#all while the brothers are wishing the worst upon him

[energysynergymatrix]

Ok I bit the bullet and made an Ososan OC and his full name is Len Kanemaru.

He's the so-called perfect guy, pretty boy barista type turned up to 11, who might as well have manifested from thin air, who has genuine fanboys and fangirls, and most of the Matsunos want him fucking dead. He's oblivious to both of these aspects of the public opinion and seems kind of empty headed for the most part. He is also struggling just as badly as them but literally no one would believe him if he told them.

He also wants to kiss the oldest DESPITE the fact that his brothers are so jealous of him for being so perfect. Shenanigans ensue.

If you want a more detailed write up about him read the cut.

OK SO . Len is a guy trying his best to pretend to be an adult despite wanting to be anything but it. Unlike the Matsunos who dont pretend to be an adult and are anything but it, Len is trying to push through adult life while wanting to return to childhood when things were easier.

Sure he has a job as barista, but he's poor with money, spending it like he's still a teenager, struggles to maintain contact with people he’s befriended outside of work, DESPITE thinking people hating him is the end of the world, and surprisingly, still lives with his parents.

The thing is that he's REALLY good at pretending to have it all together. He has quite a few fanboys and fangirls and is often described as a prince. (It’s because of his charmingly good customer service skills that is his only real social experience post highschool.) But, despite being in his mid twenties, hes kind of poorly equipped socially and is unable to pick this up, despite it being clear to literally everyone.

(Like he thinks he’s being bad at pretending to be a well put together adult, and then turns around and can handle rush pretty well understaffed, not make any mistakes, and still keep a pleasant demeanor that his admirers swoon over. Anytime someone does act like a fan trying to get his love it’s met with confusion and just. “Huh.” more than anything. He doesn’t even reject them because he doesn’t realize so many people are in love with him)

This includes quite a few Matsunos who are jealous of him for being so popular (and admittedly kind of cool), find his princely yet oblivious attitude almost annoying, and somewhat creepy because of how much he knows about them from highschool. And those who aren't irritated by him are relatively apathetic towards him.

The only reason theyre so aware of him is the fact that he and Todomatsu worked at the same cafe before the latter quit. It was after he quit that Len properly met the sextuplets, having a chance encounter with the boys sometime after. Todomatsu was already irritated by him, by again, seeing above, but also because he already seemed intimately familiar with Totty during his highschool years.

It's like they had a whole classmate just manifest into being while skipping the "actually go to class together" part.

(They did actually go to school together but literally no one knew he existed during then. Not to their fault though, Len was basically that one vine that's like "I can't I have so much to do tomorrow" *fucks around on the keyboard. Because of that Len ended up being bad with people by the time he graduated and was ushered into the work force by his parents. As a result he can't really keep friends, often times contact dying off on accident. A lot of the time spent working is him TRYING his best to maintain relationships as an adult but it never really works out. Deep down Len wishes he could redo highschool, so he could not only get this skills but also find some memories that he so clearly missed out on. Because he willingly opted out of making those therefore other people don’t remember him. As far as he knows he hasn’t really had a friend since middle school.)

But like after the two and Totty's brothers encountered each other in public a whole bomb got dropped and nothing was the same.

Despite generally not liking him the Matsunos keep him around, mostly due to Totty's insistence saying they can use him (so they cant kill him yet!) but because Len is kind of bad with people in general outside of having a fandom (that, again, came with his customer service skills), and the Matsunos are the Matsunos, this never ever goes well.

Despite this and how much shenanigans the Matsunos end up dragging him into, he considers them friends since its the closest relationship he's maintained outside of his house. On top of that, he almost admires them for being NEETs. He's kind of ashamed of it, because he knows they have to be an adult, but because he's struggling so much as an adult, he wants nothing more than to be like them. He wants to stop being an adult and return to highschool.

It's why he takes to Osomatsu so much, since he seems most open about how shitty he is and how much he doesnt want to grow up. Like weirdly enough, his man-child behavior is what makes Len likes him so much. Sure he also has a big heart and loves his family, and Len can acknowledge Oso’s best aspects, but it’s the worst parts of him that loves.

And that admiration for having his character laid out flat and embracing his childishness despite his age and situation, how he practically will just grow up when he wants to rather than when he has to (unlike Len), makes the perfect man fall for the loser guy.

The more he hangs around the Matsunos the more they encourage him to tap into his evil side, and may end up making him worse, but for now he's Mr Perfect and most of them hate him for that. He doesn't get the message though so he's just kind of hanging around them for now.

Anyways he and Osomatsu are literally I'm Glad You're Evil Too to me . And also look at these sketches of him .

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

i’m visualizing a fic where reader goes off to fight with their dragon and comes back to jace being furious that she would endanger herself and feelings are revealed…. can you make that happen? xx🙈

Request: Being dragonseed and getting close to jace during the trainings. Maybe she claimed silverwing or vermithor? She goes to battle while he is not there and jace is STRESSED

Request: Jace sneaking out to check on the girl he secretly loves

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When Jacaerys took it upon himself to teach and train the dragonseeds, he didn’t think his loyalty to his betrothed would be challenged. Since the beginning of war, his bond with Baela became stronger and they got closer, but as he watched you atop Silverwing, hair in the wind and soaring over the water, he felt things he never felt before. 

Was it the blood of the dragon, although thin, that was calling to him? Or was it the sight of a woman on a large dragon? Jacaerys couldn’t tell. What he knew was that he never felt that way when Baela was riding Moondancer. 

‘’What do you mean, she went to the Riverlands?’’ he shouted at his mother, all manners forgotten.

Rhaenyra met his glare with a calm gaze. ‘’The Greens are marching up to Harrenhal. I sent her to meet their army before they reach the Riverlands.’’

‘’And what of Vhagar?’’ Jacaerys continued, his voice rising as he thought of the beast that had devoured his little brother and his dragon in a single bite. ‘’They know Daemon has taken Harrenhal. Undoubtedly, they brought their biggest dragon to fight him.’’

Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. ‘’It is a high possibility, but Silverwing is a large dragon, as you said yourself. Y/N will handle Vhagar if Aemond dares showing up.’’

‘’She is not ready to go to battle.’’ Jacaerys’s fists clenched at his sides, making up the worst scenarios in his mind. ‘’You sent her to her death!’’

‘’I needed to send a dragon. It was Silverwing or Vermithor.’’

‘’Why did you not send Vermithor?’’ 

‘’Because I didn’t want to reveal our biggest asset to the enemy,’’ Rhaenyra said, her brow furrowing as she noticed her son’s agitation. ‘’Why are you so agitated? The dragonseeds were your idea, Jace. We have to send them on the battlefield at some point.’’

The reasons the search for dragonseeds began was to get more dragons on their team, but also to not risk their own in battle by using those with blood 'thinner' than their own as fodder. It was selfish and evil, but losses are inevitable during a war. Better be a stranger than someone you love. 

But now, his plan had backfired.

‘’She’s not just a dragonseed!’’ Jacaerys snapped, his eyes blazing with anger and worry. ‘’She’s—’’ He stopped himself, realizing how much he had revealed in his fury and the implication of what he was about to say. 

Rhaenyra spoke his name softly, finally figuring the nature of her son’s worries, but he turned away, unable to look his mother in the eye. 

⁂

When night came, Jacaerys was unable to sleep, tossing and turning in his bed. All he could think about was you fighting against Vhagar…and losing. 

If you didn’t return from the Riverlands, he would never forgive himself for encouraging you to claim Silverwing. 

Finally, Jacaerys could not take it anymore. He sprung out of his bed, changed into his riding clothes and slipped on a cloak. Quietly, he sneaked out of his quarters and started heading towards the hills where he knew Vermax liked to sleep. Rhaenyra would be furious in the morning when finding out he went to the Riverlands without her approval, but he needed to go to you. 

‘’Lyka (quiet), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys said as he mounted the dragon, not wishing to alert anyone of his nightly adventure. The poor thing was whining and confused why his rider was waking him, but obeyed his command. 

They set out into the night, flying towards the northwest. The wind was cold, biting through Jacaerys' cloak, and the darkness was absolute with no moon to guide their way. The only sound was the rhythmic beating of Vermax's wings, cutting through the icy air.

After what felt like hours of flying blindly in the night, Vermax began to screech, a high-pitched, urgent sound that pierced the silence.

‘’Sagon gīda (be calm), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys commanded, trying to calm his dragon. But Vermax continued screeching, his eyes darting around as if he had seen something human eyes couldn’t. ‘’What is it, Vermax?’’ 

Vermax's screeches grew louder, more insistent, and Jacaerys felt a surge of unease. He strained his eyes, peering into the inky blackness, but saw nothing. He knew that dragons had senses far keener than humans, capable of detecting things long before they were visible.

‘’What do you see?” he muttered, more to himself than to Vermax, as he tried to understand his dragon’s distress.

Vermax couldn't understand the common tongue, but his behavior made it clear that something was wrong. He twisted his head, sniffing the air, and let out another screech, this one more urgent and filled with warning.

Jacaerys suddenly realized what it could mean: Vermax had detected the scent of another dragon. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he tightened his grip on the reins, scanning the dark skies for any sign of movement. The thought of encountering Vhagar in the pitch-black night sent a shiver down his spine. He tightened his grip on the handles, trying to steady both his dragon and himself.

Then, through the darkness, he saw a faint, silvery glimmer. Realization struck him hard. 

‘’Silverwing,’’ he breathed, understanding now what Vermax had sensed. 

Immediately, Jacaerys commanded Vermax to descend. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew that he had not reached the Riverlands yet. If Silverwing was down here, it could mean you were injured. Dragons were known to stay by their rider's side and guard them when they were vulnerable — or dying.

The prince's heart raced as they descended, his mind filled with worry. As soon as Vermax touched ground, he dismounted and scanned the area frantically, searching for you. 

Silverwing screeched loudly when Jacaerys got close, the sound stirring you from your sleep and snapping into alert. You reached for your dagger sheated at your hip, ready to stab whoever would try to get close.

‘’It’s me,’’ Jacaerys quickly said before you could touch him. 

‘’Prince Jacaerys?’’ you said with a frown. ‘’Has Her Grace sent you looking for me?’’

Jacaerys stayed silent. His mother did not care much for you — or any of the dragonseeds. 

The sight of blood on your hands sent his heart into a frenzy. ‘’Are you hurt? What has happened?’’ 

He kneeled beside you, and you let out a small hiss. ‘’I'm not on my deathbed, my Prince,’’ you reassured. ‘’I saw the Green's army marching to the Riverlands. They were definitely surprised to see a new dragon had been claimed by the Blacks. I engaged in battle, burning several of them, but their archers started shooting arrows at us. Silverwing dodged them the best she could, but I received one in my leg…’’ You glanced down where the arrow used to be, blood seeping through your clothes and down your leg. ‘’I know I should not have taken it out, but the pain was too much.’’ 

‘’It’s okay.’’ Jacaerys drew his sword to cut a piece of his cloak to make a bandage for your leg. ‘’All that matters is that you’re alive.’’ He began wrapping the piece of his cloak tightly around your wounded leg, but not so tight it would cause you more pain. ‘’I…I was worried about you.’’ 

You raised an eyebrow at the prince. ‘’Me?’’

He looked at you for a moment, his gaze flickering between your face and your wounded leg. ‘’Don't do that again. Going alone in a battle. What is Vhagar had been there?’’

‘’Why? Because I’m a woman?’’ 

‘’No.’’ Jacaerys shook his head. ‘’No, that’s not— When I didn’t see you at training this morning, I thought you were in the village helping your parents with the sheeps. But Baela informed me that you had been sent to the Riverlands at first light to meet the Greens and all I could think about was Rook’s Rest. What Vhagar did to Luke, and Rhaenys… Gods, if you were the next to fall, I would not handle it.’’

You huffed, not believing him. ‘’Aren’t I just a paw in your mother’s war? I’m not stupid, my Prince. Dragonseeds don’t matter to Her Grace. She just want the power of our dragons.’’ 

‘’I care. I care about you. I care so much about you that I could not sleep without knowing if you were okay. I would not have taken flight in the middle of the night if I didn’t care about you.’’

His words hung in the dark night, the air filled with his confession. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you processed his sudden confession. This conversation felt like forbidden territory. You were a shepherd’s daughter and he was a highborn prince, betrothed to a princess.

‘’You…you shouldn’t say things like that,’’ you finally murmured, averting your eyes from the intensity of his gaze. You tried to hide the fact that his words made you feel things you shouldn’t.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, then slowly reached out to tilt your chin, his fingertips gently tracing over your skin. ‘’I should, because it’s how I feel.’’ He leaned closer. His fingers grazed your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

‘’What of Baela?’’ you managed to ask, your heart beating wildly in your chest, torn between desire and loyalty.

He shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. ‘’I don’t feel strongly for Baela the way I do for you,’’ he confessed.

—

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[divinesolas]

Hi, could you do an Aemond one shot where he and Reader (Rhaenyra's bastard daughter) are husband and wife and she and Aemond are married, based on the first episode of season 2 where instead of killing Aegon's son, kill the reader's son and aemond

a.n: hi hi ty for the request 🫶 i had a little too much fun writing this, this probably isnt what you wanted this is not a happy fic but i still hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🫶 slightly inspired by the events of ep two

Despite the halls of the keep being pure chaos everyone swiftly moved out of the way for the one eyed prince who rushed through the halls seeking out the one who he knew needed him.

They had been in his room. They wanted him. But they must have left his room when they knew he was not there and stumbled their way into the nursery which was attached to his room where his son had been. His son. his only child. and he was furious.

The door to the council room slams open and otto swiftly turns to look and stand before him, “where have you been-“ otto is shoved out of his way as he goes to kneel next to his sobbing wife on the floor who was clutching a blanket on the floor.

You look at him with red eyes and choke out his name, he grabs your face in his hands and looks upon you for a moment before you throw yourself into his arms. Shoving your head in his neck to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse, make sure he’s real.

“they killed our son.” your words come out choked in between your sobs and he strokes up and down your back, “i tried to offer them anything, gold, myself, but they only wanted him aemond only him.” he shushes you and pressed a kiss against your temple, speaking into your ear. “Im sorry my love im sorry.”

He will return the pain they have brought to not only himself but worst of all to his wife and he will pay it tenfold. A lone tear streaks down his face as you say nothing more merely continue to sob into him while the other faces in the room can only merely watch with sorrow.

He picks you up, making sure to keep the blanket firmly in your grasp as he turns to leave the room ignoring the voices calling after him. They must want to discuss what they plan to do now but he wants no part in it, only wanting to comfort his wife.

“they were saying they want to blame my mother.” You had calmed down at some point, still delirious with grief but you had stopped crying, merely staring blankly up at the ceiling as aemond kept you firmly next to him. “she would never do a thing like this. my mother loves me, why would she send someone out for my son.”

Aemond is quiet and his hand on your back falters for a moment, “she wishes to punish me.” you say nothing but he notices how you shift ever so slightly.

With the way you two were right now nobody could tell the two of you have not spoken in those fourteen days since his return when he broke the news to the court. When he broke the news to you. Your own brother murdered in cold blood.

You could never forgive him despite his attempts to talk to you after, you swiftly dismissed him and his words would fall on deaf ears. Your baby brother was everything to you, you remember growing up side by aide and he was teary eyed the day you permanently moved to the keep.

despite your hatred for him and your hatred for your mothers usurpation you cannot go home. The people here watch you like a hawk you cannot even send a letter out to her but alicent is free to beg and plead to her like a pathetic dog. you hate them. Yet you allow him to comfort you because you know you will get no comfort from anyone else here.

“they wish to flaunt me around like a prized lamb. ‘gain sympathy from the houses.’ he says.” You ignore his words and continue to speak. “I will not allow it.” you shrug mindlessly and sit up, he stays laying down. His eye patch off and hair down from its usually prime and perfect state, he had thrown his shirt off at some point too.

You can see it, the hurt that laces his eye and his face, his hand finds yours and you want to rip it away but you cant, the warmth on your skin bringing you a small sense of comfort.

“i had thought we would work. That you would finally move on and forgive grievances of the past. But i hate you just as you hate me aemond,” “i do not hate you. i love you.” you shake your head as he says it, sitting up and gripping your arms tightly, trying to hold your gaze as he says it again.

“i will never forgive you. I will hate you for as long as a breathe.”

“i did not mean to i lost my temper that day.”

“you feeling sorry means nothing to me you know that. how would you feel if the men who murdered our son came in here and said they were sorry., that they didn’t mean to.”

He says your name and his grip tightens on your arms but you continue to merely stare off mindlessly.

“i will repent for the rest of my life. our son will be brought justice.”

he will kill every man in the keep if he has to, slay every man in all of westeros if they cannot figure out who had done it. For you. for his son.

“i love you.” the words come out strained as he begs and pleads to anyone who is willing to listen to him for you to say something else anything to him.

you do. you finally look at him. a look devoid of any love you had once had for him. and it kills him.

“you’re pathetic.”

[wpdarlingpan]

Could we get something with Yandere ouat Peter? Preferably gender-neutral or nb reader.

An idea I had is maybe Hook has a kid, so the character would have grown up in Neverland. I think maybe a platonic Yandere Peter would be v interesting, where he maybe tries to interact with reader as a ‘cool older brother’ sort of figure, despite the fact that reader very much knows exactly who he is and that he’s dangerous. Romantic would be fine too though!

Thank you so much for the request! I apologize it took so long and I have not written in a while so I hope it's okay!

I loved this idea so I had to see how it'll play out. I did the platonic version and although I did use Y/N and made them gender-neutral, I wrote they were 17 for the story's sake. I often have Peter refer to them as a child because in his mind he feels the need to take care of and protect them.

I am considering a part two if people like this idea enough, maybe taking place when the Storybrooke residents arrive.

Warning: Yandere Behavior

Word Count: 2886

-----------------

The Love Of A Brother

-----------------

The day Killian Jones, otherwise known by his more colorful moniker Hook, came to Neverland was a day he would never forget.

He had many men aboard, each desiring to never grow old until they wished. They all had been warned about the dangers that lurk within the water and upon the soil of Neverland but the idea of dying from old age was a more terrifying feat to them.

However, one person had little choice in the matter, as they were still somewhat forced to come to Neverland.

Captain Hook's kid, Y/N.

After the day Mila died it was up to him to become a single parent. Overall he was rather good at it. Always telling stories so that they would be able to sleep at night or sitting by their bedside when they had gotten a cold. But, no matter how much love they held for each other, Killian could not stop going after the man who killed his wife and the mother of his child.

Y/N was 17 the day they had arrived in Neverland and would remain so until the day they left.

This was not a decision Hook made lightly. Bringing the person he cared for more than anyone into the hellish landscape wasn't something he'd wish on his worst enemy (other than Rumpelstiltskin) but the idea of leaving them with no idea when he would return hurt even more.

So he created the rules.

Do not leave the boat without permission.

Do not ever interact with Peter Pan or his shadow.

Avoid the Lost Boys.

"Who is Peter Pan?" They asked their father as the Jolly Roger settled after coming through the portal to Neverland.

"A bloody demon." He responded looking at the dark island as it neared.

Hook began telling the stories that he knew. Even sharing how he had met Peter Pan in the first place. Albeit leaving out what happened to his brother as he blamed himself as well as Pan for the tragedy.

Pan knew he was arriving on the island. Hook riskily contacted him through his shadow to come to a truce before being allowed to arrive on the island.

But there was a little thing Hook had forgotten to mention.

His child.

He had hoped that if none of the inhabitants of the island knew their relation, with Peter assuming they were deckhands or something, they wouldn't be targeted if Peter got bored or wanted to play a game.

But the resemblance was noticeable from the first meeting.

-----------------

As the boat docked onto shore to make an initial supply run, Hook kept Y/N close. Half of the crew, including the two of them, walked carefully through the jungle, avoiding every thorn they came across.

But the real danger was just up ahead. After all, Peter Pan wouldn't be a polite host if he didn't welcome his guests.

The second the pirates entered a clearing they were surrounded by the sound of rustles as the leaves moved around the edge of the clearing and a figure appeared about 20 feet ahead on the other end.

Hook froze, he knew he should have expected him to show himself this early, but a part of him had hoped he wouldn't, not yet at least.

Y/N held onto their bow and arrows tightly as they observed the boy up ahead who looked just a little older than them. Judging by the way he held the spotlight, they had to assume this was Peter Pan.

"Look what we have here, I didn't expect to see you on the island this quickly. I mean after what had happened last time you were here, the idea of returning so willingly was unexpected, Captain." Peter spoke as he neared the group, the Lost Boys forming a circle around them to prevent anyone from running.

Peter inspected the group as they each held some form of weapon. Be it a dagger, sword, or even one with a bow and arrow.

He neared the one with the bow and arrow, the idea of figuring out what else made them so different lingered in his mind. Peter stood closely in front of them, studying their appearance and the subtle yet noticeable looks towards the direction of Hook.

This is when something had clicked.

His brain was no longer assessing the group as a whole or messing with the Captain. His thoughts were reserved for only them. The way they were trying to hide their shaking hands and the way they held onto the bow tighter the closer he got. The shine of their eyes as they looked at him almost like a frightened deer.

He could recognize a scared child anywhere and this time he didn't want it to be his fault. It was like an instinct of protection filled his black heart. Their fearful yet innocent gaze was embedded into his soul. Someone like this simply couldn't live with harsh pirates.

He reached a hand out towards them but Hook stepped in the way. His gaze was harsh yet Peter could easily detect the fear hidden in them. For himself or the child, he wasn't sure.

Peter smirked at Captain Hook as he realized why they had looked so familiar now seeing the similarities in their features and hair color. He had been to distracted by the odd feeling of protection and familiarity to even acknowledge the finding.

"You have a child? My you got busy after leaving last time." He teased as he glanced around the man to see them standing there, their gaze locked onto the ground.

"Stay away from them or so help me you will have wished-" Hook began to say before Peter cut him off.

"You'll do what? Let me remind you, you're here because I allow it. You eat the island's food only because I allow it. You only live because I have use for you yet." He threatened motioning his hand for the Lost Boys to run away.

Y/N took a sigh of relief as the group dispersed but their worry would still remain until Peter was out of their sight. The ideas of the horrors they were told, all of which could happen to them just by being in his presence, filled their anxious mind.

Peter stared at Hook seriously before sending a look and a playful wink toward Y/N, hoping to make them less afraid.

"I'll see you soon." He commented staring directly into their eyes before disappearing.

—————————

Apparently soon meant a few days.

It first began when Y/N was laying on deck, watching the stars when someone appeared next to them and laid down on the spare part of the blanket.

“The stars are beautiful aren’t they?” He spoke as if lying on the ground next to them wasn’t an unusual occurrence.

Y/N was silent, trying to hide the fact they were afraid. The unknowing was terrible, the idea that their father was fast asleep, probably passed out from exhaustion at that, was nerve-wracking as they could not call for help.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me.” Pan said genuinely, staring at the side of their face as he admired their courage to hide their fear.

“Why wouldn’t I be? You have a reputation you know. I’m sure you could get rid of me in a heartbeat.” Y/N was nervous now, it audibly showed through the small stutter that sounded in their sentence.

“That doesn’t mean I want to… Do you know why I’ve brought all these boys to the island?”

“Because they’re lost?”

“Because no one deserves to feel alone.”

Peter Pan believed that because Y/N was an only child who spent their whole life traveling the seas, that they had to be lonely. They are constantly moving and never staying in one place, let alone with people their age.

Then their father, he’s a pirate with a drinking problem who is so obsessed with revenge that even though he is protective and loves his child, Peter couldn’t tell you which the man valued more.

Revenge or love?

If Peter were to take her right now, he could be their older brother. Someone who takes care of their little sibling in the face of everything like heartbreak, anxiety, everything that would make them feel anything other than happiness.

Y/N would be his sibling. He’d be their only brother.

Being an older brother to Y/N sounded perfect to him.

—————————

Their next encounter was when they had been sitting on the edge of the beach as the Jolly Roger was anchored nearby.

Y/N's father had allowed them to hang out along the shore alone.

The captain and crewmates were planning on staying on the edge of the jungle that was Neverland. He had figured they would be okay for a couple hours and that he could hear if they needed anything.

He knew the dangers that posed leaving them there alone but he thought they would be cornered again the second they entered the tree line so there really wasn’t anywhere ‘safe’ at the moment.

That’s how he rationalized it at least.

But when Peter saw them sitting alone on the shore, the mermaids moving closer by the second, he saw Hook as irresponsible and unfit to care for Y/N.

He quickly approached them, the sight of him causing the mermaids to swim away quickly, realizing that was not someone they wanted to lure in.

“Y/N.” Peter said as he approached, sitting in the sand next to them.

“What are you doing?” They spoke questioningly “I thought you would be bothering my father and his crew.”

“Is that what he counted on. Me leaving you alone as they frolicked or whatever they are doing in the jungle? Is that why he left you here defenseless?” He replied getting more confident that Killian wasn’t fit to take care of Y/N.

“I don’t like what you’re accusing him of.” Y/N replied, glaring at Pan in front of them but if anything it was adorable.

He raised his hands jokingly as if he actually felt threatened by them.

“I’m just saying, he knows the dangers of this island. If it’s not me, it’s the lost boys, then the Dreamshade, and as you almost realized, the mermaids.” Peter counted off making Y/N realize what the subtle splashing noise they heard was. “He shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“I’m 17. I can take care of myself for a few hours.” They argued, much like if they were telling their older sibling they didn’t need to be babysat.

“Sure you can. But you don’t need to when I’m here.”

———————-

From then on he would appear randomly whenever he knew Y/N was alone.

When they weren’t, he was silently protecting them from the shadows.

If we’re sketching in their room? He’d sit next to them silently, allowing them to focus. Meanwhile he was busy admiring their skills even if it was a simple picture of the sky.

They volunteered to go look for some more supplies on the island?

They mysteriously got separated from the group for a few hours.

He took them saying ��I can take care of myself for a few hours’ rather literally. In those few hours, they got an entire tour of the main points of the island.

Even the camp.

Peter had them sit on his designated chair, introducing Y/N as their little sibling. Each of the boys came up to them and introducing themselves enthusiastically as the proposed all the fun games they could play if they were to stay.

Even when Y/N emphasized greatly that they couldn’t.

Each and every time.

When their birthday came around Peter gifted them a necklace, his initials were on the inside, to protect them from anyone who finds their way to the island.

Although he made sure to use his magic to conceal the necklace from the eyes of Hook.

Not that he cared about what the man thought, after all nothing would keep him from his little sibling.

Nothing.

-----------

The day Peter had been preparing for came sooner than expected.

Hook had discovered a way to kill the dark one and his need for the island was gone. Meaning it was time to return back to the enchanted forest.

The crew had begun preparing to return back to the forest. Packing up their supplies and strapping down anything they had on deck to prepare for traveling through the portal.

Y/N was packing up anything loose in their room. They had mostly finished other than having to pack the rest of their art supplies.

“So you were just going to leave and not tell your older brother? I'm offended” Peter spoke appearing in their room and sitting on their bed.

In their deal, he had allowed Hook to leave once he had found a way to accomplish his goal.

That was before he had met Y/N.

“I was never going to say in Neverland. I was always going to leave. I don’t know what you were expecting.” Y/N spoke harshly trying to push him away.

They had to admit, after all this time spent with Peter, that it was hard to view him as some irredeemable demon. He comforted them when they had nightmares of their mother’s death, protected them from the mermaids, did their favorite activities with them (even if he was not really invited), and seemed to love them.

Peter knew they were just trying to protect themself from the pain of leaving so they lashed out. He could tell they were saddened at the thought of leaving him. This made him feel warm inside.

Y/N assumed they’d be fine once leaving Neverland, they would have to forget about Peter Pan and their life would go back to normal, well as normal as it gets.

Suddenly they heard approaching footsteps.

“Y/N? Are you ready to go? We are about to enter the portal now.” Killian called through the closed door, his eagerness to leave the island covering the fact that there was a muffled sound as he spoke. Hook was ecstatic, his time for revenge had come. His head was in the clouds as he ran over his plan over and over again. Causing him to not even think to just poke his head in to check on his child, just of the idea that the portal was closing any minute

The muffled noise was Peter whispering that he would not let Hook leave if they said anything other than that they were ready.

Y/N knew if they weren’t allowed to leave, their father would be devastated.

“Yes father, I’m ready!” They called back and the two listened as the man’s footsteps grew farther and farther away.

“You can’t leave Y/N. You’re my little sibling, I have to take care of you.” He spoke manipulatively the second Hook was out of distance.

“I have to. If it’s up to me, I’ll never leave my father. He raised me, he loves me! He will take care of me better than you ever can.” Y/N retorted, frustrated at the situation. Why wouldn't Peter just go away? They knew they cared for him, even just a little bit. But their father was very important to them. Even if he had been a little distracted while searching for revenge, they didn't feel his love any less.

A loving father or a over protective, self-proclaimed brother.

They knew which had meant more. They had made their choice, one they couldn't vocalize as Peter softly blew poppy dust into their face, causing them to pass out instantly.

“Then it isn’t up to you.” as he spoke “This is for your own good. I love you Y/N and I know you love me. You are better off at my side.”

He picked them up bridal style as he and Y/N disappeared off the boat and reappeared in the camp. All of their stuff appears on the ground off to the side of them.

"Welcome to your new home, Y/N"

-------------

Hook had gone to Y/N’s cabin to check on them, the portal closing behind him as they could see the Enchanted Forest off in the distance.

He was eager to see his child, wanting to celebrate the idea of finally being able to avenge his wife and their mother. Hook knocked and didn’t hear an answer assuming they had been disoriented or hurt by the portal, he opened the door quickly.

But, he was met with an empty room and no Y/N.

He looked around for any signs frantically before he spotted a letter on the bed.

Hook,

You were always too focused on the idea of revenge that you neglected what was in front of you. You never deserved Y/N and you never will. Each time you left them alone, I was there. I comforted them, I protected them, and I loved them. Each thing is something you couldn't do while you searched for something you did not even know existed. Y/N will be better off without you.

I always wondered if you'd choose revenge over love.

I guess I have my answer.

Their brother,

Peter Pan

[syndrossi]

Restoration AU: Ned I

Previous part, Bran I, here.

NED 1

Ned was embroiled in discussions with Vayon regarding the additional food stores that would need to be procured to feast the king’s party in accordance with his expectations—and Robert’s expectations certainly tended toward the lavish—when Jory burst into his solar, looking so rattled that Ned rose in alarm, convinced that something had happened to one of the children.

“My lord,” he said. “There are—that is, your son, Bran—”

Before Ned could fear the worst, he caught motion beyond the door frame, and his gaze fell upon the auburn hair of his second-youngest as he poked his head in the door. Robb and Jon had also accompanied Jory, trailing just behind, and they looked as perturbed as his captain of the guard. Robb’s mouth was a hard, harsh line that recalled Cat when she was in full fury, and Jon looked as pale as the direwolf pup he’d named Ghost.

His nerves settled on mild apprehension. “What is it, Jory?”

Jory cast a hesitant look at Vayon. “It is a matter that my lord may wish to discuss in private.”

Ned frowned. Jory and Vayon had known one another for several years now. Enough for his captain and steward to know that he held both of them in high esteem. He was unsure what it meant that Jory should be wary of the man now, but it could be nothing good.

“We can finish attending to the feast preparations later, Vayon,” Ned said. “It seems my sons have found themselves a spot of mischief.”

Robb’s eyes narrowed, further mystifying Ned. His steward inclined his head, then took his leave, and the children crowded into his solar. But rather than just the three he had expected, two more entered behind Robb and Jon, furs wrapped around either of them, and Jory’s own cloak atop that.

Ned’s mouth, which had opened to demand answers of his captain and his son, snapped shut as his gaze fell upon the two strange children, his wits abandoning him for several blank seconds. One, with hair but a shade or two lighter than his own, returned his stare with a wariness that wavered as it went on, taking on the faint sheen of tears. His face was as familiar as his own, as alike to Jon’s as a brother’s would be.

It cannot be.

It was the other child’s appearance, however, that lanced through his shock, turning it icy with dread. Rhaegar Targaryen was fourteen years dead, but Ned had known the prince’s face well, for it had haunted more than a few nightmares since, he and Lyanna both. This child could be the prince’s son—a comparison driven home as Ned glanced from one to the other, finding as many similarities between them as they shared with Jon.

Brothers. They must be, of nearly identical height and build. Twins, perhaps, except that one could be his son, while the other—

How? The children looked to be of an age with his daughters, meaning Rhaegar would have been four or five years dead by the time they were born. Ned himself had seen the mangled skull of his infant son, Aegon, and had the boy lived, he would have been Jon’s age.

And yet that is what they look like. Rhaegar’s sons, four years too young. The son whose death Robert celebrated, and the son whose death he would seek, if he only knew.

As he studied the dark-haired child more closely, subtle differences presented themselves between him and Jon. His eyes were a lighter grey that took on a tinge of purple the longer Ned stared into them, recalling the terror of the first few months of Jon’s life, before his own had darkened to a deep grey. His hair was a shade lighter, its dark brown slightly warmer.

And yet none of that mattered. The Valyrian coloring that House Targaryen had been known for was not uncommon in the Free Cities, but anyone who had ever seen the mad king or his wife and son would recognize their blood in these children. The other child’s coloring would all but invite such comparisons, and there was no greater danger. They could easily be siblings, the three of them.

It cannot be Aerys, nor can it be Rhaegar. Could Rhaella have lived after all to follow her children into hiding? Her remains had been cremated in accordance with Targaryen tradition by the time Dragonstone had been taken. Died in childbed, they had been told. Any whispers of the exiled queen’s survival surely would have made it to their shores.

Yet it was the only possible explanation. Any child of Rhaella’s would look like her slain son. But why would they be here? Why now, as Robert openly travels to Winterfell?

“We found them on the outskirts of the wolfswood, half frozen,” Jory said, breaking the tense silence. “Young Bran spotted them.”

The children were both shivering, Ned realized at last. He managed a smile at his youngest. “Bran, lad, go see if Gage has any soup on—something hot for our guests.”

Disappointment flashed across his son’s face, his curiosity readily apparent, but he cast the two boys a sympathetic look and swallowed his protest. “Yes, Father. I shall bring it myself!”

Once he had gone, Ned turned back to the children. “I am Lord Stark,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. “And you are in Castle Winterfell. Who might you be?”

“Is it not plain, Father?” Robb snapped, tensed as though for a fight. “There is no need to make a farce of it, now that you’ve sent Bran away.”

Ned sucked in a breath, feeling a fool as comprehension struck. Jory’s obvious discomfort, Robb’s fury, Jon’s quiet shock—

They think that I…?

Ned stared into his son’s eyes, finding shock and betrayal beneath the anger. A mirthless chuckle rose in his chest and he forced it down. Why should they not, after all? He had soiled his honor once in claiming Jon as his son. The appearance of two children on the outskirts of Winterfell who looked to be his bastard son’s younger brothers offered one obvious explanation.

Denial followed his stalled laughter, smothered just as quickly in the wake of another realization. Deny their relation, and Jon’s apparent kinship to two children of Targaryen features would invite all the questions Ned had feared in the first few years of his son’s life. Why would a boy with no relation to House Targaryen look like one of their long-dead scions?

Suspicious minds would turn to his sister and the man who had kidnapped her. The timing of Jon’s appearance, the fact that Ned had been the one to find her in the Tower of Joy, it would all point to a deadly truth—a treason that Robert would never forgive.

Unless there was another explanation. One that Jory and both of his sons had clearly seized upon, one that would all but guarantee Jon’s safety.

If they were my own bastard sons, Jon’s brothers…

Then there was no possible relation between Jon and Rhaegar Targaryen. How could there be? His brothers would have been born years after the prince’s death, their mother some woman from Lys, perhaps, with the silver-blond hair and purple eyes of Valyria that were so prized in that city. No one would look for House Targaryen in them, if House Stark offered an excuse for their shared resemblance.

To protect Jon, his only option might be to stain his honor beyond recognition. To flaunt these children, as though he had nothing to hide.

“Leave us,” Ned said. “I would speak to these children alone.”

Robb’s face reddened, his son’s outrage whipped to a frenzy. “I will not—”

“That is your lord’s command,” Ned said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. “Go. I will speak to you later.”

His son’s fists clenched, the hurt swimming beneath his anger plain, but he gave a stiff nod. “Come, Snow,” he said to his brother.

Stark, Snow. Names that his sons had taken to calling one another in the past year as they neared manhood, the growing understanding of their differing circumstances wedging itself between them. The names were not spoken unkindly, but Ned caught the barest flinch on Jon’s face this time.

Jory was the last to leave, pausing by the door. “We returned through the Hunter’s Gate, my lord, but we ran across Theon on our way to the keep.”

Ned nodded tersely in understanding. His ward was loud of mouth and held no fondness for Jon. If he too had concluded that the boys were Jon’s bastard brothers, then word would spread quickly through Winterfell. It would reach Cat soon enough, if Robb had not gone to tell her himself, and Ned’s heart clenched. As keen as Robb’s pain and betrayal had been, his wife’s suffering would be far worse.

But the children in the room with him now were a more immediate concern. Ned approached them slowly, testing their reaction. Jon’s young twin had lost none of his earlier wariness, though he did not appear to be frightened of him. And the other child regarded him with a quiet curiosity that was entirely Jon’s.

They are so like him. 

“I am Lord Eddard Stark,” he said again. “What are your names?”

“I am Jon,” said the dark-haired one, and it was all Ned could do not to react. “And this is my twin brother, Raymar.”

Jon and Raymar. Vale names, both, which was no less puzzling than anything else about them. Ned doubted that Rhaella Targaryen had been hiding herself or her sons in the Vale, which had practically served as the heart of the rebellion against her family’s rule.

“We thank you for your house’s kindness, Lord Stark,” Raymar said with a bow of his head.

Neither seemed uncomfortable in the presence of a lord, let alone the Warden of the North. Their composure spoke to an upbringing a highborn child would have.

“And to which house do you belong?” Ned asked, curious if they would answer plainly.

Young Jon shifted slightly to put himself between his brother and Ned, and the twins exchanged an uneasy look that as good as answered his question.

“I would know your true names,” Ned said, keeping his voice gentle. “No harm will come to you.”

Even the way this Jon bit at the inside of his lip was so reminiscent of his own Jon that Ned felt freshly unnerved. “I am Baelon,” he said finally. “And he is Aemon.”

It took him a moment to place the names. Sons of Jaehaerys I. Perhaps Rhaella had wanted to cling to a time in her family’s history when they had been at the height of their power, though these names in particular bore an ill omen. Two heirs to the Iron Throne, both of whom had died before they could claim it—not unlike her firstborn.

Good men, though. That had been their legacy, the princes who should have ruled, rather than the king whose reign had ultimately led to the Targaryens turning on one another, dooming their dragons.

“Why have you come here?”

That was the question upon which everything hinged. Were they a message to Ned? A threat? Had Rhaella learned of her grandson’s fate? But he could not imagine what madness could have taken her to send two young children here to deliver such a message, especially when it could so easily be interpreted as a threat.

“We did not come here by choice, my lord,” Aemon said. “We were taken from our father.”

Ned had been so focused upon their Targaryen heritage that he had not even considered who their father might be. “What is your father’s name?”

The children exchanged another glance, and it was Baelon who spoke. “Daemon.”

Ned could not hide his reaction this time. With Maelys the Monstrous’s death, the Blackfyre line had been thought to be ended at last. The male line, at least. Could there have been a descendent willing to tie himself to the exiled House Targaryen? The benefit for Rhaella Targaryen was plain: the Golden Company was said to be ten-thousand strong and of impeccable discipline—the closest to an army one could hope to hire, as sellswords went.

Rhaella Targaryen gives them the legitimacy they desire, and they offer her the start of an army. And yet—could such an alliance have been formed without whispers eventually reaching Robert’s ears?

And if someone had kidnapped her two sons, the joining of House Blackfyre and Targaryen, then that spoke to yet another plot. Someone who opposed their ambitions?

Someone who also knew, or had guessed, the true circumstances of Jon’s birth?

I am as much a pawn in this game as these children are, Ned thought grimly. As Jon now was.

“What can you tell me about your captors?” he asked.

“We were bound and blinded at first,” Aemon said. “And later made to drink a concoction that ushered us to sleep.”

Dreamwine, mostly like. Or even milk of the poppy. “You remember nothing at all?”

The child shook his head, distress creeping into his voice. “We were with our father and then we were here, alone in the cold and snow.”

“And your mother?” Ned asked, because he had to be sure.

Sorrow settled over them, keenest in Aemon, whose brother answered for them. “Dead.”

Ned watched them carefully. “Rhaella?”

Aemon’s gaze snapped to his, widening in surprise before the child could compose himself. His brother squeezed his hand and gave a silent nod.

Dead. That both simplified and complicated matters, though Ned was not certain precisely how. It made their kidnapping all the more mysterious in its purpose. A power struggle between the queen’s surviving children, perhaps? If her eldest, Viserys, feared that the Golden Company would support their claim over his, due to whatever Blackfyre blood might flow in their veins, then sending them away might have been his answer.

Sending them here could yet be a threat against Jon, or simple coincidence.

A rap at the door startled all three of them, and Ned gestured at them to remain still as he answered it. It was Jory once more, bearing a tray of stew and bread. Apparently Bran had insisted on bringing it himself, but the captain had intercepted the heavy load, judging it best that he take it up instead. Ned nodded his thanks, and brought the tray back into his solar.

“Here,” Ned said, setting it down on the table and beckoning the children over. “You must be hungry.”

Baelon broke off a piece of the bread, handing it to his brother first, then taking a bite of his own. He seemed to relax then. They have been raised to know our customs, at least, Ned thought. Though it pained him that the child had feared they might have been harmed.

Stolen away from their family and abandoned in the snow-covered fields outside the wolfswood, in the heart of a kingdom loyal to the man who had killed their kin, and would gladly see their house erased, down to the last child. That they had remained this composed in his presence was a sign of either great bravery or misunderstanding of the danger they were in.

And given how wary Baelon had been since their arrival, Ned suspected they both knew precisely how much danger they were in—to the point of fabricating names for themselves.

The stew put some color in their cheeks, and the fire had warmed them enough that they were no longer shivering. Ned, who had taken a seat opposite them, fought the urge to sag back against his chair as the throbbing pressure of a headache formed at his temples.

“You seem to understand that you cannot be Baelon and Aemon here,” Ned said once they’d finished their stew and sopped up the remnants with the last of the bread. Both children nodded. “I can protect you until I have found a way to return you home, but until then, I shall require your cooperation.”

They looked to one another once more, but seemed in agreement. “What do you require of us?” Aemon asked.

“You are Raymar,” Ned said. He glanced at Baelon, unnerved yet again at how like his son he looked as he studied Ned back. “You cannot be Jon, as I already have a son named Jon.”

The children blinked in twin surprise, seeming to immediately grasp his intention. “Willam,” Baelon said. “I can be Willam, my lord.”

Another name favored in the Vale, though not uncommon elsewhere. “That is acceptable,” Ned said. Then he took a deep breath. “And you must call me Father.”

x~x~x

Okay but my favorite thing is that Ned giving two more of his bastards Vale names is so very recognizably him, even though he didn't suggest either name to them!

Which POV to write next? Decisions, decisions...

[vinylfoxbooks]

October 4 - Honour | @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 840 There's now a part 2 to this! CW: Slight transphobia and mentions of gender dysphoria

This is the last place that Regulus wants to be. He could be out with his friends, reading in his room, drawing out in the garden, anything. But of course, his mother had to stuff him into a frilly dress that he doesn’t want to wear and fits him in the worst ways and scratches at his skin. And he has to have this stupid charm that makes his hair appear longer than it is, all in front of the same people that his parents have been posturing and making deals with for years. 

Of course, Barty and Evan were here, but both of them ran off and Regulus isn’t sure that he wants to seek them out, so he’s stuck here. In the corner, cradling a glass of wine, watching as all of the stuck up and stuffy people in the room play nice while trying to get what they want. 

Other than his friends, the only person that Regulus would have to entertain him would be his brother, though he isn’t sure where Sirius ran off to. That is, until someone comes up to him and leans against the wall, their shoulder nearly brushing with his. 

Regulus turns his head to give them a harsh glare, though it softens when he sees just who is standing next to him, breathing out, “James? What are you doing here?”

James shrugs, “Sirius told Remus and I that you guys were being forced to attend the party that your parents were throwing and so we hatched a plan for him to sneak us in. I don’t know exactly where Remus and Sirius went off to, but Sirius pointed me in your direction and dragged Remus away, probably to his room.”

“Didn’t need to know that much,” Regulus grimaces, “But you didn’t have to come. One of us could get in trouble if my parents notice that you’re hanging around with me.”

“What’s the fun in that, though?” James whines, putting on some dramatics, “I think it would be hilarious to see your parents on the edge of an aneurysm seeing you and me together.” They push themself from the wall and round him so they’re standing in front of Regulus, dipping down in a rather dramatic fashion and outreaching their hand towards him, “So, Regulus. Would you do me the honour of this dance?” 

Regulus rolls his eyes, but downs his wine and sets the glass aside to take James’ hand nonetheless, “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.” James smiles, standing up straight and guiding Regulus to the dance floor, “And I came to save you from a night of boredom, though I wish I could do more with the dress.”

Regulus sighs and looks down at his own attire before shaking his head and meeting their eyes, “You treating me the same is enough for now, James. Thank you for not being weird about it.” 

They shake their head and gently place their hand on his waist, their other hand still clasped, “You are still Regulus no matter what you wear, my love, no attire will change that in my eyes.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.” James smiles, before beginning to guide them into a dance as the music changes. They get a couple glares, whether it’s because of James’s presence or because of a myriad of other reasons, but James doesn’t seem to mind them at all. At one point, James leads Regulus right in front of where Orion and Walburga are sitting and they bite their lip to force down laughter at the scoff that the woman lets out upon seeing James. 

“They’re going to kill me by the end of tonight.” Regulus groans.

“Not if you come back to my house with me, Sirius, and Remus tonight.”

Regulus shakes his head, “You know that I can’t. It’ll just be worse when I come back.”

“Then just don’t come back. We can go up to your room when you deem it appropriate, get you into more comfortable clothes, pack all of your things, and leave. For good.” They take a second to flit over Regulus’ face, taking a moment to change their pace with the change of the music around them, before humming, “I know that you say you can’t leave, but you can. You know that you’d be safe with us, you know that Sirius would be safe with us, and you know that you wouldn’t have to dress up in frilly dresses that make you hate your reflection. You know that there’s so much more to the world and to us than your parents’ iron grip.”

Regulus hums after a couple seconds, “I’ll think about it. Though I will take you up on your offer to sneak off to my room and get me into different clothes.” 

“That’s all that I ask, my love.” And with that, James glances around to make sure that nobody is watching them before dipping down and pressing a gentle kiss to Regulus’ lips, chaste and quick, but loving nonetheless.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical swearing, angst, possessive!Simon, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, praise, hand job, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Part Eleven of Ink & Needle

An argument becomes a moment of understanding. Certain carnal urges are fulfilled.

Chapter Ten // Chapter Twelve

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

“Tell me why your hands are shaking.”

Are they? Is that what you’re feeling? You didn’t notice.

Bringing them up to waist level, you observe their gentle tremble. Elbows pressing lightly into your sides, arms angled inward, you curl your fingers toward your palms in an attempt to cease the shaking. They continue to quiver as if the signals from your brain to your hands fall off the trail, losing themselves amongst the millions of constantly firing neurons.

What stops the trembling are Simon’s hands.

Your palms face the ceiling and the tops of your hands are aimed toward the wood floor. Simon slides underneath, fingers delicately encasing the stuttering shake. Tattooed and large. Rough, but dry and warm. Like a light switch being flipped, you are suddenly calm. Peaceful.

Simon said he wants to talk. He wants to know. He is asking you for understanding, to allow him in even if what’s inside isn’t all that pretty. There is no obligation you’re holding him to. No standard. Simon draws up his own, presents them, lays them out flat in fan before you like a deck of cards.

It’s your move. Your opportunity to select one.

But the quiet is shattered as Adam’s voice returns, bashing against your brain like waves crashing against rock.

Whore.

Fucking whore.

The trembling begins again and Simon’s hold on your hands tightens, his large frame shifting forward into your space, creating a protective cocoon that you desperately wish to lean against but don’t.

“I’m sorry,” you stammer. The inhale you take is fractured, splitting like an atom, the energy inside you roaring into an explosion that rings loudly in your ears.

Everything is fucked. Everything is torn apart. Ripped to bloody ribbons.

Wrong and twisted and broken and just wrong.

Evie’s in-laws do not forgive easily, and Adam is the worst of the bunch. On the surface, he is ever the gentleman, but underneath is the serpent hiding in the leaves.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I shouldn’t have let him touch me. I didn’t want him to. Simon—I promise. I—”

One of his large hands releases you only to grasp the side of your face. He forces you to look at him. Forces you to gaze into those dark eyes that you could drown in.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But—”

“Don’t apologize for someone else’s poor behavior,” interjects Simon. Your wraith’s thumb brushes away the tears staining your cheeks. “He had no right.” Simon’s voice is nearly a growl, as if the memory of Adam placing his hand on your thigh personally hurts him.

Simon doesn’t understand. He has no context to why you were even there to begin with. Seeing you and Adam together wounded him. While sitting in your chair, watching your wraith as he confronted Evie’s brother-in-law with such fury, you knew you made a mistake.

But how do begin to explain everything? How do you start to detail Evie and Archie’s lives together? How do you slot the pieces into a picture that Simon will understand? How do you tell Simon that Archie’s entire family is fucking awful?

How? How?

All Simon witnessed was you and Adam sitting together in a dark pub. All Simon saw was Adam placing his hand upon your thigh. All he heard was that one little sentence at the end. That’s it. Simon knows nothing else.

“Yet he did it anyway,” you exclaim. “And you’re angry.”

“With him,” growls Simon. “Not with you.”

Yet that fails to explain Simon’s behavior after his friends escorted Adam out of the building. As far as you know, they could have taken Adam down a side street and broken his nose. Perhaps punched out a few teeth. You hope that isn’t the case. You hope they only took him to his car.

And you’re still seething about the way Simon treated you after. The shaking in your hands isn’t simply a reaction to Adam’s inappropriate behavior. It is also a response to Simon’s rough protectiveness.

“You’re not angry with me yet you drag me around by my arm. Herd me like a fucking farm animal.” You attempt to remove your hands from his grip, but Simon is having none of it. His fingers only squeeze a bit tighter. “Is that why you were so rough with me? Because you weren’t angry?”

Your voice is rising. The need to defend yourself is insistent. Pulsing. A driving force.

Yes, Adam had no right to touch you. But Simon also had no right to handle you like he did. That too is wrong.

Simon’s shoulders heave, every muscle in his body tensing. He abruptly drops your hands. Withdrawing. Pulling away. Stepping back.

“That was,” he begins, but pauses, gaze dropping in subtle shame. At his sides, his hands form fists. “Wrong of me.” Simon glances up, and the fire returns, your wraith a burning inferno that might combust. “I saw him touch you. Heard what he said. I snapped. And I shouldn’t have.”

The apology is genuine, and while half of you eagerly accepts it, the other isn’t nearly as pleased. Maybe it’s because you’re protective of Evie, and Simon’s interference with your conversation with Adam might have ruined so much for her.

“Yet you did it anyway.”

It’s one last bite. A final sting. You try to keep it in, but you’re so goddamn frustrated.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Even defeated, Simon is large, a looming figure you’re force to look up at.

While you’re frustrated, you know this isn’t really Simon’s fault. Sure, his behavior after the fact was fucking garbage, but he stood up for you. He defended you, was ready to toss Adam right out of the pub if you had told him to do it.

The grievance isn’t with Simon. It’s with Adam.

“It’s fine,” you sigh. It’s—”

You rub your lips together, running your hands over your face. Breathing is best. Breathing is good. The swirling pit inside your stomach is quickly rising to squeeze your chest. You need to calm down.

“It’s complicated,” you finish, not knowing what else to say.

Simon’s fists unclench. He hangs there, gaze pinned to your face, shifting slightly like he’s studying your features. “I told you to talk. I’ll listen.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple.”

Simon takes a step forward, breaching your personal space. One black boot lands between your feet, forcing you to open slightly. You attempt to back up, but Simon is insistent, moving with you.

“Simon—”

His hand goes to the back of your neck, halting your escape. Your own hands go up to push against his chest, using his solidness as a point of support to create space. As if knowing your intention, his other hand quickly snags one wrist and then the other, trapping them in the very spot you intended to place them.

Simon’s voice drops, almost to a whisper. Yet there is heat and a blooded blade beneath it that lends itself to innate instinct. “Does he mean something to you?”

“What?” you gasp, disbelieving.

Is Simon serious? Does he truly believe that?

“Are the two of you—”

“Stop,” you say, flattening both hands against Simon’s chest. “Just stop.” Simon begins to speak again but you’re putting an end to this like tearing out a thorn from your thumb.

“Adam isn’t anything to me,” you snap. “He’s Evie’s brother-in-law.”

Simon goes quiet. The silence stretches and you aren’t sure if you should fill it with more talking or just keep your mouth shut and wait for Simon to say something.

His brow hardens, the middle of it scrunching together. “He’s not—”

“Fuck, Simon. No,” you mutter, leaning forward to rest your forehead above the spot where your hands are joined.

Simon’s hand slides away from your neck and drops to your lower back, his fingers splaying wide, pressing against the slight curve. He releases your wrists too, only to run his fingers down your arm and to your waist. You do not drop your hands nor do you draw back from him.

Simon is warm. He smells of black tea and mint with the faintest hint of smoke. You breathe deep, burrowing closer. It sends you right back into memory. This is how he smelled when you first met him at Riot Room. You liked it then, and you love it now.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs.

It’s not a question. Simon isn’t asking. And it feels right, like a good pair of jeans or perfectly brewed coffee.

You’re mine.

Sounds nice, even if you are still a bit mad at him.

“I met him at the pub instead of Evie going,” you mutter against his chest. “He wanted to talk. I knew it wouldn’t be anything pleasant.”

Simon’s hand at your waist lightly squeezes, urging you to continue talking.

“I lied. Told him that Evie’s supposed to be on bedrest for the reminder of her pregnancy. He believed it.”

“What did he want?” You hear the restraint in Simon’s voice. He’s still upset, still angry.

“That’s the part that’s complicated.”

“Tell me what you can.”

What can you tell him? How do you formulate this in a way for Simon to understand but keeps Evie’s privacy intact?

You’re silent for far too long. Simon arms around you squeeze and then release, his large chest drawing back enough that you’re forced to look up at him.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, and you comply so easily.

It is nothing but your hand in his as he leads you to the couch. Simon removes your coat and gently sets it aside out of the way. Then, he’s guiding the two of you down onto the sofa. He reclines, leaning against the arm, pulling you into his lap. You drape yourself over him on your side, facing the blank television. Resting your head on Simon’s shoulder, you place your hand on his chest. His hand is quick to follow, encasing it, clinging to it. His other arm drapes over waist, creating a bit of support so you don’t sink into the cushions.

The two of you stay like this with Simon not saying anything and you simply thinking. Bravo is in the hallway near the bedroom, head resting on his paws, alert but still at rest. When Simon breathes in, your own chest rises slightly. You close your eyes, sink into the slow expansion and retreat of his lungs, imagining yourself weightless and floating. Fingers slightly digging into the front of his t-shirt, you snuggle into the crook of his neck, leaning into his embrace.

Simon remains neutral like a rock resting in a garden bed. He is simply there, propping you up, awaiting the moment you finally decide to crack open like an egg. In these brief moments, you drift off, the stress of the evening wearing you down like a nail file.

“Evie’s in-laws don’t like her,” you mumble, voice slightly strained with sleepiness. “They’ve never liked her. They’re old money and she isn’t.” You shrug but it’s more a shifting of your shoulders. “Now that her husband is gone, it’s worsened their relationship.”

Your eyelids open slowly. Leaning your head back, you seek out Simon’s eyes. He’s staring ahead, but when you shift, he immediately turns his head as if knowing what you need.

“Her due date is coming up quick. Less than two weeks.” You sigh and rest your chin right below his collarbone. “She’s always crying. Worrying even when she’s happy. I didn’t want them talking.”

This is what you give him. It isn’t nearly enough, but you can’t detail the threats or their constant push of trying to seize Archie’s assets. They want to leave Evie with nothing. They want her out of their life. It’s like they don’t care that she’s carrying Archie’s child. It’s a waste. But it’ll only make it easier for Evie to completely cut them off.

Simon delicately rotates your wrist, presents your palm to the ceiling like an offering. He brings it up to his mouth, tenderly pressing his lips against it through the balaclava. Gently, he guides it away, runs his thumb over the expanse of your palm.

His gaze tracks over every line and dip before flicking over to your face. “You’re smiling,” he observes, voice slightly husky.

“Am I?” and you hear the lightness in it, like fluffy white clouds on a summer day.

Simon brings your hand back to his chest. Releasing it, he guides those fingers to your chin, lightly pressing with intention, drawing your gaze to his. “Call me next time.”

“You don’t—”

“I want to.” Simon nods toward the now snoozing German Shepard. “I’ll even bring Bravo.”

“Bravo is too good a boy to make anyone scared.”

You know Simon is grinning because the balaclava stretches backward, pulling toward his ears. “He’s got bite.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Simon’s fingers still linger on the underside of your chin. They sit there, then slide along the jawbone, trailing up to the ear, and back down again. It’s a gentle caress, a soothing song that causes your eyelids to flutter.

“Simon.”

“Hm?”

Your fingers reach, toying with the edge of the balaclava. The arm he originally draped over your waist curves to your hip, squeezing, grabbing more ass than actual hip. Those fingers of his that so delicately touched you are hungry creatures, creating a necklace around your throat.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“You,” you breathe, the desperation burning like starving embers in your lungs. “I need you.”

Underneath the balaclava your fingers slip. They move in tandem with your body. Together they shift. Legs straddling hips. Chest pressed against chest. Lips finding lips the moment they’re able.

You and Simon are hunger personified, meeting and meeting, melting. Grasping the sides of Simon’s exposed cheeks, you use the leverage to push him against the couch, trapping him beneath you in a perfectly pleasurable illusion. Simon is much stronger than you. With only a quick shift of his muscles, Simon could easily pin you beneath him.

But you’re the one on top. You’re the one whose hips roll against him. His fingers dig and drag up and down your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and to the very top of your hips before he repeats it all.

There isn’t any sweetness to it. It’s not tart like lemon candies or sticky like toffee. This is overindulgence. Decedent. You and Simon are teeth and tongue and lips and endless endless gasps of air between it all.

It is the spaces between, the pause beneath where the two of you linger before coming together again. That’s the perfect part. The brief flash of separation. It is then that your wraith gazes on you with lust and something dipped in ancient longing.

Atoms calling to atoms.

Plants in orbit. A small object giving way to the larger mass.

Simon sucks on your bottom lip, lightly biting. “Mine,” he murmurs, drawing you back into a fierce kiss. “You’re mine.”

His.

Yes.

You like it. You want it.

You want him.

Your wraith.

Ghost.

Simon. Always Simon.

He grabs hold of your thighs, guides your legs further out and up to his waist. In seconds you’re on your back, Simon’s large frame pressing you into the cushions, his mouth on you in moments, tasting lips and tongue, traveling over and down, tracing the line of your jaw and the curve of your ear.

And Simon’s hands never stop. They never stop consuming.

Until they do. Until you’re whimpering for him to return his hands to your body. But Simon resists, keeping you trapped beneath him but not willing to bring your bodies together.

His head dips, lips brushing lightly over yours. “Pick a number between one and ten.”

“What?” you laugh, confused.

“Do it. One to ten. Pick.”

You nibble on the inside of your cheek, thinking. “Three?”

Simon only stares.

“Four?”

Again, he remains impassive.

Is Simon trying to herd you to a specific number?

“Five?” you reply hesitantly.

One eyebrow rises slightly. Finally, a reaction.

“Fine,” you laugh. “Seven.”

“Sure about that, love?”

You cock your head and playfully smack his chest. “Eight. Happy?”

“Final answer?”

“Yes, Simon. That’s my final answer.”

Simon nods, gaze quietly assessing. In the next moment, he’s dragging you up against him, bringing both of you to standing.

“What are you doing?”

Simon starts to back away, placing roughly an arm’s length of space between the two of you.

“Bedroom,” he purrs, the word a singular command.

Reaching down with one hand, Simon grasps the front of his belt. With expert quickness, he unbuckles it and then removes the belt from the loops with a fluid tug.

“No clothes,” he continues. “And on your back.”

“Simon—”

“Now.”

You’re being herded again, but this time you like it. This time it is from a place of desire, or a desperate yearning for another. This isn’t anger driving Simon, and it’s certainly not driving you.

Simon glances over his left shoulder at Bravo. The dog immediately gets up, trudging off somewhere. Stepping to the side, Simon makes space for you to slip through. He is right there, on your heel, entering the dark bedroom with you.

Once inside, Simon shuts the door behind him, cutting of the light from the living room and kitchen. The only source of illumination comes from the windows. The blinds are down, and only slightly cracked. It allows for lines of fractured moonlight.

Simon is mostly in shadow. Just an outline in the dark.

“What are the numbers for?” you ask, your eyes adjusting to the dimness.

“Get those clothes off, love. Then I’ll tell you.”

He moves closer, your wraith one with the darkness, silently slinking into your radius. Simon is near enough to touch you, to assist in the undressing, but he doesn’t. He only watches, his chest rising and falling, an imperceptible change in the shadows.

The outer layers are easy. It’s when you’re down to your underwear, bra, and top that you hesitate.

“Everything,” he repeats.

“What do the numbers mean?”

Again, Simon doesn’t answer. Instead, his hands rise, hovering just shy of your upper arms. They pause there before shifting down to slide underneath your top, to seek out the back of your bra. With ease, Simon unhooks it. Now he helps. Now he guides your top over your head, tossing it to the side. Straps loose against your shoulders, it takes Simon no effort to guide them down your arms.

You don’t resist. His touch is gentle but purposeful.

What do those numbers mean? What does he have planned. Is the number the amount of times he’s about to fuck you? The very thought of submitting to him like that makes your pussy clench.

You’re standing in just your underwear. Simon is fully clothed.

It doesn’t seem fair.

One large hand lightly brushes over your stomach, lingers right above the delicate, thin cotton. It’s nothing fancy. Nothing flashy. Simple and comfortable. And yet you’re not embarrassed by it because Simon clearly doesn’t seem to care either.

“These can stay,” he murmurs, fingertips lightly brushing against the cotton before withdrawing.

With his other hand, Simon reaches up and grasps the top of his balaclava. He tugs. Pulls. Removing it from his head.

But your wraith is in the shadows. You do not see his features. What you can see it just the soft sweep of his hair, and a brief flash of bone structure.

“The numbers,” he says. “They’re the orgasms I’m giving you.”

“You—what?”

“You’re going to count each one, love.” Simon stands so close your bodies are nearly touching. “Mess up. I start over.”

“Simon—”

“Are you mine?” Simon is gripping your throat against, pulling you taut against him, faces close, lips closer, but not touching.

Are you his?

Yes. Always yes.

“I’m yours.”

That hungry mouth of his lightly caress the corner of your mouth. “I want to mark my territory. I want to relearn your taste. Hear those gorgeous moans I’ve been missing.”

Greedy. Simon is greedy.

The possessively primal tone sends a delicious tingle through your limbs. It remembers him. It is your body crying out again, wanting to call him back home.

“On your back, love.”

You promptly fall, butt landing on the edge of the bed.

Your wraith still stands. Is still a looming shadow.

As he takes one step closer, you lean back onto your elbows. Simon’s fingers brush against the tops of knees before sliding between, easing your legs apart, guiding them wide for him to move between.

His rough hands are soft brands against your inner thighs. They slide further toward your sex, only to purposefully pass over it instead to grasp waist and stomach, seeking other tender spots that ache for his touch.

Simon places his knee on the bed, forcing you to scoot back a bit. It also forces your legs to stay open as Simon’s hands fall to either side of you. He adjusts, leaning onto one elbow, his other hand roaming across your skin.

He studies the curve of your hip, the softness of your belly, the places where you think there is too much and not enough. Simon worships it all, leaving nothing untouched. This room is a church. You are the alter. And Simon is one of the starving flock seeking salvation.

Hovering at your breasts, his tongue passes over a nipple. It promptly hardens, reaching toward him. Simon meets it, nipping lightly, teasing the bud until it’s aching. Moving to the other, he gives it the same attention. Your fingers dig into the bedding beneath you, and your head falls back as Simon’s lips press a kiss to the valley between.

One hand returns to your hips, slides over inner thigh, hooks a finger at the edge of your underwear, pulling it to the side. The air feels oddly cold against the warmth. A shiver passes through you and Simon’s sharp inhale is enough to draw forth a bit of danger.

“First one. Ready?”

The moment your mouth forms the agreement, Simon’s thumb hovers at your entrance where your slickness pools. He draws it up to your clit, presses, swirls. It’s a sharp tug. A sudden burst. You gasp, back arching slightly as Simon continues to play with that sensitive bump. His fingers aren’t even inside you. It’s just his thumb teasing. But you’re wired, strung out from the conversation with Adam, the argument and subsequent discussion with Simon, and now this.

You are Orpheus seeing the Sun again, giving into the joy, turning back to rejoice with Eurydice. And this time there is no punishment. Eurydice doesn’t disappear. Simon, your wraith, is still here.

And you are falling apart, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hips flexing into his touch as your body clenches. The moan is choked, suppressed. Simon knows, and grins against your throat.

“Count.”

“One,” you croak, knowing you’re not going to make it seven more times.

“Good,” he purrs, wrist rotating, his middle finger sliding through your new slickness.

Simon adds a finger, begins fucking you with it while he shifts up to press his lips to yours. You open for him, and Simon slides his tongue inside the moment he inserts a second finger. Using the knee already resting on the bed between your legs, Simon guides your legs wider to completely settle between them.

Spread wide, all you can do is cling to him. You have little control, but it’s good. It’s nice. It’s fucking perfect.

Simon releases your mouth and roughly kisses down the length of your neck only to run his tongue over your left nipple. Your hips buck, and Simon meets with a thrust of his hand. His thumb on your clit is relentless and it isn’t long before you’re clenching again, this time mewling softly, trying hard to relax but failing completely.

“Two,” you gasp as Simon’s teeth lightly trap your nipple between them.

He tugs softly. Releases the nipple. Kisses it.

Fingers slipping from your body, the loss comes instantly. It is momentary. A length of a breath. Simon is already moving down your body leaving nothing untasted. The knee between your legs disappears as Simon moves onto his knees in front of the bed. His arms slide under your thighs and curve up to lock onto them. With a sharp tug, you’re dragged to the very edge of the bed.

Simon turns his head and nips his way down the inside of your thigh. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your legs to the tips of your toes. You float in coiled anticipation. Fingers drag up and down your thighs. Simon’s mouth hovers close, but not enough to make actual contact.

You don’t dare break any of it. You don’t dare make the first move.

You are the frozen mouse staring down the cat.

Simon sighs heavily, but as it tapers out, it becomes a growl. Drawing back, Simon’s fingers curl around the edges of your underwear, bringing it into his fist. It takes only two quick tugs for Simon to tug them down your legs. They disappear into the dark as Simon guides one leg over his shoulder while the other is pushed even wider.

You’re presented to him. A gift.

Communion offered by a holy hand.

Starved like a sinner seeking confession, Simon descends, parting your pussy with a slow swipe of his tongue. With the afterglow of two orgasms in your system, your body responds to Simon’s tongue like a gunshot. Like the crack of a whip, Simon swirls up, teasing your clit with just the tip, and that is enough to make your shake, for your back to come off the bed.

Without thought, your hands seek him. One slides through his hair, tangling, twisting, anchoring yourself as your hips roll against his mouth, riding his face. The other claws, gripping his shirt, snarling the fabric in your fist.

Simon sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s over. The leg not over Simon’s shoulder snaps up, wanting to trap his head between your thighs. But Simon is strong and insistent, pushing it back down, forcing you wide again to take his tongue without resistance.

“What number is that?” asks Simon.

Your lips part to answer, but Simon returns his tongue to your clit, swirling just the tip against it. It steals your clarity.

Crying out, the hoarse noise becomes a whimper as he continues.

“Number,” he growls.

“Three!” you gasp.

His smile is brief and so is your moment of peace. Simon returns, tasting and tasting until you come off the bed, your own strength and Simon’s arms keeping you in place. Everything in wiggling, itching to escape and yet desiring more.

You won’t make it to eight.

Simon places a kiss against your pussy before he guides your leg off his shoulder. It is not for rest or to give you a break. Instead, Simon’s hands begin at your knees, sliding down to your inner thighs. He finds a solid grip, guides them wide, and returns to eating you out.

That tongue of his is a viper, and you are unable to avoid its bite.

Your thighs quiver, and your legs jerk, attempting to close yet again. Meeting resting, the muscles quiver, unable to do anything else. Like your legs, your arms are at your sides, palms pressing into the bedding, fingers digging into the bedding as if you’re trying to crush fruit.

“Fuck,” you groan. “Oh—fuck. Simon. Si—”

Small death. A burst of light. So cliché and yet so true.

“How many is that, love?” purrs Simon.

Though your eyes have adjusted to the dark, it is not enough to glimpse his features in any detail. Frustrated, you focus on what you can see in the dark: his eyes.

Moonlight cuts through the room like silver steel. Sometimes when Simon moves, you see the faintest hint of brown. Fleeting. But important.

Simon is staring you down, mouth poised just shy of the curve of your pelvis.

“F—four.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Simon nods. “That’s my good girl.” His mouth returns. “My good fucking girl.”

No return. No reversal. You are forever Simon’s.

This is not a simple exchange. This is a claiming. A “marking of territory” as he put it.

Your wraith isn’t fucking you. He’s not asked anything for himself. This is about you, and his control over you. In this, you will submit. In this, you will allow him to take the lead. Because, with everything going on in your life, letting go for a bit is a cleansing.

“Five” eventually leaves your mouth but it is fractured and shaky. Simon has to prompt you three times before it falls from your lips.

When his mouth returns for another round, Simon brings his fingers with him. You remember saying “seven” but “six” is lost like a rock thrown into a lake. Simon doesn’t correct you, but keeps going, returning to his task with just as much enthusiasm as all the rest.

On this one, Simon gently eases your thighs toward your chest, keeping them close but not touching. Using some of his body weight, Simon keeps you locked into position. His tongue runs lazy trails up and down your pussy, dipping inside before trailing upward again. You cannot reach him and you opt to hold onto the backs of your legs, your fingers layering over his own that hold you in place.

Overstimulation has been your companion since number three. You don’t know where you are. You are beyond that. Lost. Gone. Adrift.

The eighth and final orgasm brings tears to your eyes. They are clawed from your sockets, ripped from you in wet lines that leave you trembling and sensitive. Simon does not ask for the count right away. He guides your legs away from your chest, bringing them to rest against the bed.

Around you, the bed sinks as Simon shifts forward, pushing off his knees, crawling over you until the two of you are face to face. Your chest heaves and Simon’s lips are slightly parted. In the small slashes of moonlight, you glimpse the glossy shine on his lips.

Without speaking, without signaling to the other, the two of you meet. You taste yourself on him, and you hardly care. Your hands might be shaking but you reach out for him, touching him like he did you. One large hand comes to rest next to your head. The other slides up the bed.

Your hands go lower, pushing open the front of his pants.

Simon has to be aching. You want to give him some relief. You want to please him. It’s not a feeling of obligation but a deep desire to show him how much you crave him too.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the kiss. As your fingers reach for him, Simon’s hips flex backward, retreating from your touch. “You can’t handle that, love. Not right now.”

“Simon,” you beg. “I want to.”

He shakes his head, lips returning to yours momentarily before leaving again. “When I fuck you, it won’t be like this. I can fucking promise you that.”

Simon’s forehead presses against your temple and you slightly turn into him, noses brushing. “Can I touch you. Just touch. That’s all.” With extreme care, your fingers find him, wrapping lightly in case he says no.

His breathing hitches, and you see that as sign to keep going. Your grip on him isn’t great, but Simon helps, easing his pants down enough that there isn’t any clothing creating an obstacle. Simon is hot and hard in your hand. It’s clear that he needs release, and though everything in you fucking aches, you want to give him this.

It’s not pretty, but you start to pump him in short strokes. Simon groans, leans into the movement, his hips thrusting shallowly to meet your hand. Softly smiling in victory, you shift your legs a little wider, sliding them up to hook over the backs of his knees. The sound Simon makes is feral and deep.

His thrusts lengthen, and you keep your hand in place, allowing him to use it as he needs. Somehow, this is so much more intimate than if he were inside you. Simon is draped over you, trapping you against the bed, and yet your legs are locked over his, keeping him in your own web. His forehead is still pressed against your temple.

You know he’s near because his grunts are slowly tapering off at the end into short moans. It’s your turn to talk to him, to guide him toward that finish line.

“Where do you want to finish?” you ask softly.

“My hand?” You lightly squeeze his cock as he thrusts and this snaps a guttural groan from out his throat.

“My tummy?” you offer.

“My thighs?”

You lick your lips. “Do you want to finish in my mouth?”

Simon’s hips stutter.

“Or inside me?” You emphasize your meaning by pressing your heels into the back of his calves, urging him closer to your pussy.

The move is so sudden, it startles you. Simon’s hand around your throat is a vice but he doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t cut off your air.

He still thrusts into your hand as he speaks. “I want your cunt dripping with me.” He shakes his head. “Not there. Not yet.” Simon keeps his hand around your throat but his hold eases.

Every thrust is stuttering and slightly off.

“Fuck,” he growls. “Your thighs.”

Though your muscles cry out in protest, you release him, dropping your legs back to the bed. Simon shifts into position, his hand falling away from your neck to draw your legs closer together. Watching is the most pleasurable part, seeing his release coat the tops and insides of your thighs. You imagine it inside you, filling you up, marking you as his.

That thought lingers, even as Simon retreats, going to the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar and the light inside only gives you a brief glimpse. There isn’t skin or a face reveal. You glimpse Simon’s hair, and seeing it almost feels wrong, like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t.

It’s…blond.

No.

Brown?

That’s not right. Maybe it’s both or just a trick of the light. It’s hard to tell.

But the light shuts off, and Simon returns with a warm, damp cloth to clean you up. He is so careful, so delicate and gentle with the way he takes care of you. There isn’t conversation and you’re deeply thankful for that. You probably couldn’t talk even if you wanted to. The exhaustion is setting in, and with Simon’s return to the bathroom, you start to drift.

When he returns, Simon reaches up with one arm, pulling off his shirt in one go. His pants go next, and it isn’t until he’s dragging you into his arms and tossing the top sheet and comforter over your bodies that you realize Simon’s nakedness.

The two of you are on equal ground here.

Yes, there is the dark. But Simon is just as bare as you, and there is no balaclava.

Leaning forward, Simon kisses the curve of your shoulder once…twice…three times. You curl into his touch and Simon drags you even closer.

You hear it, even though it’s so quiet that you don’t think Simon intended you to hear it.

“Mine.”

Mine.

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[ninyard]

how long do you think Kevin took to grieve riko fully ? Did he stop grieving jm public or in front of the foxes because they couldn't understand it or

Oh. Oh I don't think Kevin ever got to fully grieve. I've probably talked about something similar before but no, I don't think so. Not in front of the foxes, anyway. I think there were glimpses, maybe, moments where he broke and couldn't keep it in for just a second or two at a time. But he'd hide it well until he was alone.

Then there's David and Kevin, back in an almost empty hotel bar, black suits on and several drinks deep, and Kevin's been silent for a couple of minutes.

"You can cry," David says, and Kevin just looks at him, breathing like it's the only thing worth focusing on, like if his mind slips for just a millisecond he'll self destruct. "I promise it won't make how he treated you suddenly okay."

Maybe David tells him a story about his parents death - how he struggled with his grief, grief that came in short and intense and incomprehensible bursts. Grief that didn't make sense. Grief that felt shameful, or guilt-filled, or grief that felt like it didn't deserve to be felt. Maybe Kevin doesn't say anything for a little while longer, or maybe he starts to tell a story. It's hard for David not to feel disgusted, knowing what he did to him, listening to a fond memory of two 10 year old boys who just wanted to be famous, as if that was all that Riko was. As if this one memory, these two or three memories, were who Riko really was, as if it was who he could've remained to be. But I think maybe David puts the stories he already knows aside to give Kevin the space to feel these confusing and guilty and shameful feelings of being nostalgic and wistful for the man who almost killed him.

I think Kevin shares his grief in secret for that one night, a closed casket freshly burned into his brain, a rest in peace winning over a rot in hell. Just for one day, at least.

Maybe he shares his grief with Bee - again, that horrible, conflicting feeling of I know how bad he was to me and I know how he treated me. But I miss who he used to be. And maybe I don't think he deserved to die.

But maybe even still, with David, with Bee, he holds himself back. He can't let himself grieve how he needs to grieve because he just can't. He can't let himself think, "I miss him," when he hadn't thought that for a very, very long time, and only feels it now in fleeting moments after his death. He can't let himself believe, "I'm sad that he's dead," when he silently wished it upon him every time his healed hand cramped or hurt, every time the remembered pain flooded his fingers when he moved a certain way.

Kevin's grief with Riko is complicated. That was his brother. His first friend. His first abuser, his worst abuser. That was the person who ruined his life, that was the person who pushed him to be better and better until better became best. That was the person who nearly killed him, the person who held his opinion with such high regard it was deadly. How do you grieve someone that you were scared of, when death makes you think of all the times he swore he was keeping you safe? Or at least, pretended he was. Or at least, did so for his own personal gain. How does he grieve someone who everyones sees as a monster, who he sees as a monster, but who smiled a pre-teen grin his way and said it's you and me against the world.

I don't think anyone would understand. Or, he thinks so, anyway. He doesn't think anyone will get it. He doesn't think it makes sense, or that it's okay, or that he's allowed to feel these conflicting feelings about him. I think Kevin grieves on his own, and that makes it worse, in some ways. It makes it a much longer process to work through. It makes it a long time until he is able to come to terms with it all.

[marvelmymarvel]

Revivals and Regrets

Madara Uchiha x Senju!Reader

Synopsis: With all of the Hokage's resurrected to help fight against the evils of Madara and Obito Uchiha, the oldest Senju has a brilliant idea to deal with Madara - and it just so happens to be reviving you... Much to Tobirama's disapproval.

A/n: I have not seen the Fourth Ninja War arc so this is (most likely) NOT accurate. But enjoy it anyway ;)

Naruto Masterlist: Here

Like always, Madara's presence was an issue and Hashirama was beginning to see how screwed they all were if he wasn't taken care of soon. He glanced at Tobirama who snarled down at the way Madara slaughtered the ninjas one by one without breaking a sweat. He hated him so much... And that fact alone made Hashirama fear what he would say once he voiced his crazy idea.

"We should revive Y/n"

Tobirama's head snapped to his older brother. For a split second, his eyes held shock and fear, but it quickly morphed into hatred. It wasn't that he hated you; Hashirama knew that.

It was something much darker than that.

"Are you insane? Why in the world would we resurrect our little sister?!" Tobirama spit out, causing the group around them to stare in confusion at what was happening. The third Hokage, however, knew why the second was so angry. Except, it wasn't anger. Sure it sounded like anger and felt like anger, but it was one thing and one thing alone.

Regret.

Tobirarma deliberately drove Madara out of the village, breaking your poor, innocent heart. He believed you would get over it and find someone else to love, but what he didn't plan for was you running away. Upon hearing that you had left, Tobirarma sent ANBU officers after you. While he was worried they wouldn't find you, the second he laid eyes upon your dead body, he wished they hadn't found you at all.

He didn't sleep for months.

"Tobirama, I know you don't want to face her, but she's our only hope-"

Tobirama scoffed, eyes rolling as he looked back down to the ninja being massacred below. Upon seeing just how few men were left, his gaze softened. Face his worst fear? Or let everyone die? Tobirama's eyes fell to his feet as the tears bubbled along his lashline. "Tobirama"

"Fine. Revive her"

Silence filled the space around him, his chest growing tight as he realized what he had just permitted. He managed to avoid you in the afterlife but he wasn't going to be able to run from you here. He turned back to watch the fighting below, but his eyes slammed shut as Hashirama chanted the jutsu out into the night air. Maybe if he just kept his eyes closed he could ignore you.

That wouldn't work though, he knew that.

A piercing screech sounded out causing his plan of being unavailable emotionally to fly out the window. He chanced a glance behind him, eyes open and wide at what he saw. The shrill cry that snapped him out of it was indeed flying from your lips, and your pained face made him want to die a thousand deaths. When someone is resurrected, they have the same feelings as the moment they died. Meaning that if you died a painful death and were revived, you would immediately feel that pain upon resurrection.

It would go away, once you realized you were no longer in pain, but hearing the sound you would have made in your last moments on earth made Tobirama want to run for the hills.

Hashirama wrapped his arms around you, coos flying from his lips as he tried to ease you into the living world. Tobirama couldn't stop himself, his body turning fully to face you and your confused state. Tears were streaming down your face, hands grasping at your neck as you fought for air. Your killers had slit your throat, making the image before him sicker than it would have been if he was free from that knowledge.

He did this to you.

Tobirama watched cautiously as you slowly began to take in your surroundings and the way Hashirama was holding you - Hashirama was always a better brother to you than he was. Tobirarma didn't have many regrets in his life, but all of them related to you.

~Your POV~

Your eyes wandered, searching for something in the crowd. What was it that you needed? The one thing you thought of before you died... You wouldn't remember until you saw-

Your face visibly softened, eyes widening as you took a shaky step towards him - your white-haired brother that you had been avoiding in the afterlife out of fear that he hated you. "Tobi?" you whispered. You could tell he wasn't expecting this outcome, what with how his eyebrows shot up in shock. You opened your mouth to say something, but the commotion below finally hit your ears and quiet mind, oh... You were revived for a reason.

You took in a sharp inhale of breath eyes widening as you raced towards where Tobirama was standing, but your eyes were no longer on him. If you could have died again from happiness, you would have. "Madara!" you cried out, mouth curving up into a loving smile.

"That's why we revived you, Y/n... We need your help with him"

Your head shot back to Hashirama, who was just as bewildered as Tobirama was - he knew you'd be excited to see Madara again. However, he was still reeling over your reluctance to run to Tobirama. They couldn't deny it, though. If Madara wasn't there, you would have indeed run to your brother. "Y/n," the white-haired man breathed out shakily. Now that you were here before him, the regrets came flooding back in. He should have let you marry the Uchiha, should have let you run away with him. But he was selfish.

He was the cause of your death.

Your mouth slammed shut, a frown replacing your smile as you gazed at the white-haired man behind you. The both of you took a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry"

Both of your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the other's apology. Hashirama's eyes flicked between the two of you before he rolled them. Stepping forward, he placed his hands on both of your shoulders.

"I'll spell this out since we don't have time. Tobirama, Y/n is sorry for running away and disgracing the clan. Y/n, Tobirama is sorry for banishing Madara and being the cause of your death" The eldest hoped that the explanation would do, but it only seemed to have caused more confusion.

Silence filled the air before you both proclaimed: "You aren't a disgrace" and "You weren't the cause of my death" to each other. Hashirama sighed; if the two of you had just worked this out in the afterlife, they wouldn't be in this situation-

"We do not have time for this!!!"

Your eyes traveled to a blonde boy who couldn't have been older than 17. You scoffed playfully before throwing a look at the fourth Hokage, "Your kid, I presume?" He nodded sheepishly before scolding the teen, reminding him about who he was talking to. "He's got that Uzumaki fire... I will say..."

"HEY!"

"Enough." Hashirama hissed out, stopping Naruto's anger in its spot. Hashirama gripped your shoulder harder, "Can you help us stop him? I fear he will only listen to you... After all, all of this is for you."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "For me? I didn't ask for this". The silence that followed made your stomach flip.

"Madara... He was so heartbroken upon hearing of your death that he waged war on the village. He managed to rope Obito Uchiha into this war. Obito similarly lost the love of his life, so it was easy for Madara to manipulate him."

You let out a groan at Hashirama's words. Of course, this was for you. This was Madara, after all. "Did my fan come with me?" your question flew back towards the group near where you were resurrected. There was a commotion as they scrambled to look for it, but a sigh of relief fell from your lips when one yelled that your fan did indeed come with you.

You muttered a 'thanks' as the shinobi handed you the weapon. The same weapon you'd use when sparring with Madara. It was rather funny when you thought of it, your ninjutsu being wind and Madara's being fire. But it worked.

Depending on how you use it, it could extinguish the flames or intensify them. You two were a match made in heaven. A smile once more grazed your lips as you cracked your neck and jumped on the balls of your feet, trying to pump yourself up for what would surely be a heated exchange.

But it wouldn't be of malice. Oh no, this would be of love.

"Oh Gods, how I love him," you breathed out, heart hammering as you felt the love and ecstasy fill every crevice of your body. The shinobis were quiet around you, eyes widening as they took in your growing excitement to be reunited with him. Was this Uchiha such a bad guy? He was destroying the world in your name... He was destroying the world in the name of love. It was then, as they watched your lips part, that he wasn't an evil man.

He was a love-sick one.

"MADARA"

The fighting paused for a second, and your eyes locked with his. Everyone gasped as the air shifted from malevolence to adoration within seconds of the name leaving your lips. Not wanting to waste another moment, you hopped down from the cliff, heart soaring as you counted the seconds until you'd be in his arms again.

Madara raced towards you, no longer killing the shinobi that got in his way. Instead, he pushed them off. His only thought was you. He wanted you, no - NEEDED you.

And he is finally going to have you.

Your landing shook the ground; knees bent as you caught your breath. But you barely had a moment to stand fully as Madara swooped you into his embrace. The shinobi seemed to stop chasing him and stood confused at the soft display in front of them. Was this the same man they were fighting seconds ago? Were you his weak spot??

One shinobi moved, mind set on slaughtering you, but Madara shot a glare his way, daring him to proceed. The fear that coursed through him made him stop, and it finally clicked.

This was all for you.

Your hand forced Madara to look at you again, "No more fighting, I'm here now" Madara nodded at your words. The war now meant nothing to him, not with you being beside him again. "I can't stop Obito..." he whispered in slight shame. He hated disappointing you, and he was afraid that this would cause you to hate him, but the smile rising on your lips told him otherwise.

"They'll handle him... Why don't we go spar? We have a lot to catch up on... My love"

[cupiohearts]

I WISH YOU LOVE ! - reminiscing with gun.

(cant catch me now series). GUN VER. dg ver. goo ver

they see you everywhere. james, jonggun, joongoo. they find bits and pieces of you lying around in their pockets, their houses and memories. it depends on which one it is which scene they see you in.

for GUN, he cant figure out for the life of anyone why they would wish someone that moved on in life the best of luck. he was a selfish man. when you disappeared from him, he mutters bitterly to himself wishing curses upon your name. the tear drops on the letter you wrote to him being the symbolism behind it all.

why would he want you to do well without him? why did you have to leave him?

did you not care as much as you said you did? he furrows his eyebrow. taking another drag out of his cigarette while he watches the stupid couple on the street pick out matching items for each other.

"jonggun! jonggun! look come here! hurry up!" you hiss at him as you press your face against the glass of a window. it was the pet adoption center. a calico cat taking a nap in the window as you cood at it.

that was the ugliest cat hes ever seen. it's eyes looked a bit too similar to the one you always give him when you want him to do something ridiculous for you.

"its cute" he gruffly says. you raise an eyebrow at him and made a face "youre a big fat liar. when we grow old with joongoo and james! we should all get a cat together!"

you giggle as you wiggled your finger at the cat. your breath fogging up the glass and when you pulled away he could see a slight bit of lipgloss- or lip tint- or whatever you were wearing on your lips that left it all glossy and shimmery left on the window.

he didnt say anything about it. he probably shouldve. you left the window dirty with your makeup. the same lips he imagined himself kissing from to time.

he thinks again. gun is a selfish man. when he read the letter you gave him, he thinks to himself for a far longer period of time than what he would appreciate.

he picks up the small camera you left behind in your apartment. he kept it with him for some reason. it was to keep videos and photos of yourself so he wont forget all of the times hes had with you.

"gun stop! stop! stop- what in the world happened here?!" your voice can be heard from behind the camera. the camera work a bit shaky as you walk closer to the restaurant.

there were a lot of bodies on the floor. a lot. "did you take them all down by yourself?" you ask him. you already knew the answer. he didnt need to respond but he did "yes"

you let out a deep sigh "this was supposed to be a cute video! you just ruined it. i wanted to send my mom and dad videos of me while im still here!"

you never sent it. he almost wished you did. so your parents knew what your friends were in korea. gangsters hanging out with the most.. sane one. sane is a strong word. hed think more like you were the glue.

you held everyone together, but at the same time. you were the one keeping them in the past.

that wasnt what he thought as he read your note though.

while he reading the shaky lines with splotchy text. the tears you left on the paper made it all crumbly and the words were hard to read.

he could only wish you the worst time without him. you better not be happier than you were with him. thats how you made him feel. he felt like the vines growing around the fence around you. his growth was hindered by the boundaries you had. if you werent there, he wouldve probably never grown in the first place, but you were also the reason he couldnt get better.

even as he read the lines 'jongun, you are the one who destroyed me the most.' he felt a small smile come to his face. he really is the most selfish person he knew.

sooooo... im here. I DID THE SECONDPARTY YIPPEE 😋😋 is it messy idk

i havent proof read so im assuming its ok. if its ooc mb brother.

their personalities are hard to capture anyways live laufh love the lookism blondes <3 the hottest in the game frl

[mcdonaldsplayground]

| actually the worst | part 1

ao’nung x f!reader

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | bonus part

summary: when your family is forced to leave the omaticaya, you find yourself seeking refuge with strangers. just when things don’t seem so bad, you discover the worst person to ever happen to you. ao’nung has the special ability of making you want to strangle him, and lessons with him haven’t even started yet.

includes: enemies to lovers, swearing, teasing, ao’nung being a cocky mf😌

word count: 2.5k

You could physically feel your heart breaking the further you flew from home. The open sky in front of you appeared blurred through a fresh round of tears that welled in your eyes and the wind bit at your wet cheeks. You wanted nothing more than to scream and protest in frustration, though you knew it was pointless. This was your family’s only option.

To your left, your twin sister, Kiri, gave you a sympathetic look. You had always been the more openly emotional one, but you could tell Kiri was taking the move just as hard as you. In contrast, your brother Lo’ak was intent upon expressing his feelings through the vessel of being an annoying pest, as per usual. He guided his ikran closer to yours, forcing you to move out of the way before you collided.

“Stop that, dickhead!” You shouted over the roar of the wind, wiping your diminishing tears away. Lo’ak only laughed before beginning to fly around you in circles.

“Just trying to cheer you up, [Y/N]! Don’t be such a cry baby!”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Instead of responding, you waited until Lo’ak’s lazy circles around you had positioned him beneath you before having your ikran dive and swipe at him. It was a harmless action—missing by a long shot—but he screamed anyway, almost stopping his ikran completely. You couldn’t hold in your laughter as it nearly sent Neteyam crashing into him, only to bank right at the last second.

“You skxawng!” Neteyam yelled, furiously glaring at Lo’ak, who seemed to have recovered from his scare and was now trying to explain how it was your fault. “Just fly straight, dummy,” Neteyam grumbled, swooping over to fly next to you. The two of you shared a knowing smirk before you yelled back at Lo’ak,

“Thanks Lo’ak, I feel better now!” Laughter erupted from your chest once again, and you silently thanked Eywa for your siblings. A heaviness still tugged at your heart, but it was easier to forget while you talked and laughed with them.

You had been travelling for so long that you lost track of time. Your grief made it feel like years, but it was probably only a few days. All you wanted to do was get off your ikran and find a place to lie down for a while to relieve your tense muscles. Unfortunately, your father signalled from the front of the pack that you would be landing soon and you only tensed up more.

In the distance, the vast endlessness of the ocean broke with the sight of an island. As you came closer, you flew over a few large expanses of rock where the harsh waves broke over, sending water cascading down into the more closed off reef. You knew there were Na’vi here, but somehow it still surprised you to see many of them standing on the rocks or swimming along the beach, craning their necks to look at you and your family above them.

The seven of you flew around until you spotted a seemingly safe enough spot to land, coming down together on a stretch of sand. While the rest of your family began to dismount right away, you were more hesitant, wishing you could stay on your ikran instead of facing all these new people.

“[Y/N],” Your mother was busy helping Tuk down from her saddle, but she beckoned you with sympathetic eyes. You sighed deeply, dismounting and running your hand along your ikran’s head in an attempt at comforting yourself. As you walked, Kiri caught up to you and grabbed your hand, squeezing it gently. Glancing sideways, you could see the distaste in her expression and you imagined you had a similar look on your own face. Though the two of you looked remarkably different for twins, your facial expressions were often identical.

As you walked forward, a huge group of the Metkayina came forward as well, effectively meeting you in the middle. They didn’t appear aggressive, but your father had his arms raised as a sign of peace, looking more nervous than you had ever seen before. You gripped Kiri’s hand tighter. As you did so, two younger looking boys broke through the crowd and stalked closer than anyone else. The boy in the front had an intimidating look about him, from the way he confidently strode toward you to the intense questioning expression he wore. When his eyes caught yours you froze, desperately wanting to look away but finding it nearly impossible. His expression didn’t change, but he kept his gaze locked on you even as he turned toward where your two brothers stood. In the corner of your eye you saw your brothers attempt to greet the strangers, which went unreturned. Only when his friend spoke up did the boy tear his eyes away from yours, sending a shiver of relief along your spine.

“Is that supposed to be a tail?” The smaller of the boys grinned, pointing to Neteyam’s anxiously flicking tail, earning a chuckle from many in the crowd and a smirk from the tall boy. You hadn’t even been here five minutes and you already wanted to scream. Mostly at the one who thought he was hot shit.

“How are they supposed to swim?” his friend spoke up again, but was quickly chastised by a gorgeous girl who appeared from the water moments earlier.

“Do not! Rotxo. Ao’nung.” Her expression was scolding as she forced them to back up a few steps, but her large eyes and permanent kind smile made her a lot less threatening. Still, the idiot boys grew silent and stoic, straightening up when the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk came forward to meet your family. After everyone got the initial, polite greetings out of the way, Chief Tonowari asked your father why you all had come, the following conversation causing much tension among the Metkayina. Ronal seemed particularly opposed to the idea of having you stay, and she decided to use you to make her point. Coming close, she brushed your tail with her fingers before grabbing your forearm to examine.

“Their arms are thin. The will be slow in the water.” You fought the urge to jerk you arm away, feeling a little frightened by the woman. You flexed your fingers nervously, not realizing your mistake until Ronal’s eyes flicked down to your hand. Her gaze hardened and she grasped your wrist, pulling up your hand for everyone to see. “Look. They are not even real Na’vi! They have demon blood!”

A nervous murmur spread throughout the crowd, and you looked away from Ronal, a deep blush forming on your cheeks. Somehow you happened to catch the eyes of that ridiculous boy once again, his brow furrowed. His stare felt odd; it wasn’t accusing or disgusted like you would have expected, but more thoughtful instead. It gave you the sensation of being seen in an intimate, private moment, one that was meant only for you but was somehow being witnessed by this boy as well. Your heart was racing by the time Ronal released you and your strange connection with the boy was broken. You missed most of the further conversation while trying to ground yourself again. You decided it would be best not to look his way for a while.

Your family had already begun settling into your new marui pod, sorting out the various items you had brought from home. It was pretty much the last thing you wanted to do considering it meant you really weren’t going to return to the forest. You were slow in your efforts, frowning deeply as you and Kiri laid out a few mats.

“You’re not being very helpful, [Y/N],” Kiri quipped, an amused smile playing at her lips. You knew she was only trying to make conversation, but you moaned, flopping down dramatically onto the mat you had just taken 10 minutes setting up.

“The air here is so- bleh. It’s slowing me down.” You sighed, throwing your arm over your eyes. Kiri chuckled and plopped down beside you, quickly followed by Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Tuk.

“The air is just like the air back home, weirdo.” Neteyam smiled, poking your cheek before you smacked him away.

“No, she’s right. The air is weird. Like… salty?” Tuk cut in, making her point by smacking her lips as if tasting the air. She made a strange face and the four of you laughed.

“Probably why that stupid boy, Ao’nung, is so salty. His airways are clogged.” You couldn’t help but laugh again at your own joke. You didn’t typically make fun of people, but Ao’nung just got on your nerves. You couldn’t pin down a reason, though, and it bothered you.

“You mean the chief’s son? I didn’t know you spoke to him?” Neteyam questioned, and Lo’ak nodded in agreement. You felt your cheeks get hot.

“I haven’t. But you saw him when we arrived. Looked like a shark chomping at the bit.” Neteyam’s eyebrow shot up in question, but Lo’ak snickered.

“He totally did, bro. Looks like he’s never smiled, like, ever.” This sent everyone into another fit of giggles, only to be interrupted as your parents returned from touring the village.

“Hey, I thought we asked you to set things up while we were gone?” Jake said, looking around at everything that was still mostly packed away.

“Yeah we were, until [Y/N] decided she needed a break.” Lo’ak piped up, earning a kick from you in the shin. “Ow!”

“Hm, well I suppose you need a tour of the place anyway. Your mother and I saw some pretty cool things out there,” Jake grinned, nudging Neytiri, who was clearly trying not to roll her eyes. Your heart warmed a bit at seeing your father try to make the best of things. “Why don’t you kids go out and explore a bit? Make some new friends before your lessons tomorrow?” At this, Lo’ak groaned.

“Dad. Can’t we just chill out here? We have, like, the rest of our lives to do that stuff.” Jake gave him a hard stare, causing Neteyam to stand, pulling Lo’ak up with him.

“Let’s go, Lo’ak. Maybe Tsireya will be out there and you can actually be a man and talk to her instead of ogling.” Before Lo’ak could respond, Neteyam jumped outside and took off, laughing when Lo’ak began to chase him.

“Girls? Are you going out or are you going to help us put everything else away?” Jake gestured to the stuff behind him. You and Kiri shared a look and silent communication before standing up and taking off after your brothers, Tuk in tow.

Outside the marui was almost excruciatingly bright, and it took a while for your eyes to adjust to the way the sun seemed to bounce off the water and sand. Catching up to Neteyam and Lo’ak was easy, seeing as they were arguing loudly. You rolled your eyes and walked ahead of them, trying your best to take everything in and memorize the way around the village. It had only been about five minutes before something caught your attention on the beach and you wandered away from your siblings. You and Kiri had a habit of being absent-minded.

In the sand, next to a marui pod, was a tiny orange creature with many legs and little pincers. You smiled, crouching to get closer. A gasp escaped your lips when the creature slowly started scuttling toward you, stopping next to your outstretched hand.

“Hello, little one.” You breathed, standing up straight with the creature balanced on your palm. You squinted as you examined it, thinking it looked a bit like something you had seen once in the forest.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice asked from almost directly behind you. You whipped around, startled, and tried not to yelp when your eyes met a pair of familiar blue ones. Again, it felt nearly impossible to move under his gaze, and you stuttered, unsure of what to say.

“Do you know how to speak, forest girl?” Ao’nung questioned, mirth dancing in his eyes. That seemed to snap you back a bit, though you still felt strange in his presence.

“Of course I do, dimwit. I just don’t like speaking to assholes.” His eyebrows shot up in surprise at your snarky response.

“Why were you talking to yourself, then?” He pushed back, again looking like he immensely enjoyed teasing you.

“Do you know how to use your eyes?” You mocked. “I was talking to this.” You held up your hand that the creature was still perched on. Ao’nung’s gaze flicked down to look only for a moment before returning to you, smirking.

“That’s actually probably worse than talking to yourself. I don’t know if you know this, but those things don’t talk.”

“I wish you were the same way.”

“Ouch. You’re pretty feisty for such a tiny girl.” You could tell he was trying to goad you on again, but this time you didn’t take the bait. You just wanted to escape his suffocating presence.

“What are you even doing here? Doesn’t the chief’s son have work to do?” You made sure your expression was disinterested, even as he smirked.

“I think it’s more fitting to ask what you are doing here. This is my marui pod.” The tall boy gestured to the pod beside you, pretty much directly above the sand you had found the creature in. Heat rose to your cheeks.

“Oh. I-” But you were cut off by the voices of your siblings who had appeared from around the corner, clearly searching for you.

“Hey. Why did you wander off?” Kiri asked, raising her eyebrows as she glanced between you and Ao’nung.

“Your sister was busy talking to animals. Hope craziness doesn’t run in the family.” Ao’nung grinned, making you scoff. You gently set the creature back in the sand before starting toward Kiri. Against your better judgement, on your way past Ao’nung you bumped his arm with your shoulder.

“Oops.” You muttered, feigning nonchalance as you tried to gauge his reacting in your peripheral vision. He just smirked, shaking his head. For some reason this annoyed you even more, he’s such a dick, you thought.

As you walked away with everyone, Neteyam nudged you, pulling you to walk at the back with him. “Hey, what was that?” He asked quietly, though you could tell Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk were listening anyway.

“He’s actually the worst, Teyam. So arrogant. And even more annoying than Lo’ak.” You huffed, earning a light punch from your youngest brother.

“Okay… but you’re usually the nice one. I’ve never seen you like that before.” Neteyam was smiling, poking fun at you in a way that only he could. You smiled too in spite of yourself. However, he was being truthful. It wasn’t like you to be sarcastic or snarky, even to people you didn’t like.

“I can’t explain it. All I can say is that he asks for it. I actually don’t know how I’m going to survive training with him.” You groaned, imagining spending hours on end with your new nemesis.

“Oh cheer up! Training will be fun! We get to watch Lo’ak try to be macho in front of his crush,” Neteyam laughed as Lo’ak stopped dead in his tracks, glaring.

“Bro, shut up about that! Gonna have everyone knowing my business, damn!”

[cinnbar-bun]

The Heartless Giant Pt. 4

Pairing: Crocodile x GN! Royal! Reader

Rating: SFW-ish (some suggestive comments wink wink)

Word Count: ~2.5k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 AO3

Taglist: @gingernut1314 @fanaticsnail @leafyturtle @pookiesnatcher @lolom

You can’t help but be attracted to his eyes. Those dark eyes that promise nothing but pain, that hold nothing but emptiness inside. His words repeat in your mind over and over. 

“But don’t keep me waiting too long, dear.” 

His insistence that you did not need an excuse to visit him and that companionship was desirable replayed. You wonder briefly what it would be like if those eyes of his could have some light. If those eyes could ever reflect anything besides apathy, coldness, or arrogance. 

How wonderful it would be to be the reason his eyes have light again… 

To be the one to bring it back to him…

It’s shameful, wishful thinking, but in your rather boring life, he colors your mind with fascinating thoughts. Some of them are morbidly curious, but they are far more interesting and stimulating than anything from before. With only a few visits, he had imprinted himself in your mind and made you start to dream of things you never dared to before. 

One could start to get the impression you were becoming fond of Crocodile. 

Oh, Crocodile… what a strange name. But the more you say it, associate the word with him, the more it fits him. 

Big, imposing, quiet, yet so, so ferocious- his name fits him far too well. 

Violent tendencies contained within a barely held monster of a man. It’s far too dangerous but also brings a certain amount of imagination you cannot deny yourself. 

You wonder how he fought your father. What he was like in Alabasta. What he looked like when he was younger. Who gave him those scars? Who cut his hand off and made him need the hook? Just what havoc could he have wrecked upon your brothers if he was not occupied caring for you and giving them the opportunity to escape? 

These thoughts plague you, morning and night. You almost want to go ask your father directly about Crocodile, but you know the dangers of that. You know you could be inviting something awful by bringing up that man’s existence in front of your father. He’s already been suspicious of your behavior the last few days, you didn’t need to hand him the reason on a silver platter. 

That thought reminded you of just how silly you were acting over Crocodile. If you couldn’t even discuss this with your own father for fear of his reaction, you shouldn’t even be down there in the first place. 

So you waited. A few days pass, forcing you to occupy your time and acknowledge the pros and cons of seeing Crocodile again. The cons were clear and obvious, but the doubts, the ‘what-ifs’, the copious amounts of hope you were attempting to have in order to possibly justify another minute of him, always overshadowed the rational parts of you. You were already in too deep to back out now. Not when you couldn’t shove away all the questions you had wanted to ask him about. 

It was now the sixth night since you last saw Crocodile. If you went down now, would he possibly chastise you for not visiting in a while? Would he assume the worst? Or would he be grateful? 

Well, he’s a lonely prisoner, you think, it’s not like he has any other people to talk to. He would probably appreciate your presence, if anything. Although the moon is at its highest point in the sky, you can’t possibly sleep, not with these thoughts. This time, you go to your closet and quickly grab a wrap to cover your shoulders over your nightclothes. 

You do the same thing as before, taking a peek out the door before dashing to the bottom cellar. Thankfully, the freezing air is not as sharp thanks to the thicker wrap around you. You take more careful steps down the stairs towards him, before you hear a low chuckle. 

“Well, well, well… long time no see, your highness,” Crocodile’s voice reaches your ears. 

“How did you know?” You ask, seeing as he’s sitting with your back towards you and the fact that you did your best to be quiet. Crocodile motions to his ears, still refusing to turn around. 

“I can recognize your footsteps,” he answers. “You have?” 

“I don’t hear much else. Your footsteps at least mean I will see something nice for a change,” he laughs, again with that same humorless laugh. 

You nod and take a seat on the stone floor in front of the bars. An offering to him. 

He freezes then glances at you over his shoulder. 

“You’re getting comfortable,” he comments rhetorically. “So, why did you come today?” 

He still hasn’t turned around. “I felt bad.” 

“Heh. You felt bad? You felt bad for a criminal? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” “I can always just leave you alone,” you retort. “I thought you were the one talking about ‘companionship’ and what not last time.” 

“Oh please, you didn’t come down here just because you felt pity for me.” 

“I didn’t say pity-” 

“My point still stands,” he interrupts. This time, he turns around, and you notice his eyes look more exhausted while his smirk is more cold. “You weren’t really feeling bad. You desire my presence much more than you want to admit, huh?” 

His bluntness makes you red while you grimace and grip your wrap tighter. “I absolutely did not ever say or imply that.” 

“You don’t need to. You keep trying to act tough around me, dear but I’m not the kind of man you can just lie to so easily.” He leans in closer to you and tilts your chin up with his hand through the bars. “You missed me, didn’t you?” “I did not,” you huff. You internally scream at the fact he’s making you act like a petulant child. 

“Sure, sure, your highness. Just couldn’t admit the fact that you were starting to want me.” 

“Well, continue to be that way. I’m going,” you say as you begin to stand up. His right hand reaches out to grab your wrist while he shakes his head. 

“Oh no, your highness,” he tuts. “I’m not letting you go so easily now that you’re here. Come on, take a seat.” 

“With how you’re talking, I don’t think I want to sit with you,” you argue. A low rumble from his chest again makes your face heat up. 

“Don’t be so cruel… I began to miss your presence here. I don’t want to go back to that loneliness, you know?” “So you admit that you wanted companionship?” “Well, now you’re putting me in an awkward position, your highness,” he smirks. “Making me have to admit my feelings so suddenly.” 

You wait to hear what he has to say while Crocodile rubs his thumb around your hand in circles. “Well? What are your feelings?” “So demanding,” Crocodile flicks his eyes towards yours briefly. “Well, since you’re so desperate to know-” 

“I’m not desperate,” you glare. He looks deep into your eyes and chuckles. 

“My bad. But I have to admit that I’ve been missing your company. You forced your way down here and then didn’t even come see after almost a week? I thought for a moment you would have forgotten me already.” You’re taken aback by his confession and stare while he strokes your hand. 

“Prisoner got your tongue?” Crocodile flashes his hook at you while you avert your eyes. 

“No, I… I was just taken aback for a moment. I didn’t expect you to be that forward now.” “You simply forced my hand. Don’t question my feelings again if you aren’t ready to hear what I really mean. Otherwise I’ll keep having to make you squirm.” 

“You’re too much,” you groan as you take a seat on the floor again. “I don’t understand how you can say something like that with a straight face.” “Try being more honest, your highness. It might get you where you want instead of putting you on the defensive.” 

“That’s rich coming from you,” you say. “You can’t tell me to be more honest when you were busy hiding your secrets until I ‘enticed’ you enough.” 

“What can I say? I’m a hypocrite, your highness. That’s not my problem to solve.” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t help but laugh. “Maybe you should take your own advice. Be more honest and open.” “I don’t think you could handle my honesty.” “I doubt that. You should just tell me.” “No, no, no, that’s not how this works. You can’t have only me admitting and spilling my life to you. You have to give something in return,” he points his index at you. 

“Fine. What would you like to know?” “Any relationship experiences?” Crocodile bluntly asks. 

“Wha- seriously? That’s your first question?” You reply, unimpressed. 

“What? I’m just curious, is all. It’s a normal thing to ask someone attractive, isn’t it?” Crocodile raises a brow at you with a smirk. 

“You-!” You cover your face with your hands. “You go first.” “Fine. Hm… relationships… can’t say I have.” “You really haven’t?” You ask in disbelief. “I mean, you seem like the type to have experience.” “Don’t mistake my words. I’ve had plenty of flings, if that’s what you’re curious about. But actually courting another? No, I have not.” “Why not?” “Why would I?” Crocodile runs a hand through his hair. “None have impressed me before. Especially not when I was so busy attempting to take over.” 

“One-track minded, huh…” 

“Hmph. You could say that. I prefer to label myself as ‘committed’ to my goals.” 

“And what are those goals?” 

“You haven’t given me your answer,” Crocodile reminds you. 

You roll your eyes at his attempt to redirect your question. “None.” 

“None, you say? Interesting,” he nods with a smile. “Not even a bed-warmer?” “You’re so crass. No. Nobody.” “Now that’s impressive. How did no one come along and attempt to woo you?” He chuckles, reaching out to hold your face in his hand. 

“Well… a few have…” you admit, avoiding the deep examination Crocodile is giving you. 

“And why have they not turned into an opportunity?” Crocodile questions. 

“I wasn’t interested. The suitors who tried were vapid and dull. I’d much rather have continued reading and studying than bother trying to keep a conversation with them.” 

“So, you’re just as ‘one-tracked minded’ as I am, hm?” Crocodile teases. 

“I think I prefer ‘hardworking’ instead of that,” you correct with a smile. 

“And what do you tend to study and read about?” “Any and everything. Whatever catches my eye at the moment, I like to read about.” 

“A good trait to have. Continue chasing more knowledge,” Crocodile replies. 

Your eyes widen. “You mean that?” “I told you before, you may be physically weak, but your brain can mean the difference between life and death. Power means nothing if you cannot effectively think for yourself,” his voice lowers, suddenly returning to their normal tone. 

“That’s definitely true. I know I’m behind my brothers and my own father when it comes to strength, but I’ve valued my mind. I may not be able to fight head on, but I can do plenty of others things,” you confess. 

“I know. They don’t appreciate and understand that, do they?” “No, not really,” you shake your head. Your brothers have teased you plenty about your tendencies to bury your face in a book. Even some of your suitors have been mortified that you knew things they didn’t- feeling threatened by that knowledge. Crocodile was the first man besides your father to encourage and be impressed by it. It made your chest feel lighter. 

“What a shame. But that’s their way of bringing you down to their level. To make you feel lesser than and to settle for less,” Crocodile looks sternly at you. “Don’t you dare let them do such a thing to you. You’re a smart person, and your worth is infinitely larger than whatever they think it is.” 

“Thank you,” you quietly reply, touched he would say such a thing to you. “Truly. I haven’t gotten support like that before.” “Heh. Don’t go thinking this makes me a saint or anything. I’m just saying the truth, so don’t accept what pathetic dogs try to tell you.” 

“I guess I shouldn’t,” you agree, a smile creeping on your face. “I know what I’m capable of.” 

“Good. And maybe you can find a more suitable partner for you then,” Crocodile chuckles. 

You look at him briefly, your mind starting to wander as you think about what he could possibly be like as a- 

You shake your head and try to remove the thoughts. It’s a crazy one that doesn’t make sense. 

His eyes opens slowly as he hums at your expression. “You look lost in thought again. What’s on your mind?” “Oh, nothing,” you lie. You don’t look at him out of fear of making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“You’re a terrible liar, your highness. How do you expect to be diplomatic if you’re going to expose every emotion on your face?” “I don’t do that. I’m just not wanting to share that.” “Now why is that, hm?” He tilts you face to him and leans in, smirking. “You’re not thinking of me are you?” “I would never!” You shout, your face exploding with heat. “I was just thinking of… of…” “Still showing it on your face,” he pulls you closer and whispers into your ears. “If you’re that desperate to see what a man of my caliber can do, you can always just say so. I certainly wouldn’t be offended.” 

“I don’t want that,” you cover your mouth, knowing your face is exposing the truth. Especially with how hot his breath is against your ears, you can barely handle the close proximity. “Besides, even if I were to hypothetically want that, you’re still cuffed and locked away.” “Oh, your highness,” he chuckles knowingly into your ear. “I don’t need anything but my hand to show you something wonderful.” 

Your eyes drift to his right hand and you notice how large his fingers are. If they were to just- 

You shoot up and cover your face. “You are- you are a cruel man!” 

“I can’t deny that,” he shrugged, the smug look on his face not leaving. “But, when you stop playing hard to get, I can give you what you really want." “You’re frustrating. Good night!” You yell, turning around and ready to walk back to your room. 

“Wait, your highness,” Crocodile calls out to you. You look, curious of what he wants to say. 

Crocodile gives you a small grin. “Dream of me, won’t you?” 

[runicarbiter02]

could you do an enemies to lovers type thing with keegan. like the reader and him never got along since the reader joined the ghosts. if not that completely fine 🫶🫶

I'm so sorry it took so long to get to this, darling! Uni has been kicking my ass this year, but I'm moving back home tomorrow, so I'll have a lot more time to answer requests! Requests are open if any of you wish to send anything in, and I love you all very much! <3

---------

You'd worked your ass off to become a part of the Ghosts. Years of training, busting your ass, standing up for yourself, and proving yourself were so, so worth it when you found out you'd be transferred onto the team.

Or... so you thought.

Keegan doesn't take kindly to new members. The Ghosts are a tight-knit group who've been through a whole lot of shit together. They'd bled and screamed and cried and grieved together. They're brothers. And you're an entirely new variable that throws his meticulously and perilously balanced routine and norm off kilter.

It doesn't matter if you're masc, femme, something in between, or not anywhere near: you're an unaccounted for and uncalculated variable.

He's standoffish and condescending with you, especially if you're ranked below him. He is extra hard on your during drills and training, and he always shuts down your ideas, never giving you the chance to shine.

Overall, he's a major ass.

Hesh constantly chides him for it, while Logan ends up being a silent pillar of support for you. He knows Keegan is just wary, not wanting to see another get killed, and he knows Keegan is also afraid that you will get one of his brothers killed.

Logan and you grow quite close. Keegan hates it. He always fears the worst.

Eventually, however, he begins to sing a whole different tune. He's not sure how the mission had gone wrong, but it did. Their intel had been way off, and they had met far more enemies than expected. At exfil, he's taking a head count and he feels his heart leap into his throat when he realizes that two are missing: you, and Logan.

When he sees you finally lumbering to exfil, his first instinct is to tear into you, chew you up, and spit you out. But, he stops when he sees you're practically dragging a limp body with you.

He races over, helping you support Logan's injured body, and he looks at you as if seeing you for the first time. You had gone back and put your life on the line to protect one of his brothers, one of which he's most protective of. He sees the terror in your eyes, not for yourself, but for Logan. And it's like a switch flips.

He knows when he needs to own up for his mistakes. He stops at your bunk that night after everyone had been to medical, had showered, eaten, and had time to wind down a bit. He apologizes; a genuine, honest apology. He explains himself, not to justify his actions, but merely with a hope you'll understand.

He begins to watch your back. He searches for you in every room he walks into. Sees flickers of you in the smiles of his brothers, in their warm eyes when you make a joke. He sees you.

He's never one to hesitate, and when he realizes what he's feeling, he knows it's better to lay it out then let it fester like an untreated wound.

He sits down with you, looks you in the eye, and tells you everything he's feeling. Whether you return those feelings or not, he'll respect your decision. He can be professional, and all he'd really like is for you to be safe and happy.

But, when you give him that sweet smile and admit you feel the same, the look of relief upon his face is immediate. All he can do is smile, boyish and shy, and he gently takes your hand.

He'd lean in and press the gentlest kiss to your forehead, far gentler than he thought himself ever capable of.

"Never heard better news in my life, sunshine."

[cupidsyndrome]

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ THE OTHER WOMAN.

🏹 HURT / FALSE COMFORT, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP. 675 WORDS. 💌 it's easy to forget the ring on his finger whenever the two of you are together. 🩷 cw. suggestive. mentions of cheating. ran being manipulative, reader being delusional.

ran haitani has a wife.

you’ve known it since the beginning– he told you all about her. marital struggles laid bare before you– heated arguments, desire for divorce, you’ve heard it all. ten months have passed since the day you’ve started fooling around with him– ten long months where you’ve continuously believed in his words. you know it’s a bad thing to do, a bad thing to wish upon another woman; you can’t help it. not when he’s always so gentle, so nice with you. 

you’ve met his friends. you’ve even met his brother. you’ve seen how their gazes shifted from ran to you– full of confusion, perhaps even a little bit of judgement. but as he makes you sit on his lap, looking all proud of his possession– you find it hard to care. ran haitani is nothing if not an enigmatic man. it’s easy to get lost in him– trying to solve the puzzle of his words, searching for hidden meanings behind each promise. clandestine meetings and poisonous gifts become a routine you’ve grown accustomed to.

he’s always there. when you leave work, ready to pick you up. when you’re on your day off, ready to whisk you away on yet another one of his rendezvous. 

the lines between an affair and a relationship got blurry some time ago, when he introduced you as his girlfriend (you were always his ‘friend’, before that day)-- your heart had skipped a beat that night. it’s a foolish thing, falling in love. delusions eat your mind away, offering your heart on a platter for a man you could never truly have. 

the nights shared with him are the worst. the divine ecstasy shatters when your eyes open, and the ring dangling around his neck taunts you. jealousy tugs at you, begging you to do something– and you succumb to its order. your teeth sinking into his neck, imprinting a scarlet mark of your own. it doesn’t faze him– nothing ever does. does he know the meaning of it all ? you’re unsure– it’s hard to tell with him. 

i love you.

everything comes crashing down on a random friday. you’re getting home from work– sitting next to him while he silently drives. the confession spills from your mouth before you can even stop yourself. you’ve thrown up the words, your body purging itself of that sinful secret. 

ran doesn’t answer– doesn’t acknowledge you. 

it’s hard not to notice the way his body had stiffen, hands flexing as his jaw hardened. you want to take it all back, you want to beg him to forget about what you’ve said. you’re just as frozen as he is. vision blurring, hands tightly gripping onto the seatbelt. the air is thick with tension and you’re dreading the moment you’ll have to get out of the car.

the engine stops.

you’re home.

“what do you know about love ?” the bite in his voice makes you jump. it makes you feel like an idiot– like a child, and maybe that’s what you are. you’ve never seen him like that– fox eyes that you’ve grown so used to feeling suddenly oh-so foreign. it’s humiliating. “don’t ever say that shit again.” your throat tightens and tears start streaming down your cheeks– it’s only when you hiccup that you realise just how miserable you are. you hear him sigh, and you’re preparing yourself for whatever he has to say.

his hand reaches out for your face, slender fingers gently wiping your tears away. “don’t cry, baby,” there it is again– that softness reserved for you. “that was mean of me, uh ?,” he asks and you shake your head. it’s an automatism– no, you’re not mean, you’re right. as you uncontrollably sob, you find yourself wishing to comfort him. “it’s just– don’t make this weird, okay ? we’re good, let’s keep it that way.” 

you agree. 

ran haitani has a wife and your heart aches for the day he’ll finally keep his promise. until then, being the other woman isn’t as agonising as not having him at all.

© CUPIDSYNDROME, all rights reserved.

[perseephoneee]

Pls write about damon salvatore x y/n going skiing

ski cabin (damon salvatore x f!reader) {ficmas 2023}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 10 of ficmas!

warnings: damon, smut (i censor it so you can skip!): fingering, blood-sharing, unprotected vamp sex

a/n: i tried writing smut. might be a failure. might not. i have no clue. i just work here. also i wrote this while watching the matrix and eating homemade nachos

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

Once upon a time, your life resembled a sense of normalcy. And then you met the Salvatores. Vampire brothers who seemed to attract trouble no matter where they went, and somehow, they had clung themselves to your life. You would love to blame Elena for this. Still, truthfully, you also had a fascination with their propensity for idiocracy and probably landed in this situation alone. The situation? Being a target for whatever big bad it was this week. 

It was decided that people should split up to minimize their chances of being caught. Unfortunately, you ended up with Damon Salvatore. Damon was the oldest of the Salvatore brothers and the most annoying. He was morally grey, somewhat self-serving, and handsome in a way that should be illegal. Sometimes, you thought he might be fond of you, but then he'd say something sarcastic and mean, and you'd remember why you loathed being around him. Since everyone split up, you and Damon opted to go to one of the nearby mountains, ending up at some ski lodge that some families would use more for vacation than for hiding. It was snowy, and the ice bit your cheeks as the wind tried to push you back aggressively. You sighed in relief when you finally got to the resort lodge and could breathe warm air. Annoyingly, Damon was barely frazzled. 

"We should ski," Damon said to you. You brushed your fingers through your hair, trying to get snow out as you glared at him. 

"I don't ski."

"Quitters talk," Damon sighed, taking in his surroundings. "Besides, what else is there to do? Besides each other." He whispered that last part to you, that stupid half-smirk on his face. You slapped him in the arm. He was a compulsive flirt at the worst of times. He also loved to ignore you when you expressed disagreement with what he said. So, he rented skis (he had no money, so you guessed compulsion) and forced you to suit up. You tried biting him when he attempted to help you, but you think that only added fuel to his fire. Waddling outside was even worse, as you relied on him most of the time. Looking at the snow-capped hills made fear grip your heart. You wished that the enemy would just kill you already. "Why do you look like you're going to throw up?"

"I don't like this."

"It's fun. We could be brooding in a cabin like my brother, but instead, we're in the great outdoors," Damon laughed. You tried shifting on your skis but felt your knees lock up. "Seriously, what's your problem?"

"I like having control over whether my body is going to eat shit or not."

"You and your control," Damon grumbled. "Y/N, learn to live a little." Shockingly, Damon was weirdly patient with you as he showed you the basics of skiing. He even helped you down the bunny slopes with minimal teasing. He taught you how to pizza, and when you felt yourself start to slip, he'd grab you and hold you upright. It was one of the few times where you weren't sniping at each other the whole time and instead actually having fun. Your body was exhausted when you returned to the lodge, and you were thankful to take off all the warm and heavy gear. Unsurprisingly, Damon immediately got himself a glass of bourbon. You got a hot chocolate and enjoyed picking the whipped cream off with your finger and licking it off. While you enjoyed your dessert, Damon went to find an available room in the lodge. He came back a few minutes later with a devilish smirk on his face. 

"I don't like that look," you mumbled, sipping more hot cocoa. 

"Guess what, princess? The only room left is a single bed," Damon fell next to you on the couch, throwing his arm around you against your protests. "Guess we'll be sleeping together after all."

"You're ruining my quality hot cocoa time," you hissed, pulling away from his arm. He just laughed, as he never took your threats that seriously. Why should he? You were human. He was a vampire. It was an unfair fight. 

You hadn't packed much when you ran, so you just tossed your backpack in the corner of your room when you got there. It was a queen-sized bed, at least, with an ensuite bathroom and winter cabin appeal. There wasn't a couch, just a scratchy-looking chair. You could sleep on the floor. 

"You're not sleeping on the floor," Damon said behind you, almost scaring you half to death. 

"I didn't say anything."

"I can hear you thinking," Damon muttered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine at his proximity. He went to the lounge on the bed, laying back against the pillows, every bit emulating Adonis with how he wrapped his arms around the back as his face caught the light streaming through the window. Sometimes, you wondered whether Damon's favorite form of torture was just being the object of desire that was unattainable. Yes, he drove you up a wall, but you weren't stupid. He could be loyal when he wanted, and his body alone was sculpted by some vain artist who wished to achieve perfection. You could see his arm muscles, the sunlight dancing across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and his lips. His eyes were the color of the sky reflected on the snow, a dangerous blue. Like a wolf just waiting for its prey to slow enough to make its bite. "Admiring the view?" he purred, turning to look at you. 

"Admiring a view, not necessarily you." You stepped closer into the room, removing the scarf and jacket around your neck. You kicked off your boots, leaving you in just your sweater and jeans. You pretended not to notice him watching your movements. There was a desk against the wall; you sat at the chair and faced Damon, curling your legs up under you. 

"You're scared of me," Damon said, turning back to face the window. 

"Am not," you huffed. 

"You think I'm gonna bite you?"

"Yes," you answer plainly. Frankly, you had yet to learn where you stood with Damon. Sometimes, he treated you like garbage; other times, you thought he would give up everything to protect you. 

"Come here," Damon sat up, moving to the end of the bed. You look at him with confusion. He huffs in frustration, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him. You fall against the pillows with a yelp, glaring at the vampire as he sits back next to you. "I would never hurt you."

"You're not always the nicest," you mumble. "Sometimes I can't tell."

"Y/N, look at me," Damon grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him. "I'm damaged goods, but don't think that I would agree to hide out here with you if I didn't care. I do care. A lot." He brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, his touch gentler than expected. "The best thing about returning to Mystic Falls was meeting you."

Damon was never a subtle person, and he doesn't try to be one now as he leans down and kisses you. His hand cups your face, tilting your head back so he can deepen the kiss. You let out a sigh of contentment, which just fuels him further. He tasted like bourbon, and you found you enjoyed it. 

*smut!!! proceed only if you want to*

Your hand found its way to his hip, fisting the fabric as he moved to be above you. He was assertive but not rough, and it was something you appreciated. His hand dipped under your sweater, feeling its way to your waist and under your breasts. You let out a gasp as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving nips and kisses and, most likely, many marks. Your hand flew up to his hair, gripping the raven locks and causing him to growl. 

"You drive me crazy," he mumbled, helping you pull your sweater over your head. He kissed you again, his hand running over the smooth skin of your stomach. He pulled away when you shrank back, hesitant. "You're beautiful, don't worry." He dropped down, kissing over the expanse of your belly, helping you feel more comfortable. He kissed his way up to your bra, for once looking unsure. You gave him a smile as you sat up, reaching behind to unhook your bra and toss it aside. Damon wasted no time planting kisses and licks over, under, and in between your breasts. The moan you let out was embarrassing, but Damon was just encouraged. He came back up to your lips, his fingers still playing with your nipples. 

"I see you like my mouth now," Damon whispered. 

"I hate you," you kissed his jaw, leaving bites down his neck. It was your turn to smirk when he became the one making noises. Your hands ran under his shirt, feeling the muscles in his shoulders. He sat back to remove it, and you spent a second admiring his figure. The both of you feeling impatient, you pulled off both your pants, so you were left in your underwear. Damon flicked the waistband of your grey panties with a bow in the middle. 

"Cute."

"Do you always talk this much?"

"Only to girls I like."

You rolled your eyes, smiling at the boy as his hands ran up your thighs. You pulled him down for a scorching kiss, already addicted to his lips on your own. One of his hands ran between your thighs, lightly touching your clothed center. You hissed into his mouth, and he only smirked. 

"Can I remove these?" Damon asked, looking at you. You nodded, shirking them so you were completely bare. You felt so vulnerable and yet comfortable in his presence. You sighed in pleasure when his finger found your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to make you crazy. When he entered you with his fingers, his thumb replacing the gentle motions on your clit, you let out a moan that was almost pornographic. You buried your head in his neck as he pumped his fingers in and out. If his touch was this heavenly, you weren't sure you were capable of learning what else he could do. You moved your hand to his briefs, but he nipped your jaw as a warning. "No touching." He removed his hand, leaving you feeling empty and disappointed. You were about to deliver a sarcastic retort. Still, it died on your tongue as he removed the last piece of clothing, and you were faced with his better-than-average member. Damon grabbed your calves, pulling you farther down the bed and situating himself between your thighs. He kissed you hard, lining himself up before pushing in slowly. The stretch was a lot, but the pleasure overrode it as you felt your head drop back in a moan. 

"Fuck," you swore, wrapping yourself around him as he started to move. He fit you in a way you hadn't experienced before, and you weren't sure who you'd become when he left you empty. 

"I should've done this sooner," Damon groaned, kissing your neck and shoulder. He let out a hiss of pleasure when your nails scraped across his shoulder blades. He pulled out, sitting back against the headboard and pulling you onto his lap. He helped you sit back down on him before you had time to complain about the temporary emptiness. His hands grabbed your thighs, helping you bounce on him. Both of you moaned, and your head fell back as you fell into a rhythm. 

"The sight of you coming apart on my cock, tits bouncing, is the best thing I've seen in my life," Damon smirked, leaning forward and attaching himself to one of your tits. You had no clever retort, nothing to match the sense of euphoria you were experiencing. You noticed the veins under Damon's eyes and used your thumb to brush them gently. 

"You can bite," you whisper, eyes widening at the dark overtaking his eyes, but you aren't scared. He didn't go for your neck like you thought; no, he sunk his fangs into the top of your tits. One of his hands gripped your hip, the other reaching between your legs to circle your clit. It was so much pain and pleasure at once that you raced towards a finish you had been nearing for a while. You came with a shout, head falling onto Damon's neck. He came after you, fangs detaching and a growl leaving his lips. 

*end of smut*

You separated, falling to rest next to Damon. He pulled you into his side, biting his wrist and touching your lips. You accepted the blood hesitantly, letting it coat your throat before pulling away. He kissed the top of your head, one of the most domestic things you had ever experienced. 

"Damon," you whispered, tracing his chest with your fingertip. He looked at you in question. "I would be open to being yours." You see a boyish smile on his face, something that makes him look the age he was turned and not the age he is now. 

"I think that can be arranged," he said, kissing you again. 

The next day, he took you skiing again, but you kissed at the bottom of the slope this time.��

[lavendertales]

Hii! So I'm here to make a request, you can totally ignore this if you don't like it, I just really like your writing and wanted to pass this idea to you ♡

It's a angsty with happy ending story, hope you like it ♡

So the idea is that Joel and reader (established relationship) are kinda new in Jackson, but Joel being Joel is not very used to being there yet, so he doesn't tell anybody that he is in a relationship with reader bc he is scared that they think he is weak or smth, and totally ignores her outside of their home, so reader obviously feels insecure, but our lovely Joel makes her feel better at the end of the day.

thank you, love!! hope you enjoy this❤️

new territory—Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: 1k

You went into this situation with Joel without having any sort of expectations. In an outbreak, there aren’t many expectations to be had. So you simply settled for the comfort of another human being.

It grew by accident, really; tentatively, till you were both overwhelmed by the need to be close to each other, and eventually, it became some sort of mutual understanding that Joel was your protector. And, whenever you could, you protected him, too.

By not breaking his already fragile heart.

You took care of each other and looked after each other, and some nights you sought solace in each other’s arms, your bodies tangled in a fit of ecstasy. Sometimes it was something primal, rough and fast, other times it was impossibly languid and caring.

Upon your arrival in Jackson, the little town Joel’s younger brother Tommy put together, things were the same between the two of you.

Until they weren’t.

The moment Joel stepped outside the door, you became a stranger. You were surprised by the shift in behavior, to say the least. Whenever you tried to approach the subject in private, Joel either shut down or distracted you. You began to think maybe it was all in your head, or perhaps a matter which had nothing to do with you.

But when you were at the bar one evening, grabbing a drink with Tommy and his wife, Maria, you became certain that Joel was purposefully being cold towards you. Barely any eye contact, no touch of any sort, laser-focused on whatever Maria was saying to the group.

Your heart sank in your chest. While there weren’t any definitions to be given to whatever resided between you and Joel, you still liked to think that there was mutual respect and care involved, certain feelings—although not voiced yet.

“I think I’ll call it a night,” you announced, standing up.

Joel’s eyes shot to you, surprised by your reaction.

“Are you sure?” Maria checked with you. “It’s still quite early.”

“I’m sure. I’m a bit exhausted. Thank you for the drinks. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya tomorrow,” Tommy wished you.

You didn’t glance at Joel; you just wanted to get home, curl under the blanket and stay there. How foolish of you… perhaps he meant more to you than you did to him. Perhaps this was all in your head indeed, and you assigned more meaning to the situation. And now you were rushing to get to the so-called home, the one you shared with Joel and Ellie. It seemed the suffering was never-ending.

You heard your name called out in the background, but you dismissed it. You felt your eyes stung with tears, and you only hoped no one would remark your distress. You were at least thankful no one could see or hear the way your heart ached, practically wept, at the realization that you had gotten too emotionally attached to Joel when all he did was simply find relief.

“Stop, please,” Joel called to you.

“I just wanna go home, Joel.”

“Let me explain.”

You stopped in the middle of the road, turning around slowly. Joel was almost out of breath, his face red and riddled with regret at the same time. Worst of all, it hurt him to see you this disappointed and angry.

“Explain what? Why you’re ashamed of me? Or ashamed of being seen with me?”

“I’m not ashamed of—“

“You won’t even look at me, you won’t touch me unless we’re locked inside the house. You can see why I might think you’re ashamed to be with me.”

“I am not ashamed to be with you.”

“Then what is it?! Because I’m sitting there, watching Tommy stare at Maria like she’s the only thing in the world for him and I just… it hurts, Joel. It hurts to know that I care more than you do.”

“I care about you. A lot.”

He was standing far too close to you, reaching for your hands to take in his as your vision gets blurrier due to the tears.

“I never asked you anything, I didn’t ask you or even expect you to feel anything for me, but I just wish this wasn’t all in vain or some cheap thrill.”

“Listen to me. I’m—I’m sorry if you felt like I could ever be ashamed of you, or us. I’m not. I just…”

He took a deep breath, contemplating, gathering his thoughts.

“I only acted that way because I felt uncomfortable with all the people starin’ at ‘Tommy’s big brother and his girl. I don’t like ‘em staring. I thought if I kept some distance, they wouldn’t annoy you with questions or stares or jokes.”

You frowned. “Why would they joke or have questions?”

“Tommy has a good reputation ‘round here. Me, on the other hand… I’m sort of the black sheep. People got a lot to say. I didn’t want you in the middle of it.”

You caressed his hands into yours, oddly touched by the confession.

“I don’t think you’re the black sheep,” you told him. “I think you’re a great man who’s been through hell and back.”

“I did horrible things. Things you don’t know about. Killed people.”

“We all did terrible things to survive.”

You were grazing his cheek with the palm of your hand, and were surprised to see Joel close his eyes at the touch, leaning into it.

“But caring for someone doesn’t make you weak, if that’s what you’re worried about. I thought you learned that lesson with Ellie.”

Joel gulped, nodding solemnly. You suppressed a fond chuckle.

“I really am sorry,” he muttered.

“Next time you just talk to me. You know I’m here for you if you let me.”

“I do, I know.”

Then your lips stretched into a smile. “So… I’m your girl?”

Joel shook his head nervously, a grin on his face.

“I could make it up to my girl if she’d let me,” he teased.

“I think she’d like that.”