigh, pushing it wide and grinding against your sore core.

“Will you kiss me, detective?” You gaze up at him. 

“I don’t do kissing on the mouth.” He says flatly.

He sees you pout around that.

“I can kiss your neck. If that’s what you want.”

“Please.” you wrap your hands about his neck as he hovers over you, peppering kisses to your neck, and sucking the skin while he fucks you slow, but extra hard. You feel so full with the anal plug still in your ass. “You’re so tight, bet you’re tender? Am I hurting you?” He whispers. 

“Feels good.” you mewl. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum real soon. Can I fuck you evenharder?” He chokes.

“Yes.” you sigh, letting him take what he needs from you.

“I’m coming…ngh…fuck.” he thrusts his hips three more times then you feel him empty himself inside you. “Keep it in there for me.” He plants a peck on your forehead and pulls out carefully.

You’re asleep before he even leaves the cell.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

↣↣ Next up: you’re taken in your sleep by Hyunjin and Han

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[wearysparrows]

In my Room

ao3/masterlist

summary: After Caleb comes back into your life, he finds new ways to fill all the places he left empty in his absence.

CW: female reader, reader is mc, angst, hurt and comfort, caleb spits in your mouth, he also puts his fingers in there, it's pre-release so he's ooc, term of endearment "pretty girl" is used, not beta read 2.1k

That wasn’t your brother, sitting there on your couch, in your apartment, in the dull light of dusk. It wasn’t your brother, with his legs spread wide, big black combat boots still on, neglecting to have removed them – taking up the space of a man, not a boy. That wasn’t your brother, looking at you with eyes of cool lilac, inviting you in a way you thought they never had before. It wasn’t your brother, with muscles that rippled with warmth under his skin. This was someone else, wearing your brother's skin. Seeing you with your brother’s eyes. A man’s eyes in your brother’s skull.

There were times when you hated him. Then – now – still. As children, sometimes you had fought so badly that you had sworn him off. You’re not my brother. My brother could never be so cruel. You were glad you couldn’t see yourself in the slope of his nose, in the downturn of his eyes, in his dark and honest eyebrows. Those times, he wasn’t big brother, but Caleb Xia. But there were times when he was the root, the one thing connecting you to the ground when everything else was being lifted away into the sky, when there was another cool stethoscope against the bare skin of your chest, a needle in your arm. His big, warm hand in yours. Focus on me, pretty girl. Only me. Those times, you could see your reflection in his eyes, and it was like he was you. A place where you could see the parts of yourself that were only bared in the soft recesses of your mind. In his mind. He was your big brother.

When Caleb died, you could only focus on him. There was no more root, no remaining connection. Your cord was cut. Up in the air with no tether. There was nothing to focus on when the cold metal of the stethoscope touched your skin but the sluggish beating of your own heart. You thought of the blood that still pumped through it without reason. You didn’t even have his heart to bury. The mortician had nothing to take out of him. No one to sew back up, a Y shaped line of stitches across a too-still chest. You had buried your own heart in his stead. It was always his, anyway.

 On Caleb’s fifteenth birthday, you had made a blood pact. You had grown so close by then that you were upset his blood wasn’t flowing in your veins – that you couldn’t claim to be cut from the same cloth, that there was nothing real tying you to him. You had no claim on him, and you desperately wanted one. He had pulled you aside from cake and balloons, his rowdy group of friends, whooping when they saw the two of you disappear together. He covered your ears so you wouldn’t hear their jeering. Into the little bathroom of his bedroom you went. He kept a knife on the counter, one he had swiped from the corner store into his pocket without paying. 

Don’t tell Gran. 

With it, he sliced open both of your thumbs, pressing the two pulsating wounds together until the blood had been all mixed up, and you weren’t sure what was his and what was yours. 

You’re a part of me, pip. Now I’m inside of you, and you’re inside of me. Forever.

That was how it was now. What guilt was his and what was yours? Was there a way to discern it? Did it matter at all? You weren’t sure whose blood carried the taint. Blood letting wouldn’t drain it out. You couldn’t take off tainted flesh and wash it. It just was. It only got dirtier.

“I don’t mind you looking, but I’d much rather have you next to me, pretty girl.”

Caleb’s voice, intimate and strange all at once. It was like it was still shedding the last vestiges of his boyhood, trying to violently tear them away. You had been standing in your living room, barefoot, staring at him. The coolness of the night air drifted under your night shorts, your thin cotton top. He had a familiar smile on his face, a warmth that crept up into his eyes, almost all the way. It couldn’t quite fill him, anymore. Some part of him was always cold. Gooseflesh rose over the parts of your skin exposed to the air.

One arm was open to you. 

Caleb had begun to spend time in your apartment after his return. Sometimes, you were ecstatic to bursting for his presence. Other times, you hated him so much that you couldn’t believe he would dare to show his face to you again. He let you slap him, beat on his chest. You bit him, kicked, scratched. Once, you had swung the baton he had given you at him, aiming square for his abdomen. You died. I had nothing to bury. I buried myself in your stead. You’re dead. I’ll kill you again. He caught the baton in his hand, pulled you close. Tossed it aside.

I’m so happy you let me in your room again, he said.

Everything decays, of this you were keenly aware. The source was you. Still, love loped in your heart like a wounded animal. You stepped towards him, the tiles radiating cold up into your bare feet. You were, for reasons you couldn’t identify, aware of your differences in clothing. Compared to Caleb, most of your skin was exposed. His bare arms and face were all that was available to see clearly, not obscured. You slotted yourself next to him, into his waiting arm, which immediately pulled you close against him. His scent, which had once been the only thing to calm you, set your heart stuttering. Caleb brought one of your thighs up over his, so your calf was dangling in between his legs. It was strangely vulnerable, and forced you to sit with your legs open on the couch. Everywhere your bodies touched, he gave a warmth that sank into your permanent chill, a crack in your ice. Having him alive, next to you, was like falling into the sky and sinking into the ocean all at once. His hand that wasn’t around your waist drifted to your jaw, and turned your face towards him. His grip was insistent, but it need not be. You didn’t resist.

“Tell me what’s going through that head of yours,”

His thumb brushed your cheek, like he was wiping a tear that wasn’t there. There weren’t any left in you.

“Tell me how I can fix it.”

You were looking straight at him, but he wasn’t your brother. He said so himself. But right now, you wanted your big brother. The one who had wiped so many tears away from you, only to draw the last of them out of your well, until you were all dried up.

His thumb was still on your cheek. You wanted your big brother. You saw the junction between his index finger and thumb. You wanted your big brother.

I was never your brother.

 His strong, tanned hand. You opened your jaw, and pushed your head forward. You felt compelled by the shroud of his death, the loss of your childhood. Your teeth sank into his hand. Hard. His flesh easily gave way underneath your teeth, sinking in. You felt his whole body tense against you, heard the sharp inhale he took through his nose, saw the curl in his lip. His eyes never left yours. He made no move to stop you. His skin had a placatingly clean taste under your tongue. Just the same as all the times you had bitten him as a kid. He always said he would get you back one day – but he never did. He died, instead. Maybe this sort of torment, his spectre appearing before you, was his own kind of revenge. This man in your mouth, letting you soothe yourself the only way you knew how.

You released him, finally. Your jaw ached with how hard you had been holding on. How desperately. The marks your teeth had left were an angry red-purple. You hoped they’d last. You hoped you could leave more. That he was real, and could be marked. Your voice escaped you, spilling things out, like you were the one who had been bitten.

“I miss you.”

“I’m right here, baby. Between your teeth.”

Caleb retracted his hand as he spoke. His eyes grazed over the mark your teeth had left on him with a cool intensity, like he was remembering something and committing the image to memory all at once.

“You’re not. You’re so far away.”

You felt bereft of him without his hand in your mouth. Caleb stood without warning. Your leg fell back to the couch from where it had been over his, and he was reaching for you, slotting his big hands underneath your armpits. You were about to protest, saying you were probably sweating, you weren’t a kid anymore – but he hoisted you up from under your arms like you were nothing, just as he had when you were children. He had only gotten bigger, become a man, and you had stayed the same. You dangled in the air, but only for a moment. He took a few steps, and deposited you back on your feet against one empty wall of your apartment. His broad chest eclipsed your vision before you looked up into his face. 

“Caleb?”

Saying his name still felt almost foreign, now. You had forbidden yourself from even thinking it after he had died. Now, it was all strange and sharp edges on your tongue. Nothing like the shape of those apples he liked so much.

“You said I was too far away,”

Caleb’s hand – the one you had bitten, still marked by you – came into your vision. His fingers gripped your jaw, hard enough for you to feel his touch against your teeth through the skin of your cheeks. 

“So I got closer.”

He overtook everything, so alive before you. You no longer wished to deny him as you once had. You traced a vein in his forearm with your eyes. You thought you could almost see his heartbeat, there.

Caleb retained his grip on your jaw. The fingers on his other hand were suddenly very close to your mouth, and then inside of it. He stroked at your upper gums with his index and middle finger, pushing your lips out of the way. The right side, left side, bumping across the ridges there. You could hear your own breath, loud and quick through your open mouth. Your saliva made his work easy for him. He repeated the motion with your bottom teeth. His eyes were locked on his motions, tracing the curvature of the inside of your mouth. His thumb pressed against your tongue. He stroked it. You tasted his skin again, this time under his control. You curled your tongue under the pad of his finger instinctually. You saw a muscle in his jaw twitch, just barely there.

“You’re so wet,”

His gaze drifted from his finger on your tongue to your eyes, and his voice dropped to a low whisper, hoarse with something you couldn’t place.

“And warm,”

Caleb took his thumb from your mouth. His grip hadn’t lessened on your jaw. Firm, almost enough to hurt. Your lips were forced to stay slightly parted. Your breath felt thick in your throat.

“And I want to be inside of you.”

Caleb’s fingers increased their grip on the place where your teeth met each other, against your cheeks. Your mouth was pried open under his strength, and you relaxed it into further willingness when you realized what he wanted you to do. You opened your jaw for whatever he was giving you.

You watched as his lips parted, his face hovering over your own. You, looking up at him, his open lips, revealing one canine that stuck out, crooked, from his otherwise straight, white teeth. Him, looking down at you. You were breathing nothing but the hot air from his mouth, from his nostrils, and he from yours. The air was achingly familiar. It endured, hotly, possessing you, until you could hardly differentiate his breath from your own. Caleb’s tongue passed over his open lips, shiny and wet with his saliva. It collected, until it began to form, falling in a singular rivulet from the tip. In what seemed an eternally slow moment in time, it passed from his mouth onto your waiting tongue.

You had been willing the dead to come back, and now the waters of his life were in your mouth. Still warm from his own. His taste. Clean. Wet. Warm. 

Alive.

You closed your mouth. Swallowed. Committed him to memory. He couldn’t part from you again.

[starryjiung]

of pleasure and pain

day 16 of piwontober

shower sex / fingering with yoon keeho

NSFW - 18+ MDNI

wc: 1.6k

tags: superhero au, villain!keeho, hero!reader, scars, blood, wounds, weapons, mentions of murder/killing people, fingering, shower sex, pet names, praise, degradation, reader uses she/her pronouns and has a clitoris and vagina, keeho refers to reader as girl

a/n: omg my smut debut look at me go! here is my little thanks to section, because I have to mention @enbyjjunie who has been helping motivate me, brainstorm with me, and beta read!! of course a huge thank you to @sxfterhearts and @kisseobie for managing this whole event, and bringing all of us together. and to all the other amazing writers who are part of the project, I am so excited to be publishing my fic alongside yours ♡

Blood stained the white shower tiles, mixing with the soap bubbles to create intricate shapes as it swirled down the drain. The water rinsed everything off, every bit of blood, sweat, and grime that could be found on your bodies. If anything stuck in the corners, it wasn’t your problem, since this was Keeho’s bathroom. His white tiles, his cleaning headache. Not that you paid it much mind in the moment, with your back up against the cool glass of his shower doors, Keeho’s hands and mouth all over you.

“Fuck, careful where you place your hands,” he mumbled in your ear, shrugging your hand off his shoulder. You glanced over to see a fairly new bruise blossoming right where you had grabbed him, and couldn’t help the smirk that overtook your features.

“Got you good today, didn’t I?” you asked, the amusement short lived as you immediately felt a sharp stabbing pain on your hip in retaliation.

Keeho had pressed down on a fresh slashing wound from your fight earlier, making you yelp and instantly grab onto his arms for support, as your legs wobbled under you. Even though you had ended the night on a high, Keeho having to retreat from the city beaten and bruised, it was not like you had made it out completely unscathed. Keeho was an expert at wielding his signature twin poignard daggers, the many cuts on your body being evidence of this.

“I like it better when you shut up.”

“Someone’s a sore loser,” you mumbled, slowly trailing off as he leaned back into your space, caging you in between his arms against the now steamy glass door. He looked down at you with sharp eyes, and you noticed another bruise forming on his left cheekbone, no doubt the result of you hitting him with the blunt end of your glaive.

You and Keeho were the perfect match, two sides of the same coin in every way possible. The first time you had gone head to head, both of you had been left in awe of the other’s abilities. Not that any of you would ever admit it. Keeho’s teleportation powers and your super speed balanced each other out so well, one was never more than half a step ahead of the other. This resulted in fights purely being decided on combat skills and luck, as you wounded each other at a speed too high for the onlookers to perceive.

You turned your head slightly, pressing your lips firmly to his pretty bruise, making sure he both felt the warmth of the kiss, and was reminded of the earlier impact with your weapon. Your kisses softened as you trailed down the side of his face, your hands leaving his toned upper arms to explore the expanse of his naked upper body.

“I could have killed you today, you really should be nicer to me,” you said in between open mouthed kisses at his jawline.

“Oh yes, imagine those headlines. “Darling hero of Metro City commits murder on open street!” You can never kill me sweetheart, there would be an outrage,” he replied, eyes closed as you worked down his neck. “And your heart is too soft to do it.”

You decided to ignore his statement, not wanting to agree with him, and instead grabbed his hips to push up against. As soon as your front came in contact with his hard cock, Keeho let out a low groan, one you could feel vibrating in his throat as you had your face buried right in the crook of his neck. Not a second later, Keeho’s arms were back around you, holding you close in order to maintain the friction between your bodies.

As you were grinding against each other, you felt a shiver down your spine, the water on your body slowly drying and giving way to the cold air coming in from below. Before you even had time to adjust, Keeho was already pulling you back under the hot stream coming from the showerhead.

Standing even closer together now, in order for both of you to enjoy the warm water, Keeho rested his forehead against your temple, his face only a breath away as his hands travelled down the sides of your body. His hair was dripping down onto his collarbones, where you saw a paper-thin scar, long healed, but no doubt your doing. Most of the scars littering your body were left by him as well, reminders of every fight, every battle, every night spent together afterwards.

“How come you have never killed me?” you thought out loud.

You felt Keeho’s hands stop, just for half a second, before continuing to glide over your skin, his right pointer finger tracing a newly healed gash along your outer thigh, the skin raised and still pink. His doing.

“I mean, you’ve had the chance several times,” you continued, not satisfied with his silence.

For a few seconds, the sound of water hitting skin and tile was the only thing you could hear in the bathroom. Then you felt Keeho smile against your cheek.

“Yeah well, keeping you alive is way more fun, means I get to do this.”

His hand quickly moved from your leg to in between your bodies, his finger finding your clit and beginning to rub small circles without a moment’s hesitation. You immediately grabbed onto his shoulders for stability, all thoughts of the forming bruise there gone for now. A choked moan got stuck in your throat, which made Keeho giggle.

“Look at you, already struggling to stand and I have barely touched you,” he said, lips right next to your ear as his hand kept moving at the pace he knew you liked. “Wonder what the good people of Metro City would think of their precious hero, if they knew she was whimpering like a slut in my shower.”

“Oh fuck you,” you managed to gasp out, throwing your head back to rest against the wet tile behind you. This got a proper laugh out of Keeho, who now had a much better view of your upper body, taking full advantage of your new position.

“Later, maybe. For now I want you to beg for my fingers, can you do that, angel?” he asked.

You did not want to give him the satisfaction of begging, but the way he was rubbing circles on your clit also felt too good to object. Just then, his fingertips went further down, teasing at your entrance and making you inhale sharply.

You were dripping wet, more than one could expect you to be after such a short amount of time with Keeho’s hands on you. But just as he was to blame for most of the scars on your body, Keeho had also become responsible for the vast majority of your orgasms. He knew exactly what to do to have you moaning and begging for him, and in that moment you felt every ounce of pride and composure leave your body. You knew the pleasure he would reward you with was worth so much more.

“Please-” you started your sentence, cutting yourself off with a high pitched whine as Keeho’s fingers moved back up to your clit.

“Sorry could you repeat that sweetheart? I can’t hear you over all that pathetic whimpering,” he said, tilting his head slightly with an amused smile, as he watched you lose yourself to the feeling of his hands on you.

“Please! Please please I want you fingers inside me so bad Keeho, fuck, please,” you cried out, the grip you had on his shoulders becoming so tight, it would surely leave marks for the day after. None of you paid it any mind, however, used to much more permanent reminders of each other.

“That’s my good girl.”

Keeho slipped a single finger inside your wetness, quickly realising that you were turned on enough for him to add a second one immediately. The feeling of him inside of you, slowly stretching your walls, was enough to have you moaning uncontrollably. When he started curling his fingers up towards himself, you could feel how close you were already.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, being so obedient for me. Everyone else sees you fight, but only I know how good you are at giving in to me,” he said, eyes focused on where his fingers were pumping in and out of you.

You could do little more than nod, your breaths coming out as a mix of whines and sharp exhales. Both of you knew you were not going to last much longer.

“I want to feel you cum around my fingers, angel. Cum for me.”

He had barely finished the sentence, before you cried out, your orgasm hitting you as soon as he gave permission. Keeho could feel you clenching around him, coming undone as he continued to curl his fingers inside you. He had seen your face in complete ecstacy like this more times than he could count, and yet he craved it like a drug. The knowledge that he could have this effect on you too, the cuts on your body telling a story so different from the pleasure painting your features in that moment.

As you came down from the high, Keeho slowly removed his fingers again, letting the water rinse away your wetness, just as it had cleaned you off your blood.

Pulling yourself closer to him again, you leaned your face on his shoulder as your breathing returned to normal. Small crescent shaped indentations were left in the reddening bruise, and you found yourself leaving small pecks on each one, as Keeho brought his arms around you under the water.

How were you ever supposed to kill each other, when being alive together felt so good.

[aventurineswife]

Can I make a request for Veritas and Kaveh and how they react to the reader taking care of them after a long day of work, even when they insist they're fine? (Established relationship).

Tides of Solace

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Comfort, Caring/Supportive Reader, Gentle Touch, Vulnerability, Emotional Healing, Slow Burn, Introspection.

Warnings: Mild exhaustion (physical and emotional), Light mentions of overworking/stress, Mild pride issues.

It had been a long day. Ratio had spent hours in the Intelligentsia Guild's archives, poring over documents, theorizing new methods to combat ignorance, and lecturing on the importance of knowledge. As usual, he pushed himself to the limits of his intellect, all while dismissing any signs of exhaustion that might have crept up on him. He was a man of intellect, after all, and to rest would be to acknowledge weakness.

Yet, as he entered the modest quarters he shared with you, a shift in the air told him something was different tonight. The warm glow of the lamps softened the edges of his usual sharp demeanor, and a quiet peace seemed to settle in the room. He hadn't noticed you sitting at the small table, an empty cup of tea still warm beside you.

Ratio sighed softly, running a hand through his hair, the weight of the day lingering on his shoulders despite his attempts to mask it. "I'm fine," he said, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his words. "A mere nuisance. Nothing to worry about."

You rose from your seat, walking over to him with a soft smile. Without a word, you reached up and began to remove his arm braces, carefully placing them aside as he silently watched you. His usual air of self-assurance melted as your hands moved with such precision, as though you knew his body better than he did himself.

"Veritas," you said gently, "You don't always have to carry the world on your shoulders."

"I do," he replied without hesitation, though there was a quiet softness in his eyes as he met your gaze. "Who else will? The ignorance of the universe is vast, and it's my burden to bear."

You smiled, knowing how much his sense of responsibility weighed on him. But tonight, you wouldn't let him carry it alone. You led him to the couch, settling beside him as you wrapped a warm blanket around his shoulders. You didn’t speak for a while, letting the silence speak volumes. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and the tension he'd been holding onto all day began to ease.

"I’m not asking you to bear it alone," you whispered. "I’m here for you, always."

Ratio’s eyes softened, his gaze meeting yours for a moment longer before he closed his eyes. For the first time all day, he allowed himself to truly rest, his mind quieting beneath the comfort of your presence. He could feel his intellect slipping into peaceful surrender, and for once, he allowed it.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

Kaveh had spent the entire day overseeing the restoration of one of Sumeru's ancient landmarks. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and his body felt the toll of the hours he'd spent bent over blueprints and giving impassioned speeches to his workers. Yet, in his heart, he was content—he had done his part to contribute to something greater than himself.

When he entered his shared living space with Alhaitham and you, however, the fatigue hit him all at once. His usual jovial smile seemed a little more strained, his usual wit absent as he made his way toward the small table where you sat, already preparing a warm cup of tea.

"I'm fine," he said, brushing a lock of hair from his face as he collapsed into the chair opposite you, though his tone was less certain than usual. "Really, it's just... a long day. I can handle it."

You didn't respond with words; instead, you set the tea aside and stood, moving toward him. Your gentle touch on his shoulders made him sigh deeply, his back slumping under your hands. He knew better than to resist—after all, he'd seen how you took care of him in small, thoughtful ways, but his pride often kept him from asking for help.

He chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "I suppose it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it? Letting someone take care of me. I’m supposed to be the one helping others."

"You don't always have to be the one giving," you said, guiding him to the couch. "Let me help you for once."

As you began to loosen the straps on his sash, Kaveh allowed himself to let go of his usual walls. He leaned back, eyes closing for a moment as you worked. His heart, too, seemed to soften in the quiet of your touch.

"You always know just how to make me feel better," Kaveh admitted, his voice tinged with both vulnerability and gratitude. "I don’t deserve it, but I’m glad you’re here."

You could feel his tense muscles begin to relax as your hands worked over them, loosening the knots of stress he'd carried all day. His breath deepened, and for a moment, the worries of the world melted away. You settled beside him, offering him the tea you'd prepared earlier, and he took it with a faint smile.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes meeting yours with genuine sincerity. "I’ve always thought of myself as strong, but I think I’m realizing that I’m stronger when I have you by my side."

Kaveh’s heart, ever so tender and full of passion, found peace in your care. The idealist within him might have once rejected this form of help, but tonight, he welcomed it—and, in doing so, he welcomed you deeper into his life.

[betweenstorms]

Chapter 1/1 of Skin Of Thunder Where Silence Blooms (next chapter) (masterlist) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“Your kindness is the softest thing I’ve ever felt, like a breath that never touches the ground. It cuts through the storm in me, where the skin of thunder shivers, tearing through flesh, bringing light into the darkest parts of my heart.”

The early morning sunlight filtered through the narrow windows of the military base, casting long shadows across the dull, utilitarian corridors. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley moved through the halls with his usual silent purpose, his presence almost unnoticed despite his size. Dressed in civilian clothes, he still commanded attention. The skull-patterned balaclava covered his face, just as it always did, leaving only his eyes visible. Hazel, but sharp, always scanning, always wary. His broad shoulders and powerful frame carried the weight of decades spent in combat, and even in this quiet corner of the base, his mere presence felt like a storm waiting to break.

He stepped into the HR office, a space that instantly felt too small for someone like him.

He needed leave forms.

Price had insisted on a few days off, pushing Ghost into a rest he neither wanted nor needed. The mere thought of rest grated on him, gnawing at his sense of purpose. Relaxation wasn’t really in his nature, it made him feel useless, stripped of the edge that kept him sharp. He was forged for motion, for the relentless grind of action, not the stillness of downtime.

The HR office was empty in the early hours, its sterile quiet amplifying Ghost's irritation. But then he saw you. The annoyance that had coiled in his chest loosened, if only for a moment. You were immersed in your work, unaware of the storm that had just stepped into the room. The morning light from the window filtered through your hair, casting a soft halo around it, as if it were aglow—almost like the ethereal shimmer of an angel's glory.

Ghost had noticed you before, though only in passing.

Your presence was a little more than a shadow at the periphery of his awareness. For now. You were new, an HR assistant with an energy that felt out of place, almost foreign in a world like his. Too bright, too unburdened by the gravity of what lay beyond these walls. He wasn’t sure if he even knew your name, but something about you lingered—an unmistakable sense of someone who still believed in the good things.

He didn’t like dealing with civilians, but his mind cataloged your features anyway.

He wasn’t likely to forget you.

As Ghost approached your desk, he felt the subtle shift, the way your posture straightened as you registered his presence. It was the reaction he was used to. The unease and the instinctive discomfort. But this time, something was different. Instead of the usual avoidance and fear, you blinked and met his gaze, offering a small, genuine smile. It caught him off guard.

“Hi, good morning,” you greeted, your voice soft but hesitant, as if unsure whether it was the right thing to say. “How can I help you today?”

Your accent carried a gentle rhythm that Ghost noted but couldn’t quite place. He could sense the undercurrent of nerves in your voice, however, you didn’t look away. His gaze bore down on you, his presence looming, heavy enough to fill the entire office. Yet, your cautious smile held steady, unshaken by the oppressive weight he carried like a second skin.

“Leave forms,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. He was in no mood for conversation, the forced time off already wearing on his nerves.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his abrupt tone, but recovered quickly. “Ah, of course,” you said, your voice wavering just slightly as you stood and moved toward the filing cabinet. Your fingers fumbled briefly before finding the right document. “Here,” you offered, placing the paperwork in front of him with a shy yet sincere smile. “If you need any help, just let me know.”

Ghost’s hazel eyes tracked your movements as you placed the forms on the desk before him. He noticed the subtle way you seemed to shrink under the weight of his stare, yet you stayed composed—polite, helpful.  He hated how the whole situation made him feel. Awkward and out of place. He didn’t belong in places like this, dealing with paperwork and assistants.

But something about you made him pause, a quiet pull that unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain. It was like the calm before a storm. The kind of softness that slips beneath the skin, where thunder has long since settled, and stirs something fragile in the wreckage he thought was buried for good.

He sat down, the chair creaking under his weight.

His posture was stiff, his annoyance palpable. He filled out the form quickly, his handwriting harsh and deliberate, as if each letter required forced focus.The quiet stretched between them again. You busied yourself with something Ghost didn’t care about, but he could feel your occasional glances, as though you were quietly studying him, trying to size him up too. Bloody hell, how he loathed small talk and despised these kinds of interactions—and people who couldn’t sense when to leave well enough alone.

“You’re Lieutenant Simon Riley, right?”

Your tone was friendly, almost too friendly for someone talking to him. His hand paused, pen hovering just above the paper.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The admission hung in the air, breaking the silence. He wasn’t sure how to respond to the fact that you knew of him—knew what he did, or at least, what people said about him. It wasn’t approval he sought, nor recognition.

No, in truth, it grated on him.

And yet, the sound of his name on your lips made him pause, drawing his gaze to your face. You flushed slightly under the weight of his stare, but he dismissed it, focusing instead on the strange feeling that stirred within him at the way his name sounded coming from you.

“It’s... really impressive, what you and your team do,” you said, your voice softening as a hint of awkwardness crept in. “I mean, it must be really… difficult. Dangerous, too.” Your words faltered, laced with a quiet shyness, but there was a hint of respect behind them.

“Just doin’ my job,” he muttered, his voice edged with indifference. Most people would take the hint and move on. But you didn’t. Instead, your smile grew as you kept talking.

“It’s still admirable. Not easy work, I’m sure.”

Admirable?

Ghost couldn’t help the small scoff that nearly escaped. Admirable wasn’t the word he’d use. Brutal, necessary, violent—that’s what it was. But no one ever called it what it really was, did they? No, to outsiders, it was always impressive, always dressed up as something noble. He grunted in response, the tension in his shoulders never easing, even as he filled out the forms.

And yet, something about your tone was different. It felt strange. He didn’t know how to deal with it, so he didn’t. He focused on the rest of the paperwork, quickly scribbling his name at the bottom with more force than needed.

After a long silence, one he hoped would stretch on forever, he found himself speaking before he could stop. “Why HR?”

He immediately regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. It wasn’t a question Ghost particularly cared about. He didn’t care about your life, your choices. And it wasn’t like him to make idle conversation, especially not with someone like you.

Yet, there was a pull, a curiosity he couldn’t quite place.

You glanced up, clearly caught off guard by the question. For a moment, hesitation flickered in your eyes, as though you weren’t entirely sure if you should respond. But then, a small, almost bashful smile crept across your lips as your fingers absently fidgeted with the edge of a folder on your desk, a quiet nervousness betraying your calm demeanor.

“I like helping people,” you began quietly, your voice gaining strength as you settled into the explanation. “It’s just... something I’ve always wanted to do, you know. And I suppose, even as an assistant here, it feels like I’m making a small difference, right?”

Ghost remained silent, letting your words linger in the stillness, his gaze fixed on the forms in front of him, unmoved yet listening.

Helping people. Understanding them. That was something he couldn’t wrap his head around, not in the way you meant. His job was about helping, but not in the clean and polite way you seemed to believe. He’d seen what people needed, craved even, in the worst moments of their life, and it wasn’t something you could give with kindness. Helping people, for Ghost, had always meant violence, brute force, removing threats before they removed him or the people he worked with. The concept of understanding felt foreign, almost naive to him.

He didn’t respond, simply grunted, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation. But you didn’t seem fazed by his silence. If anything, you looked more comfortable, as if his lack of words somehow reassured you. You must have thought he had agreed with you.

“Sometimes it's the small things, right? That can really make a difference.”

You continued to smile, a gesture so simple and unguarded that it almost irritated him.

Almost.

Yet there was something in the way you looked at him—not with fear or awe, but with an honest kindness—that stirred something unfamiliar within him. But he’d seen too much, lived too long in the darkness to believe in small things. They didn’t matter. They never lasted. All the smiles in the world couldn’t protect someone from the horrors he’d seen. But yours lingered, slipping through the surface, like a thread of light that dared to touch the parts of him still clawing for air.

Ghost finished signing the last line of the form and shoved the documents toward you, eager to be done with the whole thing. His mind was already shifting back to his daily duties, to the missions waiting for him, to the violence that felt like home.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

You glanced down at the forms before meeting his gaze again, your expression softening with an even warmer smile. “You're welcome, Lieutenant Riley. If you ever need anything else, feel free to stop by.” Your tone was gentle and inviting, carrying a sincerity that felt unforced, almost natural in its warmth.

He gave a brief nod, his lips pressed into a tight line beneath the mask.

Anything else. Yeah, right. Ghost almost snorted at the absurdity of it. There wasn’t anything else someone like you could offer to someone like him, not in the way you meant anyway. But he nodded, knowing he would probably never take you up on that offer.

As the door closed behind him and the cold, empty corridor swallowed him up once again, Ghost’s mind churned with thoughts he didn’t want to have. Your words lingered, echoing in his mind as he tried to shake them off. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the unsettling feeling you’d left him with. He pulled the balaclava tighter against his face, his jaw set. He moved through the base with his usual silent intensity, the lingering thought of your smile following him, despite his best efforts to shake it off.

Even if the little things did matter, they definitely weren’t meant for him.

"Where silence blooms, it takes root in the cracks of all that’s unsaid. It wraps around the heart like quiet thorns, soft but aching, a stillness heavy with storms yet to come."

Skin of Thunder Chapters

[witchhaven]

Self

As I've observed before, not all dolls are the same. Heart, is a cute little service doll, who cleans, and sometimes cooks, making sure I'm in lovely working order. Apple is a companion doll, who's there for the other dolls, growing even close enough to Heart to form a relationship. Thread is a wind-up doll, which I'm not sure about the purpose of, but it does seem to brighten the life of the next one in question. Soul is an example of a combat doll, who's grown past its purpose, living with the others in companionship of them all, much like Apple does.

Today, a new doll approaches me. I feel its steps lift it up to my patio before it even knocks on my door. This doll certainly didn't start as a doll, as I can feel from the implication of experience on its careful footsteps. It wears a button-up shirt, tucked into a black flowing skirt, with a pair of black floral tights underneath, and a pair of glossy black shoes. Enveloping the outfit is a loose fitting flowy black jacket with a dark purple silky lining. Framed by its porcelain-white skin are a pair of similarly dark purple eyes, magnified by a pair of round glasses. In its inky black hair is a white and purple hairpin detailing a luna moth.

Its ball-jointed right hand extends as it gently and politely reaches to knock on the door, stopping as it does this. The extended hand opens as it places its palm gingerly on my front door. It stands there, feeling the wooden surface as its eyes close.

"Ah, you're much like this one, aren't you, house?" The doll smiles as a warm feeling begins to permeate my door, emanating from the doll's hand.

I allow my door to open for Self, knowing exactly the reason why it came to me. It's exactly the same as all the other dolls' reasons, the only difference being the strange nature of its existence, the perception immediately felt in its presence as it carefully continues inside. Once Self has fully entered, it crouches down to remove its shoes and leave them by my door.

It claps its hands together, bowing slightly, "Thank you for allowing its presence."

I could feel the nature of the other dolls as they entered, but Self is a mystery to me. Its presence seems to be engineered to not leave an impact behind, as it carefully and gently steps, and it seems that its mind is much the same. I expect it to make its way to the kitchen much like the other dolls, and eventually find itself in another room for it, which I've already manifested, but it actively heads in the opposite direction, opening a door into a set of bare wooden stares leading into an underground room the other dolls have left yet unopened.

The room is concrete, and once a cord is pulled at the bottom of the stairs, a lightbulb illuminates the space laid bare and empty, with nothing but a closed door on the far corner. Self approaches, gently grasping the door's handle and turning. There's little resistance aside from that of the springs in a typical doorknob, but as Self pushes, the door doesn't seem to budge. Self backs up after some pushing, and retrieves a non-distinct leather-bound black book from its jacket pocket, thumbing through the pages until it lands on a particular one, extending its right hand to the door, and chanting something under its breath.

The nature of this chant, I do not know, but I feel some energy imbue itself into the door, emanating from Self. The energy seems to attempt to rotate the door open under its own impulse, but still the door doesn't budge. Self closes the book and returns it to its jacket pocket. Its brow furrows as it still has yet to find an answer to its unasked question. Perhaps I could find said answer if it would ask, but alas, for now, I must simply wait for it to sleep, where I'll undoubtedly come to its aid, as I have all the dolls who have slept in my embrace.

For now, Self seems to resign, as it backtracks back up the steps, and paces down the hall into the kitchen. In there, it meets the other dolls, who have been sharing tea with idle conversation.

"Ah, hello. This one is Self, sorry for-" Self is interrupted by Apple.

Apple excitedly approaches Self, "A new doll! It's lovely to meet you!"

Introductions go as they tend to, as Self is served tea and properly converses with the dolls present. The conversation continues late into the night, before the new doll is guided by Cream and Sugar to its new bedroom, where it lays down on the soft bed and allows the unconscious to lead it into my embrace. I do my best to envelop it as I share a view into its emotions.

I see a witch, inexperienced, but confident in her ability. She regularly experiments with rituals involving incense and candles, recording her results into a non-distinct black leather-bound journal. In addition, she records the results of many a divination, be it from tarot cards, or a pendulum. I see her detailed drawings depicting her own processes and her notes detailing results and conditions of the rituals themselves. The occasion arrives that the witch feels the need to perform rituals for protection in a living situation she's found herself in. It of course records the conditions, the incantation, and the process, but the result seems to be ineffective. The witch's living situation only becomes more trepidatious before it ends. I watch a world come crumbling down around this witch, leaving a figure kneeling in the middle of the ruins, which I can only assume at first to be her. It's not her though, not really. The witch has gone through a transformation, whether willing or not. What's left in her place is a ball-jointed porcelain doll which once upon a time used to be a witch. Self cries amidst the wreckage of once was, forgetting about recording the result of a ritual, simply weeping and allowing itself to break, in the middle of nothing.

I envelop Self, as I do my best to reach arms around it, and pick it up into a cradle position. I manifest my mouth near its left ear and attempt to whisper to it.

My attempt is met with success, "It's okay... You don't need to hurt anymore..."

[prettygrltatum]

Warm Blankets!

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Bimbo!reader

a/n: it's time for me to throw my hat into the ring and finally post for my favorite type of reader! >.< def will show off my oc for this one >:)

synopsis: you and your buff manz(pluz pets!) just kinda lay there and do nothing all day ╰(▔∀▔)╯

tags: fluff, cuddling, simon proposing in a personal space because he doesn't take me as a person who'd propose in public, just overral being cute (´｡• ω •｡`)

wrds:

it was a lazy sunday. finally simon came back from his missions this week and had a lot of time to be with you. stood at the door, awaiting him. you could hear simon's loud and strong combat boots at the steps, the keys jiggling. you were basically a puppy waiting for her owner to come home. meanwhile the actually puppy wags her tail and yaps.

'shh! riley quiet! he can hear you!' you whispered at the pup, turning her head at you with confusion. 'I can already hear 'yer through the door sweets." simon chuckled through the door. you gasped, picking up riley and scooting behind the couch.

when simon stepped through the door, he saw your little my melody onesies and it's ears. 'baby i can see you.' he laughed, moving over to see you holding riley in your arms as you pout. 'simmy? HIII!!' you squealed. you set riley down as she moved forwards and leaped on his legs. he picked you up and kissed you plush lips.

oh to be home with you. a place of comfort and warmth. 'oh! wait! I have a gift for you!' you jumped off of simon as he furrowed his eyebrow. he took off his mask, scars covering his face as he smiled. riley left his side and followed you upstairs with a yap.

the both of you came back with a blanket of silks and blankets. 'okay! so, i got you a cute..wait for it! kuromi onesie! so we can match. you, me, and riley! she can be pompompurin.'

simon laughed at your adorable mind. so pliant and cute. 'you got this for me?' you nodded as you squealed and handed him the suit. usually, he'll shout at you and cut the poor thing into pieces. but just for you, and only you will he wear something like that.

'this thing? oh god..'

a few minutes later, you see the buffest and burliest kuromi ever seen. you screamed and ran up to simon as he chuckled. god forbid any of his teammates see him like this. 'is this what you wanted?' he asked.

you nodded. 'yes! ah! you look so cute! I got you kuromi because I knew you like black so I got this one for you!' how nice of you! always looking after him. never ending. 'thank you lovie, what are your plans tonight?' your eyes looked up and hummed. 'i dunno! wait! we can watch scary movies! and make like a fort pillow!'

'pillow fort hunny?' you nodded, 'yup! lemme warm up the blankets!' you swiftly left to go to the laundry room, your little slippers tapping and riley following after you as she yapped.

simon shook his head with a crooked smile as he started to pull out some chairs and nearby pillows. he couldn't wait to give you your new gift. a pretty little ring with a nice hot pink rock on top. he can't think of anyone else to come home to but you. his little angel. you were basically made for him. and he wanted to keep you forever.

'okay! i'm back! i have the blankets I want to use for the building process and others are drying okay! so! place the chairs here and-'

he wasn't listening to you. not because you were boring. more like he was just admiring you. he does it everyday. no matter where he's at. on base, duty or even at home. sleeping in the comfort of your arms and warmth, he's always thinking and admiring you.

though your brain is small, your heart was big and ready to share your love with others. you still couldnt do long division and even though keep asking and calling how the ish washer works even though you've been living on your own for years now. sometimes it scares and surprises simon how you lived so long on your own.

'are you even listening babe?' you huffed at him. he stammered and looked up at you. 'y-yeah i am.'

'good! now help me!' you moved one chair to the side and another to the back and give it a little friend as you like to call it. and simon lifted onto the other side of the fort. he drapped over a soft fuzzy white comforter and set the pillows inside, having a beautiful floor decor with a hello kitty blanket. you shoved some stuffies and a chew toy for the pup.

'oh! the blankets are done!' you swoop yourself across the house, again riley still following only lagging behind due to you being a lot faster and bigger than her. simon took out the ring, looking over his shoulder to see if you were still there. no? great. he tucked it under the pillows. he knew your dumb little brain wouldn't figure out where he placed his gift.

'simon! I need help please!' you shouted across the house. simon lifted himself up with a grunt. signally that he was coming to your rescue. when he arrived at the laundry room, he found his sweet girlfriend overwhelmed by huge pink and black blankets. riley was gnawing on one of the blankets and trying all her might to drag it back to the living room.

'I gotcha' ' simon took the weight off of you and carried the warm and fluffy blankets. he started to place some on top of the chairs and fluff them out. you were sti struggling, they were weighted blankets, you came back to see a nicely made fort by your boyfriend.

'ooh! so warm! what are we watching?' you plopped down under the fort, hugging your boyfriend's beefy arm. simon's other hand held the remote, scrolling through the catalog. 'maybe legally blonde eh? you're just like her. smart in your own way, but still a little silly' he said as he slightly tapped your head as you squished up. riley laid in between you and him. her nose was deep into the blanket, barking and growling at it. simon was starting to get worried. his smart little pup might spoil the surprise!

'riley! no! not on my clean sheets! no!' you scolded her as you picked up her small body and moved her to your right side. simon sighed, mentally of course. he was so thankful that you were dumb. if you had any sense, you'd at least ask or try to figure out what's under that pillow. 'well, yeah! i'll watch it.'

simon played the movie, the intro quickly grabbing your attention. you were basically drooling over the early to late 2000's fashion. the pink. the fits,the way they speak. gosh you just wanted to jump into ellie's world and just kiss her and be her best friend. all that going on, simon couldn't take his eyes off. your sweet smell and smile, your rosy and soft cheeks. the way you pointed out everything in that movie.

he remembers when he asked for soap how he should propose to you. he only has 10 minutes before the movie ends. maybe 30? he wasn't paying too much attention to it. soap said, ' I dunno. im single, why the hell are you askin' me?'

not much help, should've asked price before he left. damnnit. he couldn't let this soft moment go by. he needed you to be in his bed with a rock on your finger. nothing else. so maybe now? maybe after the movie? maybe-

'simon. something's poking my side can you see what's under there?' well shit..

might as well get it over with..

'okay. listen to me (reader).' you started to get worried. you knew what simon did as a job. you called it his pew pew job. very accurate if you will. 'simon you're scarin' me..' you whimpered. simon sat up, sneakily pushing the box behind his back. 'nothin' to be scared of.' he assured. 'you know I love you very much right?' you nodded, small tears swelling in your eyes, 'yeah?'

he softly placed the box in your hand. the tears started to flow even more. 'what's this?' you asked, holding the velvet box in your hand. 'I want you to be mine.' he hushed to you, his cheeks getting warm and softer, even with all the scars all over his pale face. 'what do you mean? I am yours!' you squealed.

'I want you to marry me doll..' he mumbled. your eyes opened wide, exposing the tears that have been spilling out. and all of a sudden your eyes are a fountain. you crashed your body into his chest, shaking your head yes as you wailed into his body. ' is that's a yes-'

'YES!'

a/n:it's a series now, gimme gimme GIMME YOUR IDEAS!!!!

[finchly-tintinnabulation]

- Scout's Honor -

Original Ultramarine (Aristaeus) x GN!Reader

Next>>

Tags: Dubious consent, space marine not knowing his own strength (blood), rutting behaviors, gets a bit spicy but the clothes stay on

First time posting my writing here as a newer WH40k fan (and possibly my first time writing 2nd person), this one being heavily inspired by @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond's The Bellowing, @jaghatai-khock's Rutting Season, @kit-williams's Space Marine Husbandry Bonds, and general rut/bond dynamics. This will probably become a series oops

- - -

The 10th company barracks had been unusually quiet for days with the absence of the more experienced scout squads, those who were no longer neophytes with the completion of their bio-augmentation but lacked the rank of battle-brother, still on the proving grounds of combat. With your assigned squadrons away, you had to admit it was a lot more boring to walk the halls performing your duties. 

You were not the most efficient or devout serf, and while that quality had protected you by keeping your head down upon the slaver ship, you had worried your rescuers would not take so kindly to those qualities. To your surprise, however, you found your place serving the Scions of Ultramar to be comfortable. Even if the recruits had forgotten whatever previous human life they had, they were rowdy and playful as any young man would be, and the centuries old officers were of a patient temperament. Listening to the chatter of the Astartes was the most interesting part of your day, their jests and discipline alike. 

There were only a handful of neophytes milling about and polishing their armor, so you decided to take advantage of most of the company’s absence to clean the barracks without getting underfoot. The thing that may have tipped you off to something out of the ordinary was the lack of other serfs as well, but at the time you paid it no mind, especially when there was nobody to fuss at you for not wanting to haul around a stepladder to reach the corners of Astartes-sized living quarters. 

Room to room you scrubbed away the soot left from long hours of burning candles and incense, climbing precariously up onto the edges of cots to wipe film from the walls and ceilings. Humming to yourself let you pass the time in peace, methodically going about your work and restocking incense where it was needed. 

That was until you were reaching up for a particularly stubborn stain and you were suddenly crushed to the wall you were supporting yourself against with the force of being run over by a tank. 

Your head smacked hard against the metal and your knees buckled, eyes watering as white hot pain shot through your nose, some huge growling mass huffing hot breaths into your ear. Panic quickly overtook you, uselessly squirming against the beast enveloping your form. Defying an angel would surely get you punished, but that didn’t cross your mind when acrid animal fear clouded your thoughts.

“Hey! Down!” You barked with all the air that hadn’t been pressed out of your lungs, tone scolding and authoritative with the memory of your family’s dogs from long ago. To your shock, it seemed to work. The weight retreated and you crumpled to your knees on the cot, heart jackrabbiting as you turned to see what manner of creature had jumped on you like prey. 

A scout marine perched on the edge of the bunk, still clutching your calves and looking like he’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, apparently freshly showered judging from his wet hair and fatigues. How someone so large could ambush you so silently was no longer a mystery. You recognized him as a member of Sergeant Telion’s squad though his name escaped you, a familiar face as one of the men whose belongings you tended to, a sniper with no small amount of talent praised for his composure and calmness. And you were in his room. 

“Oh sh— I’m so sorry, my sincerest apologies sir— my lord angel, I must excuse myself—“ Frantically you looked to the floor for the rest of your cleaning supplies to grab and make a break for it, but your plans were halted by a loud, forlorn whine. 

The scout’s brown eyes were huge and wet, taking on a glassy quality from shame and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Some unfocused desperation as he looked pleadingly up at you, his hands retreating to give your ankles a squeeze. 

“Uh— easy, there… I’m not mad.” More than a little bewildered, you ever so slowly turned to sit on the cot to face the man, feeling a twinge at the pathetic look on his face as if he hadn’t just pounced on you. Did he want to be comforted or something?

Just as slowly you reached out, and things were a bit more clear when he met your hand halfway by leaning in to nuzzle against it, chuffing happily. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity. Sure, there was some arguably pack-like behavior amongst the squadrons, but this marine was practically a puppy. 

“That’s it, you’re okay.” Petting his damp scruffy crew cut, you listened to what could be mistaken for the distant rumble of thunder grow into a purr that vibrated through your whole body. You thought that perhaps you had appeased the beast for a moment before he climbed up onto the cot and into your space, shoving his face into yours with superhuman speed. 

Lips and tongue intruded on your mouth and nose, making you sputter in shock as the scout lapped at your face, making you taste something metallic. You gasped and tried to wipe away the saliva, making the marine retreat long enough for you to see him lick blood off his teeth. Where did… oh, your nose had been bleeding from the impact. Fuck.

“Is this your way of saying sorry? Hey, gentle.” Gingerly scratching at his scalp, the licking eased up to something more like dog kisses on your cheek as the scout crowded his way practically into your lap. Fear almost entirely forgotten, there was something pleasant about the warm solid presence once again pinning you in place. “…Good boy.”

Physical affection was something you assumed to be a thing of the past. There was little time for it amongst the serfs when so much was taken up by work and prayer, you couldn’t help but bask in it even as the scout shifted to practically laying on top of you, wrapping his arms around your chest. Warmth and presence and deep breathing, comforts you had almost forgotten. 

The marine’s warm tongue traveled downwards, lingering on your jaw before his face was abruptly stuffed into the crook of your neck, drawing a breathless and undignified yelp from your throat. Lips and teeth sank into your trapezius, undoubtedly worrying dark marks into your skin between desperate huffs of hot breath. That also drew your attention to his meaty thighs straddling yours, and the jerky movement of his hips. 

How would this look? Remembering yourself and your station you wriggled experimentally, breath ragged and face heating from the movement and teasing mouth. It was no use; there was no escape from underneath a fully grown Astartes. If you called out for someone to get this brute off there was a good chance of you being implicated, possibly blamed as some sort of corrupting force to the future of the Ultramarines. It was probably best to ride out the scout’s affections. 

Honestly… in that moment you didn’t quite feel like complaining. Touch starvation could be a potent thing, and despite his size and weight the marine held you tenderly, his body enveloping yours in warmth and the smell of fresh linens and something… strange and syrupy. Your head spun, small clipped groans slipping from between your teeth as the man atop you bit and sucked the flesh between his, the ache it left feeling tingly and… pleasurable. There was a heat low in your gut, the friction of your trousers rubbing against his becoming dizzying. 

You hadn’t been touched like this in so long… sweet purring sent a rumble through your chest that made your limbs feel numb… you couldn’t properly clamp down on the noise you made as his hand pressed down on your stomach…

“Aristaeus, what do you have?” The scout froze, finally pulling away from your neck to cover you with his body, apparently trying to hide you from the booming voice about where you remembered the open doorway being. “Let me see.”

A drawn out whine reverberated through your chest but his mass retreated, allowing you to tip your head back and try to make out the fuzzy upside down figure behind you. 

“Se-Sergeant…?” You croaked, blinking dazedly as you recognized the elderly Astartes. He raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose

“Brother Aristaeus, give them to me.” Another whine. Despite the terrifying sensation of being caught, you realized the tone Sergeant Telion used; handling a disobedient dog. “Now, please.”

The weight holding you in place lifted at the same moment you were grabbed by the back of your tunic and hauled into the air, carried away by a speed walking and very miffed Scout Sergeant. 

“I’m— I’m sorry my lord, I was cleaning the scouts’ quarters and—“

“Were you not told?” Sergeant Telion muttered, fixing you with his mechanical eye. 

“Told what? I mean, no sir— my lord, I wasn’t.” You floundered, limp as a scruffed kitten. 

Telion sighed wearily, pushing open the door to what you vaguely remembered to be the debriefing room. “To stay out of sight.” He set you on the table to better fix you with his stare, steady and unwavering as any master marksman would be. 

“…No, lord angel. I was unaware I wasn’t permitted to go about my duties as usual. Most of the serfs here are— what I mean to say is, I may not be inundated with everything, as I arrived a few months ago.” Undoubtedly there were already marks blooming on your neck that the Sergeant had seen, but you clasped a hand over your throat, self conscious and feeling just as trapped as if he had been holding you there. 

“Mm. I will have to discuss this with the Master of Reconnaissance. Unfortunate, we haven’t had such complications for a while.” Stroking his beard, Telion began to turn away. 

“Please my lord, I apologize for any complications I have caused, forgive my transgressions!” Complications. Ice ran down your spine as you imagined any number of punishments you could face, clasping your hands to try and disguise your trembling. Going back to the Drukhari was a preferable fate to becoming a servitor.

“It’s alright, this is the result of oversight, not you.” His bushy white brows furrowed. “Although I regret to inform you that your role as a serf will be changing. A first rut bond must not interfere with training.”

[ramp-it-up]

Greater

Pairing: Pilot!Steve Rogers x Publicist! Reader

Word count:~3K

Summary: You let Steve know how you felt about him leaving you hanging.

This is part two to Great.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY Minors, DNI. Enemies to Lovers, and there was only one bed, angst, secrets, sexual frustration,allusion to dildos, Captain/Sir kink, praise/degradation kink, tight t-shirt and grey sweats on Steve, dirty talk, graphic sloppy oral, make receiving, face slapping. Not Beta’d. All errors are on me.

Notice: I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

DO NOT COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.

———-

Steve knew he should have avoided you when he came through the hotel lobby after his run to go back up to the room, but you eating breakfast solo on the terrace made him feel some kind of way. He watched as you gazed out over the Gulf of Genoa, feeling like a heel for leaving you in bed alone, but if he had stayed, you two would still be there.

Having you the way he did last night did not help his heart problem right now. You were taking up too much space in it, and he was afraid that the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. It couldn’t be. It was too soon for you. He’d fallen for you the moment he first saw you, and you didn’t even know when that was.

Your sister Aria, as clueless as she was, told your story: you hadn’t been with a man in a long time. Last night was just dumb luck for Steve, and physical need for you.

Being forced to stay in a space with such close quarters presented him the opportunity to get close to you, but it was disconcerting. He didn’t expect to be able to touch and kiss your most intimate places last night, but giving you pleasure was everything he’d dreamed of and more.

After putting you right to sleep, Steve felt a sense of accomplishment. But as he held you, he felt like a fraud, and soon escaped to go for a run on the beach to clear his head and calm his body.

Steve wanted nothing more than to give you more of the physical, which you clearly wanted. But what you needed was the truth. What he needed was your heart.

He looked down at his watch when he got a notification that Bucky had texted and planned to escape to the room, but when he looked back up, he was caught.

——

After you awoke in bed alone, you got out of bed and showered, frustrated. And why wouldn't you be?

Steve gave you the best head of your life last night, didn’t let you return the favor, and then ghosted you. You looked in the mirror and tried to figure out if your pussy was broken or something.

At least Jake appreciated it.

You nodded as you tried to convince yourself that a hunk of latex was sentient.

Aria texted you that she and Topher were staying in their suite today, and to reschedule the yacht ride. Your troubles were forgotten as you once again tried to move heaven and earth for your darling little superstar sister.

Aria’s change of plans, despite being a pain in the ass, was a definite plus. You could spend the day exploring this beautiful town on your own.

You sat on the terrace solo, after trying in vain to obtain another room in the sold out resort. You were torn between pettiness and being a simp for Steve Rogers. The sound of the ocean sent your mind drifting back to the night before, how good Steve’s hands and mouth felt on you. You shivered, and you felt the hair raise on the back of your neck.

You looked around, and finally, behind you, to catch Steve’s eyes, as blue as the Gulf, watching you. You gulped, and before you could stop yourself, waved him over. You saw him blanch, hesitate, but come over. You frowned.

He clearly couldn’t stand you, but you were going to set the record straight.

You weren't going to spend this whole week on pins and needles with him.

No way.

—--

Steve approached you hesitantly, squaring his shoulders to combat his nerves. He stood before you in military posture, hands behind his back. When you looked him up and down and raised your eyebrow, almost ready for anything, he couldn’t help the smile that began to form on his face.

You were trouble.

You watched Steve approach and your stomach did a somersault. Damn, he was fine. The sweat at the collar of his t-shirt, which was hanging on to his torso for dear life, was some kind of powerful magic. Your panties were about as damp. And when he stopped in front of you, perfect posture, cock so close, well, it took serious willpower to not get down on your knees in front of all these people.

You looked up at his sexy smirk. Damn him. You needed to know what was up.

“Morning, y/n. Did you sleep well?”

You crossed your legs, making his eyes follow the motion, and it was then that he gulped, fantasizing about reaching down and grabbing you up to take you back to bed.

“I slept very well, Steve, but did not wake up that way? Please, sit down. We need to talk.”

The words tumbled out before you had a chance to think, and you frowned.

Steve watched your face as he took a seat. You were not happy. And it was never a good thing when someone said that phrase. He had a feeling he knew exactly the way this conversation was going to go.

“I know what you are going to say, last night was a mistake. And I agree with you.”

“Oh?”

You exhaled as you sat back in your seat. That is not what you were going to say at all, but you were glad that Steve was coming out with what he really felt.

“We were caught up in the moment, jet lag, emotional…and I… I took advantage of that. I’m sorry.”

Steve looked up at the waiter who’d appeared and ordered water. You sipped your mimosa as you watched him, the red creeping up from his neck to his face, his cheeks flushed.

He was being genuine.

And sweet.

Being in the entertainment industry as long as you had, you learned to read people quickly.

“Taking advantage of me would entail making me suck your cock like I wanted to, Captain Rogers. Not you eating me out like a pro. I feel like I took advantage of you?”

Steve’s eyes got wide as he gulped down his water. He coughed.

You watched that tongue dart out and lick those ruby red lips after he caught his breath. Whew, that side smile. You began to take this as a challenge. Steve’s words didn’t match his actions right now, and you were determined to find out why.

His deep voice gave you a clue.

“‘D’you like that?”

The way Steve was looking at you right now was everything. You smiled and leaned forward, noticing how his eyes went to your cleavage. The way his pupils were blown told you more.

You were beginning to change your mind about how Steve Rogers felt about you. He at least wanted your body. You had power.

“Yes, Captain.”

Steve almost moaned. The way you looked, your sultry tone, the fact that you said ‘making you suck his cock.’ He cleared his throat as your words raced around his brain. ‘…like you wanted to…, Captain…’

Fuck, he was screwed.

He straightened up.

“I mean… that wasn’t cool…”

You straightened up as well, jutting your breasts out as if an invitation. Steve shifted in his seat. You were making things hard for him.

“No. No it wasn’t…”

You pouted, thinking of the way he left you hanging.

“Fix that face, y/n.”

Holy hell. That command. He did want you to hit the ground right there. But you had to push back.

“Hmmmm. I guess I’m supposed to say, ‘Yes, Sir,’ Or you’ll spank me like you promised…”

You smiled at him mischievously.

You were such a brat. You had to be stopped. Before he lost control again.

“I didn’t promise that, y/n…”

Steve’s voice was broken and he licked his lips before taking another drink of water.

“Oh? I thought you said that?”

You twirled your finger around the rim of your glass and then dipped two into your drink, placing them into your mouth and slowly pulling them out of those lips. Steve licked his in response

Steve knew what you were doing, but it was long past time to turn back now. Blood was rapidly leading his brain. He grunted unconsciously, determined to stay in control.

“I’m not doing this with you. I need to take a shower.”

Steve got up and stalked toward the elevators, and you sat, steaming, in your seat. You were shaking with emotion. You realized the true source of your frustration. You wanted Steve, you were sharing a room, and you were in a beautiful setting. You didn’t have to be a love match, but why not go for it?

You called the waiter over and asked him to charge your breakfast to the account.

~~~~~~~

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Steve wanted to pry them open to run back out to you. But space was the best answer right now. You were amping him up to do something reckless, something that would be irreversible. It was best that he kept his distance.

He entered the room and took off his shirt, going to the bathroom to turn on the water. He shook his head as he thought of you. You were such a menace.

When he turned around, there you were.

The look on Steve’s face was a little scary. You didn’t know if he was angry… or something else.

“....I need to get my…” Your eyes searched the bathroom. “...my lipgloss…”

You walked closer to him then turned toward the vanity and picked up a tube of your Glossbomb, leaning over toward the mirror, smearing a slick shiny across those lips.

Steve’s resolve began to crumble as he inhaled your scent and watched your lips shine. Your words came back to him. He wanted that mouth of yours.

You turned around.

“You didn’t answer my question, Captain.”

“What question was that, Doll?”

Steve moved closer to you, backing you up against the vanity. Your heart beat faster, but you pressed on.

“About the spanking…”

You felt dumb, but in a good way as Steve stared at you, seeing right through you. And then he smirked. He looked you up and down as he leaned forward and caged you in, hands on either side of you on the sink. Steam filled the room and came out of your ears.

“What I said was that I wanted to spank you when you were giving me attitude on the plane. Seems that was warranted. You don’t know when to stop.”

Steve’s voice broke as his breath fanned across your face. His mouth was so, so close to yours.

You sighed, and pouted again.

“I never stop, Captain. So does that make me a bad girl? I thought I was a good girl? It’s what you said last night.”

“I said that was a mistake.”

“What happened last night was a mistake, or saying that I’m a good girl?”

You were quick to reply as you cocked your head at him.

“Y’know, I wasn’t going to say that it was a mistake earlier. You put words in my mouth. That’s not what I want there…”

Steve slid his hand up your arm to your throat, and closed his fingers around it. It was nothing, almost, but enough to show you his power. You whimpered in his grip.

“You are maddening, you know that? You should leave well enough alone…”

You looked him in the eyes. You felt his hard cock against your stomach, even felt it jump as he searched your face and settled on your lips. You decided to try it.

“Let me go, and I’ll leave it alone… Don’t, and well, you can teach me how to be good again…”

Steve’s mind said to let you go, but it was his cock and his heart that made him do what he did next.

He whispered as he moved toward you, brushing the line of your jaw with his fingers. Your head was reeling from the sexy tone as you realized that he’d said, “Teach you a lesson…”

His lips slammed into yours, and his hands roamed your body, laying claim to what he wanted. You moaned as his tongue decimated you, letting him take what he wanted. When you separated, he asked you a question.

“What do you want in your mouth, y/n?”

“I want your cock in my mouth, Captain.”

“That sounds… “

Steve rested his forehead against yours. Your words gave him the image, and he couldn't resist. He cleared his throat again, then his blue eyes captured yours. Steel.

“Go sit on the edge of the bed…”

“Yes, Sir.”

The way he clenched his jaw had your pussy doing the same as you practically skipped to the next room and did as you were told. He was standing right in front of you again, running his palm down his hardness outside of his sweats. Your heart beat with anticipation.

You whined when he reached inside his sweats and pulled it out. It looked so big, so hard, the peach mushroom tip weeping and pretty, but big. You looked up at him with wide eyes.

The way you suddenly looked scared made Steve get even harder.

“You sure this is what you want?”

He was stroking his cock, and using his thumb to lubricate himself. He was restraining himself from touching you, but you didn’t know that, all that you saw was the sexy veins bulging down his arms as he jacked it in front of you.

“Y-yes…”

You reached for it and Steve moved closer, moaning when your small, cool hand closed around his hot throbbing staff. When you started pumping him was when his head started swimming.

“God, Doll…”

Your mouth fell open, those glossy lips a magnet for his cock. He didn’t know if you were leaning towards him, or if he were moving closer to you, but none of that mattered when your lips and tongue made contact.

He hissed at the sensation.

“SSsssss, y/n,”

He looked down at you as you stared up at him. You were entranced, his smell of musk and sweat was intoxicating.

“Those eyes. That mouth. Open. Wider.”

He had a grip on your chin, firmly pulling your jaw down to accommodate him.

As you kept eye contact, you saw a ferality that made you shiver. You wanted that look on you forever. You tried to unhinge your jaw as Steve slid his smooth cock inside your mouth.

He stopped once your mouth was full, but you continued, allowing his access to your throat.

“Ohhhhh. So goood...”

Steve pulled out of your mouth and stuck two fingers in, watching as you licked and sucked them, pumping his wet cock with your hand.

“That mouth. You’re not giving me any sass now, are you?”

He held your chin again and looked you in the eye, lighty slapping your jaw.

You gasped, then smiled and shook your head as you eagerly sucked along the side of his dick.

“No, Sir,” you replied, your mouth full of Steve.

You stuck your tongue out and deep throated him bobbing slowly as you pumped him with your hand.

“Go ahead. Get sloppy with it.”

You spit on his dick as you went to town, going faster when Steve gathered your hair in his hand and moved you at his preferred pace.

“Look at me when you do that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, thighs clenching at his tone.

“Look at you. Are you a slut for this cock already?”

You pulled off with a plop to spit again.

“Yes, Captain.”

And you started glugging him, moving your hand and making Steve’s knees weak.

“Holy Fuck, that’s good. Yessss.”

You smiled at the praise and started jacking him against your outstretched tongue.

“Yes, yes, yessss. Suck the tip again. That fucking mouth.”

You did as you were told, taking him inside and jacking what didn’t fit.

Steve started moaning and pulled your hair so that you looked up at him.

“Stop if you don’t want my cum in your mouth.”

You jacked him even faster.

“I want it, Captain..”

You slapped his cock against your lips and then resumed sucking as Steve grunted and buried his fingers in your hair.

“So… fucking… good… good girl…fuckkk! I’m cumming. Dirty girl. That mouth is so damn good.”

Steve was full of contradictory praise as he held his balls and you jacked his cock fast, allowing your mouth to make the most pornographic sounds around him.

“Oh! Oh shit ohshit oooooh oooohh shitttttt!”

You slowed down when you felt the first spurt against your tongue and you let it fall out of your mouth. Steve was hypnotized as he took his cock and pumped it into your mouth as you swallowed.

“What a dirty little girl. Good girl gone bad. You love this, don’t you?”

You nodded as you swallowed, your eyes tearing as the cum squirted into your throat.

“Fuuuuuucckkkk.”

Steve was profane as he watched you swallow it all and clean him up.

“That was amazing, Doll. Thank you.”

He reached down and traced your swollen lips with his thumb. He knew what you wanted, what you needed next. But there was really no turning back from that.

“I think we’re even now. I’m going to go take that shower.”

Steve turned and went back into the bathroom, leaving you to wonder which was greater, your need or your pride.

———

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Barbie Girl 💄 | Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin Imagine

Takes place before, during, and after the events of Top Gun Maverick

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Barbie!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content warnings: light profanity, fluff | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4.3k

Requested 📨 yes/no (for @kayla-swiftly)

Premise: They say the sky is the limit and anything you set you’re mind to will be achieved as long as you’re dedicated to it. For most people that testimony is nothing but a mere fantasy. But for one woman, with too many dreams to count on her fingers, she took that statement to heart. Proving you can be anyone you want to be and maybe even a few others give or take 😉

Note: Anyone else obsessed with Barbie lately?? Omg y’all I saw the movie last week and absolutely fell in love and i had this request from around the time the final trailer dropped and knew it was the perfect time to write this. I know I know I haven’t been living up to my promise of being consistent but man they having me working my ass off at my job. Also I’ve been traveling and I saw Big Time Rush last night (i felt like a teenager again and it was amazing 😭) anyway I hope you enjoyed this and let me know what you think!

—————————

“Hi, Barbie!” The familiar greeting fills Y/n’s ears as it does every morning she arrives at the hangar. With it comes an instant smile, hand raising to wave at the person responsible for it, “Hi, Phoenix!”

“Hey there, Barbie,” winks another friendly face.

“Hiiii, Hangman,” her tone is playful like his, turning energetic for Bob when he goes, “Hiya, Barbie!”

“Hi there, Bob!”

“Hey, Barbie.” “Good morning, Barbie.” “What’s up, Barbie Girl.”

“Hello, Rooster.” “Good morning to you too, Fanboy.” “Nothing much, Pay. And yourself?”

Unlike her fellow pilots, clad in their deep green flight suits, Y/n stood out in the crowd for hers was a little unorthodox when one thinks of a naval fighter pilot's uniform.

It was pink. Completely as in her combat boots were also the bright color and the patchers were white and pink tones rather than red, blues, black and any other color seen in the ones attached to her coworkers arms. ‘Barbie’ in pink cursive writing instead of traditional bold Times New Roman lettering.

And don’t forget the little flower dotting the ‘i’.

Growing up, Y/n took ‘you can be anyone and anything you want to be,’ quite literally. At no point was it a joke to her when she would tell her friends and family, “oh I’m gonna be a fashion designer and Olympic Gold medalist when I’m older,” “I wanna go to space, fly in planes, and see all the wonders of the world,” “I’ll be a doctor, a teacher, and movie star!” They’d smile and laugh, thinking it was adorable for a little girl to dream big. No way would it be possible to achieve all of those careers. Everyone only gets one life to live and time goes so fast one can only set their eyes on one path and hope for the best.

But Y/n was a dreamer. And if you’re going to dream, might as well dream big.

All through middle and high school people took Y/n’s intelligence for granted. Focusing more on her beauty rather than brains, it came as an under shock to everyone when Y/n had the credits to graduate at the ripe age of 15. Exceeding in her standardized test scores with a high school resume taking up three pages with extracurricular and academic achievements, she had colleges from all over the country begging for her to apply.

Stanford. Cornell. Pratt. Juilliard. NYU. John Hopkins. Harvard. UCLA. Duke. Top medical and law schools. Ivy League universities. Performing Arts schools calling for auditions after sending scouts to watch her perform in school plays and dance recitals. Coaches from high ranking NCAA gymnastics teams sending emails after emails.

So many to choose from….And so the story of Y/n L/n becoming a real life Barbie Doll begins.

Setting her eyes in New York, Y/n attended not one but two of the best schools in the country. While obtaining her bachelor’s in both astronautical and aeronautical engineering at NYU Y/n also completed a two year degree in Fashion Business Management at the Fashion Institute of Technology. During this time she continued training for the Olympics in hopes of making the 2008 Beijing team in gymnastics.

“How do you do it?” Her roommate at NYU constantly asked. “You go from here to FIT, working on two degrees that are completely on opposite sides of the spectrum and career paths,” she emphasized with hand expressions, “and still have enough to time to go to the gym to practice, eat three meals a day, have all your assignments done early, and sleep a reasonably about of hours each night.” Letting out an exhale, her roommate looks at Y/n as if she’s an alien from another world, “What’s your secret? Are you some kind of Barbie doll the government created as a test robot?”

Each time Y/n would pause, think for a moment before smiling, “I don’t know if I should find that as an insult or compliment, but I’m gonna chose it as a compliment and say it’s because I want to live a life where I can look back on and go, ‘I took a risk and tried something new even if it didn’t look possible but it was all worth it.’”

By the time Y/n turned 20 she had accumulated a vast list of credentials to her name. The list included getting her fashion business degree at 17, Bachelors in astronautical/aeronautical engineering at 19–receiving her Master’s for it at 20–An Olympic Gold and Silver medalist, dancing with the Radio City Rockettes, performing with the NYC Ballet Company in their rendition of Swan Lake, landing a role on Broadway, walking a runway at NY fashion week, and appearing on episodes of SVU, 30 Rock, All My Children, Sex and the City, and Ugly Betty.

So yeah, New York was a success in experiences for Y/n.

Following the high note, she packed her bags to leave the golden apple for the flashing lights of Hollywood, California. This time Y/n was working on her doctorates at USC, running her own business with her fashion degree called ‘Dream Closet’, and auditioning for film and tv shows.

Hollywood was a dream come true just like New York. Again she attended two different schools, this time flight school and USC. During the day she was occupied running from class to the hangar and then the observatory. Coaching dance and gymnastics on the side, designing clothes for her online shop which developed into a pop-up chain store in malls across America.

It wasn’t long until Y/n’s name grew into nationwide popularity. People started realizing the Y/n L/n who won the Gold and Silver medals in the 2008 Olympics was the same one responsible for the most recent fashion trends and guest starring on their favorite tv shows. What really set it in stone was when Y/n landed the role of an engineer officer in the 2009 reboot of Star Trek, going on to appear in both the 2013 and 2016 sequels.

Impressive was the only word her costars could use to describe her. What else was there?

Anytime there was a question involving, “who’s most likely to become president?” “Who’s most likely to try something new or create a new hobby?” “Who’s most likely to win a Nobel Prize?” Along those lines…the answer was obvious.

“Oh Y/n,” Zoe Saldana waves her hand, “Always.”

“Yeah,” Chris Pine agrees with a laugh, “That woman, I-I don’t know how one has the energy to do all that she does—a-and still want to do more.”

The Interviewer laughs with them, “didn’t she just race in the Daytona 500 last year?”

“Yes!! And she did a song with Lady Gaga when they were on American Horror Story,” Zoe’s tone is in absolute awe, “All while teaching at USC and creating new technology at NASA.” Chris lifts a finger.

“Don’t forget she had her own Mac Viva Glam line a couple years ago.” Zoe made a sound along the lines of ‘see what I mean,’.

“I’m telling you, she’s gonna be a name in the history books.”

What all has Y/n accomplished career wise? Let’s take a look.

Model, dancer, actor, singer, fashion designer, entrepreneur, athlete, engineer, race car driver, and professor.

And now she can add pilot to the list. Although she got her license to fly way back in 2009, Y/n didn’t put it to use full time until 2016, wanting to wait until after the release of Star Trek: Beyond to say goodbye to Hollywood for the time being and set forth on her next adventure.

Boy did it come as a surprise what she had planned.

The Manila folder containing her resume hit the desk of the Admiral, his eyes wide as saucers. “You wanna join the Navy?” Reading the front page for a fifth time, Cyclone glanced back at the woman in front of him. Doctor Y/n L/n. Or is it professor L/n? “And you wanna be one of my pilots?”

“Yes, Sir.”

”Ma’am, I apologize if this comes off as offending,” he really didn’t know any other way to put it. “But you are more qualified than any person on this base. Doctorates in aeronautical and astronautical engineering from the University of Southern California,” he counts off on his fingers, “you recently developed a groundbreaking advancement in space technology that’s going to help our astronauts—on the road to becoming a Nobel Prize nominee.” He raises his eyebrows, “And this is only what relates to this career field. I’m not even mentioning your acting, athletic, and fashion credentials. Why join the Navy?”

Y/n only offers a shrug, “I think the better question is, why not?” Cyclone lets out a sigh.

“What did you say your callsign was again?”

“Barbie.”

There was no stopping the small smile trying to break free, “I should’ve guessed.”

After completing OTS there was much debate on what Y/n’s rank would be coming into the Navy. Civilian lawyers and physicians often are Lieutenants (O-3) right away, but considering Y/n had two doctorate degrees and her pilot license they felt it was only fair for her to come in as Commander (O-5). From there Y/n was sent to North Island to attend Fighter Weapons School.

Better known to its flyers as Top Gun.

Y/n was used to the looks she received on a daily basis. From head to toe she was covered in variations of pink depending on what she was feeling. When teaching her briefcase and pantsuit were baby pink, in the labs her coat was hot pink, at auditions she wore pink leather jackets. Even her race car for the Daytona was pink.

Shoutout to Mac cosmetics for the sponsorship.

So it’s no surprise her flight suit would be the color she was known for—despite it being out of regulations.

Being more qualified than your superiors had its perks.

If she could have a pink F-18 she would but unfortunately that wasn’t possible. That was okay for Y/n. After all, she managed to get her own custom flight suit. One which had everyone having to do double takes whenever she walked into a room.

“Is she wearing…?”

“How the hell did they allow that?”

“Does that mean I can have mine in purple?”

Her first day at Top Gun Y/n met Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace. They were paired as roommates in the dorms and quickly became good friends. Phoenix was beyond amazed with Y/n’s accomplishments and experiences. Every conversation led to a new discovery. “Do you ever burn out?” Nat stag criss crossed on Y/n’s satin pink bed sheets, admiring her wall of photos from when she traveled to see all the wonders of both the ancient and modern world. “I feel I’d be a walking corpse from exhaustion. And you mentioned you’re still running and designing clothes for ‘Dream Closet’?”

Y/n removed her diamond studs, placing them on her desk she was using as a vanity. “I have a team dealing with the business side of things for the brand. I’m still CEO and creative director—usually I work on designs for a couple hours before bed to prepare for the next launch.”

Nat was in awe, “I have to ask….what’s been the best career you’ve done so far?” A common question Y/n heard, there was never a true answer. She loved every career. They all had their perks and their flaws, but at the end of the day it left her satisfied she achieved them.

“I don’t know yet,” she spoke truthfully, “I still have a few to check off on my list. When that happens I’ll let you know.”

Fast forwarding to 2019, Y/n answered the phone to Admiral Simpson’s voice with the news she needed to report back to North Island for a highly confidential mission. The details were unknown, but Y/n packed her bags, loaded her pink vintage corvette convertible and high tailed it to sunny San Diego.

The squeals initiated by Y/n and Nat the moment she stepped foot in the Hard Deck had heads whipping in their direction. “Hi, Barbie!” Nat’s arms opened for a hug.

“Hi, Phoenix!” Y/n accepted the embrace, still grinning ear to ear. The guys around them were looking at each other like, ‘what the…?’ Y/n wasn’t in her standard Khakis like they were—minus Rooster. She bore a pink denim number with matching boots with her hair curled and pink eyeliner surrounded by tiny rhinestones.

“You got selected too?” Nat complimented her outfit before cutting straight to the point.

“For the special detachment? Looks like it,” she winked.

“What happened to the Artemis program? Weren’t you up as a candidate?”

“Oh I still am,” Y/n affirmed proudly, “They’ll be announcing who’s to be selected in the coming months. So for now I’m still with the Bounty Hunters. Plus,” she leans in to whisper, “this will look good on my resume.” The two giggle before Y/n drifts her gaze to the boggling gazes in front of her. “Oh! I’m sorry for being so rude. I’m Y/n L/n,” extending her hand to the first person who’s name tag read Fitch, Y/n added, “But you can call me Barbie.”

“Barbie,” the blonde holding a pool cue repeated like a question, “like the toy Barbie?” Nat chuckled, throwing an arm around her friend after she was done shaking everyone’s hand as they introduced themselves.

“Fellas, if there is anyone who is a life sized version of Barbie, it’s this one right here.”

“Now, Phee…” Y/n’s tone was that of, ‘Don’t start.’

“It’s true,” the pilot defended. “Not only is she Commander Y/n ‘Barbie’ L/n,” jaws drop, “but she’s Professor and Doctor L/n.” The jaws hit the floor, “On top of founder, creative director and CEO of ‘Dream’s Closet,’” Javy makes a sound, familiar with the brand, “Emmy nominated actress,” Fanboy chokes on his water, “Olympic Gold Medalist and soon to be astronaut for the Artemis program.” By now all the guys are on the verge of losing their minds.

Bob rapidly blinks, “uh—.”

“Now I’m not an astronaut yet,” Y/n points out, “I’m a candidate for one.” Nat scoffs lightly.

“They’d be stupid not to pick you, Barb,” she then slaps her side, turning back to the guys, “Oh and how could I forget Broadway, Vogue, and the Daytona 500.”

“Daytona 500!?” Payback practically screeches.

“You were on Broadway?”

“—featured on Vogue—?!”

“Wait a minute I recognize you from Star Trek!”

“—How in the hell—.”

“Guys, guys!” Y/n laughs with her hands slightly raised, “Please, one at a time.” They were in for a long night of questions and story times. And just like Nat was years prior when she first roomed with Y/n at Top Gun, the officers were in complete amazement over the woman in front of them. Never had they met anyone like her.

“Wow,” Jake whistled once she finished bringing them up to date on her most recent careers. “You really are a real-life Barbie.”

“Shhhh,” a finger went to her lips, followed by a wink, “don’t tell Mattel.”

And thus the dagger squad was formed. Two and half weeks of hell bearing training preceding a face-with-death mission brings people closer. Every morning Y/n arrived at the hangar to a chorus of “Hi, Barbie.”

She waved at Reuben, “Hi Payback.”

“Hey there, Barbie Girl,” Javy threw her a peace sign.

“Hiya, Coyote!”

“Good morning, Barbie,” Rooster tipped his hat.

“Mornin’, Rooster.”

“Hi, Barbie!” “Hi, Barbie!” Her favorite duo harmonized.

“Hi, Bob! Hi, Phee!”

And for some closer than others….

“You know I was thinking,” Jake commented, taking Y/n’s hand before leading her to the pottery class he signed them up for. Every Friday night was reserved for date night. Dinner and a movie. Walk on the beach. Spending $20 worth of quarters at an arcade. Attending a comedy show. Paint and sip. Following the successful mission, Jake and Y/n hit it off and began seeing each other.

“Famous last words.”

“It’s not bad,” a chuckle left his lips, stopping at the door. “I just thought it was funny. You know how you’re basically Barbie?” His cheeky smile resulted in her mirroring it.

“Yessss.”

“This means I’m pretty much your Ken, right?” The question makes the woman visible ‘awe’. Jake ruffles a hand through his hair and gives his best blue steel, “we kinda look alike. Don’t you think?”

Laughing, Y/n kisses his cheek, “I mean…name a more iconic duo than Barbie and Ken.”

“Barbie and Hangman?”

“Exactly.” It was safe to assume what their Halloween costumes were going to be.

Time went on, missions were run. And after a year of anticipation—though it felt like forever, it was finally announced in 2020 Y/n would be one of the astronauts selected to be part of NASA’s Artemis program launching in 2024.

Making Y/n the first woman to go to the moon.

The call came in from a restricted number when they were in a meeting, and knowing she was to expect a call within the month everyone quickly shut up so the pilot could answer.

She excused herself to leave the room, staying in front of the window so the team could see her. Throughout the conversation Y/n’s expression remained neutral to the point none had a clue whether the news was good or bad. Only when she reentered the room did they get the answer.

“I’m going to the moon!!!”

“Ahhh!!!!” The team exploded in an array of cheers, Y/n jumping up and down, careful not to drop her phone that was in her hands when Jake lifted her in his arms.

“I’m so fucking proud of you!” Despite being unauthorized to show pda in uniform, Jake gave her a big kiss on the lips, not caring who saw. “You are the most exceptional human being on this planet.”

“Jake,” tears welled in her eyes, which he kissed away. Her heart filled with warmth and gratitude. Feeling on top of the world with her closest friends supporting her.

Once all calmed down and they finished the meeting, Mickey jumped from his seat, “Come on Barbie, let’s go party!” Everyone sped to the Hard Deck to celebrate the news. Mav bought the first round, followed by Payback.

“Guys you don’t have to do all that,” Y/n said once she realized they all agreed to buy her drinks for the night.

“We want to,” Nat tapped her beer with Y/n’s cocktail glass, the guys voicing agreements. “For years you’ve been dreaming about this and it’s finally happening. Your hard work is paying off and we want to celebrate—show you we love and appreciate you, Barbie.”

Y/n fought back tears, never afraid to show her emotions. Some may find it childish or thinned skin, but to Y/n that was what being human was all about. “I love you guys.”

“We love you!” The voices echoed together.

The night had been going well with the squad hanging out by the pool tables like they usually did when Y/n approached the bar to pick up the next round Mickey was paying for. Not paying attention to those beside her, she smiled at Penny and repeated the order before waiting patiently.

But what’s a night at a bar without someone who lacks boundaries.

“You must be the one they call Barbie,” a voice says, flirtation seeping through the words. Glancing to her right, Y/n recognizes a gentleman from the flight line whose name she could not recall. “You’re quite the talk around base. In fact, weren’t you in some Hollywood blockbuster?”

“Yes,” she politely responds, keeping the answer short. Though she was known to be a sweetheart and kindhearted to anyone she met, Y/n could tell where the interaction was heading toward and did not feel comfortable entertaining it any further. “A long time ago.”

“I’m Lieutenant Paul Billings,” he extended his hand, and she immediately clocked he was trying to show off his rank. ‘Boy he’s in for a treat.’

Not wanting to make a scene, she accepts the handshake. “Commander Y/n L/n,” there was emphasis on the Commander, displaying the woman was of higher rank and therefore a silent warning to Billings to not cross a line.

There was a flash of surprise on his face. Y/n held back an amused laugh, ‘guess you didn’t hear everything.’

“Something the matter, Lieutenant?”

“No,” he brushes it off, “Nothing. Say,” he nods to the bar, “can I buy you a drink.” Did he not just hear her order a round for the people she came with?

“That’s kind of you,” she starts just as Penny arrives with a try full of cold beers and her usual cocktail. “But I’m all set, thank you.” Hands moving to take the tray, she jumps slightly at the feeling of his own coming to her wrist.

“What about lunch this week?”

“I’m sorry but I am spoken for, Lieutenant,” removing his hold, Y/n takes a step away.

Now Paul had lost his reasonable composure. Scoffing, he says, “What? Am I not enough for you?” The question results in her raising a brow.

“I beg your pardon?”

He makes a face, “You think because you’ve done all these careers and occupations that you’re better than the average person? I’m not a pilot and an actor or researching the cure for cancer while creating a documentary series,” venom seeps through his tone, obviously depicting his jealousy, “Basic is not up to your standards, so you have to throw our failures in our face as if we don’t already know.”

By now a crowd has formed. Jake started moving the second he noticed Billings etching too close to his girl, followed by Nat and the others who were ready to back him up. Behind the bar, Penny was fixing to ring the bell until being stopped by Y/n’s wave of the hand.

“Are you done?”

Paul’s expression was that of, “what?” No audible response was voiced therefore Y/n continued.

“Okay, I’m gonna go ahead and say this, Paul,” Y/n drops her shoulder. The change in body language let Jake and her friends know she wasn’t taking anything that the man said personally. “I know I should be offended by your insults and insinuations, but the truth is I’m not.” A small smile forms on her lips, “I don’t view myself higher than anyone because of what I accomplished. The only person I do that to, is myself—because I don’t have to prove to no one but me that I am capable of achieving what I set my mind to. And yeah,” a light chuckle escapes, “I’ve set my mind to a lot of things—way more than the average person. But that doesn’t mean you or anyone else can’t do the same.”

Pausing Y/n takes a breath before exhaling, “You look at me, and hate the way it makes you view yourself. Makes you believe you’re a failure because you didn’t follow the path you hoped to make for yourself.” Paul’s expression shifts to one of solemnity, like he was thinking of his younger self who had dreams and aspirations. Mourning what could have been.

It made Y/n sad for him. Empathetic despite him attacking her. “One thing I’ve learned over the years…is time is what you make of it. Life is about taking risks. You can still set out to do whatever it is you wish, as long as you’re committing to taking the risk no matter how scary it is. Sure you’ll find obstacles and it’ll feel like the whole world is against you. But determination will guide you through the walls, and you will be successful so that you can look back and think, ‘it was worth it.’ As cliche as it sounds,” she couldn’t hold back a laugh, “Barbie isn’t a person or an object you can obtain. Barbie is a mindset. And you have to unlock it in your own way, Paul.”

It was so quiet in the building, a pin could drop and everyone would hear it. Their looks of awe, admiration, and even newfound motivation by Y/n’s speech. Impressed by how classy she handled what very well could have been a scream match between rival squadrons.

Behind Billings the Dagger squad stood with proud smirks at their friend. Especially Jake, who caught Y/n’s eyes and threw her a wink. Nat gave the woman a salute, a silent gesture to say, ‘you inspire me everyday.’

And Billings? Well he was at a loss for words.

Patting his shoulder, Y/n grabbed the tray of drinks, “I wish you luck, Paul.” Thanking Penny, who gave her a proud nod and replied, “this ones on the house,” Y/n returned to her friends where she was met with a sweet kiss from Jake, claps on the back and “You go girl!” “Tell them who’s boss.” “Damn, you made me wanna go out there and live life the way I should.”

“What’s stopping you, Javy?” she handed him a beer, “the world is your playground.”

A couple hours later it was time to call it a night. Hugs went around, promises to meet up the following night and tabs were closed.

On their way out, Jake dropped a kiss to Y/n forehead, pulling her close to him as he led her to the door of the parking lot, “So what’s next for you, doll? You’ve proved you can be anything and anyone you chose to be,” he grins at her, “What will you set your mind to now after space?”

“First, I want to write a book—I think that’s something a lot have been waiting for me to do. Afterwards, well, I’ll have to wait a couple more years, but,” The corner of Y/n’s lips lift up before flashing a dazzling smile, “I’m thinking….the Oval Office is in need of a makeover. Don’t you think?”

Then, before he could answer, Y/n turns her head in the opposite direction as if she’s trying to find a hidden camera. Makes eye contact with you, the reader, winking before turning back to Jake where she sets off on her next adventure.

…………….

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris

[gxr25256]

Unspoken Wounds - Overlord x reader (2)

🌵 Story belongs to PotatooftheLand (they deleted the work and I'm really sad).

🌵 I just rewrote the story according to what I remember reading and according to my imagination.

----------------------------

The days stretched into weeks, and each one felt heavier than the last. The echo of metal crumpling, the splattering of energon—these sounds became the background music of your life with Overlord. You were drowning in his obsession, struggling to find your place in a world that had shifted beneath your feet. The space between you grew wider, filled with unspoken words and unshed tears, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge.

You find yourself sitting on the edge of the dock, the cold place where he should be lying with you. You stared out at the steel-gray skyline, your heart heavy with an overwhelming sense of loneliness. Memories of laughter, shared dreams, and quiet moments together replayed in your mind, juxtaposed with the stark reality of your current situation. Overlord had transformed from a devoted partner into a distant specter, consumed by the allure of violence and the thrill of combat.

Each evening, as he returned home after a night at the arena, he would regale you with tales of his latest exploits, his optics gleaming with a fierce excitement that both thrilled and terrified you. You would listen, forcing a smile while your spark twisted in agony. His triumphs were now a barrier, a wall that kept you from reaching him. You could see the way he transformed in the light of the holoscreen, a gladiator relishing his victories while you felt like a ghost haunting the edges of his life.

“You should have seen it, Sweetspark!” he had exclaimed one night, his voice rising with enthusiasm. “I tore through them like they were nothing! I can’t wait for the next match. I’ll be the champion!” His words hung in the air like a challenge, and you forced a smile, nodding along even as despair settled in your spark. The excitement in his voice was infectious, but it only served to highlight your growing alienation.

“That’s… great, Overlord,” you managed to reply, but the hollow sincerity of your tone did not escape either of you. His gaze flickered momentarily, the warmth in his optics dimming as if he sensed your reluctance. But he quickly shook it off, turning back to the screen as if it were more important than the silence that had settled between you.

You had tried to express your discomfort with his new obsession. On countless occasions, you had begged him to find a different pastime, to spend time with you instead. “I just can’t join you in this,” you would say, trying to convey your feelings. “It’s too brutal… it’s not who you are.” But each time, your words fell on deaf audio receptors. He would shrug it off with a casual wave, dismissing your concerns as mere preferences, as if your feelings were nothing more than a minor annoyance.

The culmination of your pain came one evening when you stood at the threshold of the living room, watching him revel in another match, the screen flashing with images of destruction and violence. The energy in the room felt oppressive, suffocating you as you felt the cracks in your spark deepen. That was when you realized how far apart you had grown, how much he had changed. It was not just a hobby anymore; it had become an obsession, a part of his identity that you could no longer reconcile with the Overlord you once loved.

As the energon and chaos played out before him, you felt a burning need to be heard, to reclaim the attention that had been so thoroughly diverted. “Overlord!” you had shouted, a mixture of frustration and sorrow flooding your voice. “Look at me!” The words spilled out before you could think. He turned slowly, the surprise in his optics giving way to a familiar dismissive gaze.

“What is it now?” he asked, almost bored, the excitement of the match still thrumming through him. It felt like a slap to the face. How could he be so indifferent? It was in that moment you realized that he would never understand—never see the pain etched in your spark.

The conversation spiraled into a tense exchange, a whirlwind of emotions as you poured out your heart. You spoke of your fears, your hurt, and your longing for the gentleness that once defined your relationship. “I miss you, Overlord,” you confessed, tears welling in your optics. “The you I fell in love with. The one who cared about more than just the thrill of the fight.” His expression hardened at your words, the vulnerability that once flickered in his optics extinguished by a wall of pride and anger.

“I don’t understand why you can’t accept who I am now,” he snapped, frustration spilling over. “This is a part of me, and you should be proud to stand by my side!” His tone shifted from disbelief to irritation, and your spark sank further. The realization hit you like a cold blast of air—he was no longer the Overlord you knew.

In the days that followed, the silence grew louder. Each glance at the empty space beside you felt like a reminder of your loss. You could no longer endure the chasm that had opened between you, the hurt that had festered too long. One night, in a moment of clarity and desperation, you sat down at the table with a piece of scrap metal and a piece of chalk. The words flowed from your hand, each stroke of the chalk a release of the pent-up emotions that had built over time.

It was a simple message, but it felt like the heaviest weight you had ever carried. You pause, a spark of pain shooting through you as you contemplate the words you're writing. But deep down, you knew it was necessary.

That night, when lying on the dock, you felt both relieved and sad about what was about to happen. You closed your optics, wishing for the warmth of his embrace, but knowing it was no longer an option. Only silence embraces you.

-------------------------------

[mysticwolfshadows]

Taken - Zutara - Part 79

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Katara had been right. By the end of her first week back in the South, Northern boats appeared on the horizon. But it wasn't just women looking to learn combat bending. There were women escaping arranged marriages, men that wanted to be healers, and mothers helping their children escape the oppression and sexism of the North.

One had brought a letter from Yue, explaining that she had been finding anyone that was starting to question Agna Qel'a and it's leaderships choices, and helping them flee with directions to the South. She had been doing so in secret, ever since her wedding to Hahn.

"We're... gonna need more houses," Sokka said, as they realized that the chances of more arrivals were high.

The rebuilding effort of their village was coming along nicely.

The Wani had been loaded with materials before its departure, which had helped turn their little snow huts into little snow houses. Captain Jee hadn't been able to stay, bringing any of the Fire Nation refugees that wanted to leave back to the Fire Nation. A few had stayed, one man having found a woman that he was quite taken with, while others found the peace of the little village more appealing than the hustle of most Fire Nation cities.

And, of course, there was Rinzo and Taka. The two soldiers hovered and smiled, doing anything that she asked, save for leave her alone for five minutes. She supposed, if they already saw her as their Fire Lady, it would be good practice for when she took the position officially.

For the new benders, they decided to build an all in one school. One side for combat training, the other for healing. It would go where her healers hut had been. They were able to bend the snow into a rough thick shape of what they wanted. Sokka and a few of the more architecturally inclined would go in and smooth out their work to make it look nice.

With the Fire Nation citizens that stayed, and the Northern Tribesmen that joined them, almost the entirety of Wolf Cove had been rebuilt, in a more modern style. They had a longhouse again, next to the bending school. There was currently construction on a larger, more secure storehouse.

If Katara hadn't been there to see construction begin, she likely wouldn't recognize it.

It was at the end of the week that Aang finally arrived on Appa.

"Whoa," Aang said, as he dropped off of Appa and looked around. "This is... I know I only saw it for a minute, but it's way different!"

"With my dad and the warriors home, we need the extra space," Katara said. She shrugged, putting her hands in the sleeves of her red koala-sheep tunic. It was getting tight again. "How's Zuko?"

Immediately, Aang cringed. "He's... Fine. Juggling Azula, foreign affairs proposals, internal issues. He's got his hands full, that's for sure."

Her heart sank. "I wish I was there to help. Did he... decide what to do with Azula?"

Aang nodded. "I took her bending."

The confession was grim, and Katara felt the weight of it as heavily as Aang did. It was a terrible decision to have to make. Azula was only a few months older than Katara, and it was Ozai that really pushed Azula into what she became, but there really wasn't much else they could do. Azula needed help, but she was too dangerous to be given it without a safeguard in place.

There had been no other options.

"Come on," Katara said, redirecting the conversation. People were starting to gather around them. "My dad is in the long house. You have a plan for the peace summit?"

"I do," Aang said, though he didn't seem sure.

Deciding not to press him, especially since she'd be getting answers soon enough anyway, Katara led him into the long house. It was by far the largest building in the tribe, meant to be able to have standing room for every member, and they built it with their soon to be growing population in mind.

"Avatar Aang," her father called, from where he was going over maps of the surrounding area with Sokka.

Her mother looked up from where she was braiding cords nearby, frowning. "Aang? The boy that attacked Zuko?"

Aang sheepishly laughed. "Err... Yeah, sorry. Katara and Sokka had just told me about the war, and I kinda freaked out."

Her mother hummed.

"Whatcha got for us?" Sokka said, before they could get distracted. "Anything from Suki? Did they head back to Kyoshi yet?"

So much for not getting distracted.

"They're still in Caldera City," Aang explained, offhandedly as he reached into his robes to pull out a tightly rolled scroll. "Chief Hakoda, this is for you."

Her father frowned, taking the scroll and breaking an orange wax seal. Katara moved to her fathers side, looking over his shoulder to read, as Sokka did the same on the other side.

It was an invitation, written in a pristine script that Katara recognized as Aang's hand writing.

You are invited to the first ever Four Nations Peace Summit. This summit is meant to bridge the divide of nations, so we can all work together to find lasting peace and balance. The leaders of each nation will be discussing various topics, including but not limited to: assigning ambassadors, trade routes, goals for the coming year. This is planned to be a three day summit, with the opening ceremony happening on the night of the first day of the ninth month, in Ba Sing Se. We are looking forward to seeing you there! - Avatar Aang of the Air Nomands

Katara felt her eye twitch. "Aang..."

"Iroh gave me a few tips when I was drafting it," the young monk said, smiling oh so proudly.

"Why does the summit start the day of the comet?!"

First / Previous / Next / Masterpost

[kryptonitejelly]

🍯

Hi lovely, it’s been a minute

Sending a request for Jakexreader one shot because I miss your writing!!

Hear me out;

College flyboy Jake x reader, lazy snuggled night in after leaving a party early

Bonus points if there’s snuggle and fluff or Jake falling asleep and being awoken and covering your body with his and getting all overprotective and growly at whoever walked in (//not me needing this in my lifeeee)

ok not really a one-shot but college!flyboy 🥹 my heart, and glad you are back 🍯 anon, i have missed you!

-

Jake notices the moment your social battery drops, sees out of the corner of his eye as you stifle a yawn before swiftly taking a sip out of the red solo cup in hand. He knows the cup which you have in hand is not a mix of vodka and coke which you would have everyone believe, but rather a cup full of pure, unlaced diet coke.

He isn’t standing beside you, but the moment he sees you stifle that yawn, Jake is picking his way across the few people between you both - because he is never that far away - and sliding onto the sofa. You feel the plush material beneath you dip as Jake sinks down beside you, effectively squeezing one of his teammates out and off the sofa as he does so.

“Fucking Seresin,” you hear the half mumble, half chuckle of the displaced teammate as he grudgingly accepts his fate - he knew better by now than to try to get between Jake and you.

“That wasn’t kind,” you state, eyes dancing in slight amusement as you find yourself looking into Jake’s face. He has dropped his own cup onto the short coffee table in front of you which is already littered with an assortment of stray chips, cups, and empty bottles. Jake’s arms are spread, one on the short side of the sofa and the other draped over the back of it, behind you. You instinctively, Jake notices but isn’t sure you do, scoot slightly closer towards him, effectively placing yourself directly in his space and within his wingspan.

“Want to get out of here?” He ignores your jab at him, choosing instead to ask his question.

“But we’ve only been here for an hour,” you say and Jake sees you glance down at your phone screen which you tap with a finger to brighten.

“Not a great party,” he says and shrugs, just as a chorus of loud thundering cheers rings out from the next room over the thump of the muted music which someone turns out louder along with the cheers.

“I think they would beg to differ,” you are now semi yelling to combat the increased volume of music. It makes you lean in further to Jake, and he mirrors your actions, not because he can’t hear you, but because he can.

“Boooring,” he responds before making a face that has you chuckling. Jake doesn’t give you another chance to respond, but chooses to act instead - plucking the cup out of your hand, plonking it on the table, before slipping his hand into yours and pulling you both towards a stand, “c’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You let Jake pull you out through the crowd, following, your body pressed close to his as he navigates you both out of the crowd amidst the thumps on his shoulder and greetings he gets along the way.

You both stumble out into the cool nights air, the shouts and thump of the music from the party now an somewhat muted echo behind you both.

“Bed and bad tv?” Jake volunteers as you let go off his hand once you are both out of the house. He glances down at the loss of your palm in his but doesn’t say anything, contenting himself with watching you instead as you shut your eyes for a brief few seconds, breathing deeply in, taking in the crisp fresh air.

“What did you have in mind?” You ask as you link and arm with Jake, both your feet beginning on the stroll back towards his fraternity. You had left your belongings there before walking over to the party with him, and it was no surprise where you would be bunking tonight.

“Gossip girl?”

“Hey,” Jake feels your palm hit his chest lightly and finds you mock glowering at him, “that is good tv.”

“Whatever you say princess,” he rolls his eyes, the curve of a smile on his lips.

-

“You’re falling asleep,” Jake mumbles, his eyes fixed on the screen - he hates to admit, but you turning him onto gossip girl - one of the best things ever. He doesn’t need to look to know you are falling asleep, he knows it from the weight of your head that has drooped onto his chest, the way he feelings your breathing slow from the way your body is moving, rising and falling slowly with each breath, from the way your body has subconsciously snuggled closer to his, in search for warmth.

“Mrhmf not,” your groggy, barely audible mumble is the response he receives and he smiles, eyes finally darting down to find you eyes closed, the weight of your head now fully resting on his chest.

“Sweet dreams princess,” he mutters softly; your lack of response tells him you are fast asleep.

-

Jake is almost at the end of the episode, watching as Blair runs, fully clothed in wedding gown and a tiara to a waiting car outside when he hears the door shift open.

“What,” he growls, voice deep as his arm that is looped around you, rising and falling with the rhythm of your breathing tightens. It makes you shift, and he tenses slightly, hoping it hasn’t woken you, relaxing only as you shift slightly, before your body continues on with the same breathing pattern.

“Sorry man,” the head of one of his fraternity members peeks in, identifies the curled up figure Jake has his arm protectively around before shooting an apologetic glance and backing our slowly, as he moves to shut the door slowly, and soundlessly before backing away the same way he came from. He shakes his head at the two other boys coming down the hallway.

“Not there?” One asks.

“With his girl,” the response comes and the boys “ah” in acknowledgment and understanding before turning to go back the way they came.

“With his girl,” the intruder responds to “Ahs” and nods of agreement from the other two before the three boys exchange knowing smiles and turn back in the directions from which they came from.

“With his girl,” the intruder explains and the other two nod in understanding.