#and a lot of them would be a lot less lonely if they figured out how to support each other and make friends 💀

[menlove]

one crazy thing about the "male loneliness epidemic" to me is that romantic/sexual love and companionship is not the be all end all. for many women, straight & queer, their friendships with other women are the most important ones in their lives. and yet somehow men not being able to make friends they can open up with and find emotional fulfillment from is women's fault lmfao. like no I'm sorry that you're lonely, but there's a lot at play here including the way men treat male friendships. go figure yourselves out and treat each other better before whining and stomping your foot that you're not getting pussy like cmon man 😭

[alchemiclee]

I hope someone writes a good fic about the high cloud quintet with all the messy pieces of lore we have because i'm very unsatisfied with what we got and I want MORE OF THEM. don't know why i'm so obsessed with this tragic group of friends but 😭 IM SO FEELINGS ABOUT THEM but also empty because they didn't satisfy me with what they gave us lmao I require more. but that was the end and i'll never get more....unless someone writes a great fic about them.....!

[ravengards-rogue]

WHAT SET YOU FREE, BROUGHT YOU TO ME BABY.

rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.

ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.

✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+

✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)

✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover

sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.

sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ; 

It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur. 

Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun. 

Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him. 

He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate. 

So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy. 

You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures. 

(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )

When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember. 

 Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him. 

So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain. 

In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down. 

He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something. 

Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while. 

Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately. 

Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you. 

(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)

Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish. 

Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting. 

He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit. 

Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs. 

“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,” 

“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,” 

“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,” 

You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.

“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.” 

You giggle back at him 

“What kinda trouble is that now?” 

Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice. 

“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.” 

“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.” 

Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;

John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly. 

Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn. 

Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted. 

On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it. 

John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily. 

Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.

 Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show. 

So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp. 

Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms. 

You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine. 

(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that. 

You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.) 

You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did. 

Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it.  It was just all too easy again, to be with you. 

You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family. 

But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see.  Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.

 It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street. 

Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy.  John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you. 

But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you. 

There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision. 

You might turn him into a literate man yet. 

John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life. 

Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself. 

Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.

It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck. 

“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?” 

You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you. 

“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,” 

John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.

His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat. 

“John,”  

What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.” 

“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,” 

“A foolish one,” 

John laughs. 

“I sure do love you for it,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;

Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving. 

It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get.  He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently. 

Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.

(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.) 

His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters. 

Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living. 

It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is)  loyal to Dutch. To the gang. 

He hadn’t thought much about what comes after. 

And it didn’t matter until he met you

He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long. 

But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time.  He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about. 

You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around. 

You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen.  If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing. 

(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.) 

When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit. 

From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would. 

When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d  never find again. 

That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves. 

Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too. 

For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.

You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way  they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you. 

Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him. 

“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him.  You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,” 

He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease.  All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides.  You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space. 

He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words. 

“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.” 

Darling as you always are, you nod softly. 

“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ; 

Wandering. 

He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on. 

There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly. 

There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains. 

He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few. 

The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it. 

Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list. 

Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.

 You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are. 

The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him. 

It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some. 

It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you.  And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything. 

But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not. 

He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss. 

For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars. 

Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze. 

You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks. 

“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,” 

“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?” 

“Well, I’m not fine with it.” 

You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?” 

“Please, what?” 

You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.” 

Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life.  “Yeah, that’s good to hear.” 

You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto. 

You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head. 

“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,” 

His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires. 

When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.

But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you. 

Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed. 

“Kiss?” 

Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”

Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[hanasnx]

“ YOU GOT A FETISH FOR MY LOVE, I PUSH YOU OUT AND YOU COME RIGHT BACK ” — anakin skywalker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: if this counts for kinktober, i'm saying the kink is begging. WARNINGS: ex!anakin ノ fem reader ノ mild angst ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ sexual content: some p in v stuff ノ pathetic begging anakin.

All of your relationships leading up to this point had resolutely ended. There were no loose ends, and nothing worth sacrificing your self-respect for. You'd cut them off, or burn the bridge if you had to, just to ensure you couldn't backslide on your decision. It's an incredible trust to place in yourself, and a little lonely. No matter how much your heart ached for the person you separated from, you would not reach out, and you'd make it pretty clear you didn't want to hear from them either. One exception stands before you now, that familiar crease in EX!ANAKIN SKYWALKER's brow as he demands to be let inside.

"It can't end like this." A statement that leaves no room for argument. One of the reasons you called it quits in the first place is dating a general doesn't feel like dating, it just feels like taking orders. "Do you have any idea what I've done for you? What I've sacrificed?" he admonishes incredulously, taking up the space of your doorway as stand your ground.

"Anakin- leave." you command. You know he's just here to pick a fight, to see if he can break your spirit with guilt-tripping manipulations. It's hard to feel large against a towering figure like General Skywalker, but you're bold enough to try to. Even if he can sweep you out of his way with an arm, you block his entrance with your body.

"You stubborn girl. You don't understand anything, do you?" he spits, the deep lines of his scowl drawing shadows that cascade his expression to a near unrecognizable degree. If you didn't know him, you'd fear for your safety.

"I told you to go!" you cry, jabbing your finger over his shoulder to signal him to turn around.

He advances, forcing you to arch away. "You don't mean that!" His voice is a lot louder than yours, and it carries. The frown in your brow relaxes as your eyes widen in response to his outburst. In a way, it's a keen reading. If it combats the loneliness of your self-sabotaging nature, you wish you'd let yourself invite him to stay. However, your pride has gotten you this far, and you don't want to appear weak. Perhaps, you don't want him to go, but it's the right thing to do.

You've been through so much together, and you're sure that he only holds onto you so tightly because you're all he's ever known when it comes to romantic entanglements. If he had been more experienced when you'd met him, he wouldn't have such passionate outrage about being refused.

He's the only one who's chased you so closely while you ran away. Retreating from intimacy, retreating from love, he's the only one who's seen right through you, and demanded you anyway.

"Anakin, you should go." you whisper against his lips as he backs you up deeper into your apartment. Eager hands curtly whip your clothes from your body, careful not to disrupt the connection of your mouths, recycling breath between you.

"Please, don't say that—You don't mean that." he murmurs, the vulnerability of being rejected laced into his plea. Your hands suspended in air from shock come to rest on his leather padding, helping him out of his robing like you've done a thousand times before. It's like a dance, the way your figures move fluidly, retracing the steps, how he backs you up against the wall as he slips his tongue between your lips, tilting his head to reach you as you're less than cooperative. The taste of him intoxicates you, coaxing your own tongue to smooth over his, and he expels a pleasant noise through his nose. His fingers splay on your shoulders, keeping you in place while staying at an uncharacteristic distance. It's as if he's begging for you with his body, showing you he'll do whatever it takes to prove to you his devotion, his love. Kiss him without touching places he's not allowed to touch anymore.

Part of you wishes he'd get over that, and in a fit of impatience, you place them for him, tracing them over the curves of your bare figure.

Herding you to the bedroom you once shared, his hand comes to cup the nape of your neck, pinning you to him as he delves his tongue deeper. You've never had anyone kiss you like Anakin, and if you didn't care for him it would be unpleasant. The impatient plunge of an inexperienced lover still laces the way he makes out with you, and it's clingy, it's forceful, it's desperate. At its end, he sucks your bottom lip between his, dragging it through his teeth. Plump, wet, and pink he speaks against yours, hushed and hurried. "Say you love me." he breathes—another plea, delicately concealed.

"Say you love me." he asks again, holding your gaze while he enters you. The fragile flinch of his softened features endears you, reintroducing his sex to yours as if its his first time—like the sensation is just too much, evidenced by the hitch in his throat when he questions you.

He sinks to the hilt over and over again, using his own hands to wrap your legs around his hips, keeping you close in embrace. He squeezes his eyes shut, grunting through his mouth from effort as he buys your love with his body, begs for your attention through his pitying ministrations. "Say you love me." he pleas one more time. "Please- please, I need you. Even if you don't mean it, even if you hate me... just... just..."

You bite hard into your lip, trying to think your way through the pleasure coursing through your veins. Skin hot and mind occupied, you clutch onto him as if he grounds you. In the dull light of the room, you find his eyes again, glossy and bloodshot. You palm his cheek, and his face softens. "I love you." you concede. The wall you've put up begins to dismantle.

[karaeilishh]

TAKE ME BACK : smut

summary: you're going to a party with your cool girlfriend. When she stops paying you proper attention, you switch to a random guy in a bar. and she won't like it at all...

warnings: dom!billie, sub!brat!reader, jealousy, strap (r receiving), degradation, oral (r/billie receiving), r called a slut many times

w/c: 3,4k

a/n: eng is not my first language! enjoy this dirty shit <33

requests open!

“Hey babygirl. You look upset. Can I please you with a cocktail?”

You roll your eyes once again, sitting on an uncomfortable couch in the corner of some club that Billie brought you to because her friends really wanted to see her. You were on the other side of town and you knew that you wouldn't be home until morning, because it was well past midnight, and your girlfriend didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon. Billie was drunk enough and this evening you regretted not drinking alcohol. At least you wouldn't be so bored and lonely.

You've been hanging around your girlfriend for the last two hours so that she would pay attention to you, but her attention was only on her friends, whom she hadn't seen for a whole week. You didn't know why everything turned out this way today, because usually Billie can't take her eyes off you; You put your head on her shoulder, pressed your bare thigh against her thigh, you whispered in her ear, but you only got: “Babe, later.” Later? Fine. Your patience has run out.

You step onto the dance floor; hungry glances at your beautiful curves. Billie told you to wear that fucking mini dress that hugs every muscle on your stomach, your chest and parts of your thighs. Who can blame other people for their looks when you look like a damn angel? You don't even start dancing; you walk away to someone's brazen whistle; what do these men allow themselves? It's always like with a piece of meat. You want to go to Billie, but the thought of her telling you to just sit in silence again is maddening; you go to the bar. There are a lot of men, but you carefully walk past them and sit on the bar stool. 

“What?” You woke up in a few seconds. There's a guy in front of your face now, no, more like a man. He has an atypical neat outfit for a place like this. The club stinks of other people's sweat and drunk people, but it has a nice perfume. You don't know why you noticed it. His perfume? You can definitely feel it, he leaned closer, repeating his question.

“I asked if I could buy you a drink?” You heard him this time, but you couldn't answer him right away. You can't agree because you're here with your girlfriend, you're taken. But does she even care about you now? After all, nothing will happen if you just talk with someone at the club while your lover is not paying any attention to you. “Please don't tell me you don't drink. I'm not creative for another reason to get to know each other” Actually, you don't drink, but you can agree, right?

“Um, could you get a mojito for me? I don't like strong drinks.” The man nods knowingly and smiles. “Everything for a sweet girl in a bar” He signals to the bartender, apparently they are familiar. 

“Did you hear what the lady said? Mojito. And pour less rum” He turns to you, saying that your mojito will be done in a minute. You nod and thank him, trying to fight the strange feeling in your chest. It's like you're going to be punished for talking to him.

“You're very beautiful, but you're not talkative. I bet you don't go to places like this often?” He tilts his head slightly, as if trying to figure out what and who you're thinking about right now. You adjust your dress and look up at his face. “Yeah, I don't like noisy places.” His gaze darted to your hands resting on your hips.

“I get it. Well, tell me, what's your name?” His voice echoes in your head. You want to tell him that your acquaintance shouldn't go that far, you're going to say “No” when you hear a familiar voice behind you. “No.”The smell of her perfume hits your nose, her tired face with bruises under her eyes is in front of your eyes, her hair is scattered on your bed. Her voice is usually gentle, but not now.

“I'm sorry?” He's not looking at you. He's looking at someone behind you and you know exactly who it is. Her hands are on your waist, on your hips. She's only been here for a few seconds, but she's already been able to claim you. You can't see her face, but you know damn well she's giving your new friend a murderous stare right now. “Apology accepted” The next moment, she drags you through a crowd of drunk and stoned people right to the exit of the club. She's a little shaky because of the amount she's drunk. It's cool outside, but your body is burning because of her. Billie drags you on until you're around the corner where no one will bother you. Your body hit a cold brick wall, her voice cut through the tense air between you, you shuddered. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

Your fingertips touch the wall behind you, her drunken breath on your face. You didn't like it when she drank, but the smell of alcohol was never annoying. “I was just talking to him.” You sound quieter and more insecure than you thought you'd be. Your eyes are directed straight to her eyes, hungry and greedy, you are breathing heavily. “Is that why he's ordering you a drink and trying to find out your name? Have you even seen the way he looks at you? If he offered to fuck you, would you be so responsive?”Her voice is loud and a little hysterical. Her hands are in the pockets of her shorts, but you can feel how much she wants to touch you.

“You're exaggerating, Billie.” You look at her, your voice is cold, but everything inside you is burning. You know that she always turns you on like that, even though you hide it. “Am I exaggerating? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” She grins, her hand on your wrist, until she interlaces your fingers randomly. She takes you to the car and you try to tell her that she can't drive, but she shuts you up. “If you act like a slut, I'll treat you like a slut.” Billie pushes you into the car and buckles your seat belt. She's so damn angry, the veins in her arms are bulging, but she still cares about you, and this one makes your hips clench harder. It makes you wet. The air in the car heats up when she slams the door and sits in the driver's seat. Her gaze is focused on the road, but her mind has turned into your home.

The long drive home is accompanied by her rapid breathing. You can literally hear her heartbeat. You can see the different scenarios of that night unfolding in her head. All of them are ended by your face pressed against the mattress while she fucks you. Her hand squeezes her hip, she bites her lip and you feel what's happening to her. You know for sure. You gently take her hand and put it between your legs. She swallows hard, her fingers squeeze your skin and you melt under her touch. “You're fucking driving me crazy, you know that?” She parks the car in the garage of your house, and the next thing you remember is her all over your body, when you crash into the bedroom door, Billie, dragging you inside. Your body falls onto the mattress, your breathing is knocked out, and your hair is already slightly disheveled.

“You're going to have to apologize properly, angel.” You're breathing heavily, looking into her eyes with obvious desire. You feel completely naked under her gaze, which screams at you that you are a fucking slut. For her. Billie's movements are feverish as she pulls off her shorts, reaches for your favorite drawer in your bedroom. Your eyes widen when she picks up your favorite strap. His curves were perfect for you, hitting the right spots. You're looking at it greedily. And Billie saw it.

"Such a greedy girl for a dick, don’t you?" She grins as she puts the toy down on the bed next to you. Her body hovers over yours as she devours you with her gaze. Her hand flies to your neck, squeezing tighter than usual. "I wanna destroy, babe. I wanna fucking destroy you so that you learn your lesson." Your mind is drifting because of her words, you want to push her to do it.

"It was your fault." You look into her eyes, clearly seeing something snap inside her. Her grip on your neck tightens and you feel like you're getting less air. "What?" Her voice was so threatening that you were almost sure your underwear was already soaked. You knew that no matter how mean she was, she would never hurt you more than you asked for.

"I said it was your fault. You ignored me all night! What are you-" Your words get caught in your throat when you feel a painful blow on your thigh. You swallow hard, looking into your girlfriend's eyes. You've seen her lose control when you act like this. But how can she blame you when you're so desperately begging her to destroy you?

"You dare accuse me of acting like a slut, craving my attention? Well, you'll get it." Billie's voice drips with arrogance. She knew she should have given you some attention, but she's always been too much of a bitch to admit she was wrong.

She pulls you to your feet, forcing you to stand in front of her as she attaches the strap on her hips and sits on the edge of the bed. "You wanna be a brat, babe? Then I'll have to shut you up." She looks up at you, then leans down and whispers, "Knees."

Right now, you want nothing more than to drop to your knees and take her strap so deep that tears run down your cheeks and your knees are red. "I'm not being a brat." You hiss, looking into her eyes. You know this won't turn out well.

"Didn't you hear me?" She raises an eyebrow and pushes you down, causing your knees to hit the floor hard. You whine, clutching her knees for support. “Angel, don’t make me move your head on my own. I know you want this.”

You gasp at her words, tucking your loose hair behind your ears. You lean down slowly, running your tongue along the length of her cock. Your eyes lock onto her face as you slowly push the strap into your mouth. Maybe your slowness was on purpose. “Come on babygirl, I know you can do better.”

She rolls her eyes, grabbing your hair. Your head moves at an unusually fast pace. You grip her hips tighter, trying to slow her down and suppress your gag reflex. Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to keep up the pace and not choke on the silicone in your mouth. You try to moan her name, but Billie just smirks.

“Good sluts don’t complain, huh, babe?” She pulls your head away from her cock, holding your hair. Your lips are smeared with your spit, your cheeks are wet with tears. You breathe heavily. “You are my good slut, aren’t you? Use your words.”

“Yes, yes I am…” You swallow hard, looking at your girlfriend with undisguised desire. You knew this night would be long, very long. “Very good….”

Billie takes your hands and lays you down on the bed, her eyes wandering over your body, your mess. “Such a beautiful angel for me. Too bad I have to ruin you.” She chuckles and you whine, squeezing your thighs together tighter. She reaches for your legs, lifting your dress up to your waist. Billie smiled at the beautiful underwear you’re wearing . “For me?” She smiles, spreading your legs and pressing two fingers into your soaked panties. “Fuck, baby, you’re dripping!”

You gasp when you finally feel her hands on you. You bite your bottom lip, watching her tease you. “Did you get wet kneeling in front of me? Or was it when I called you a slut at the club, hm?” Her eyes are playful as she looks into yours. You both know the answer, you both know that she doesn’t have to do anything to you to get you wet. “At the club…” You answer quietly and Billie bites her lip. God, she looked so sexy doing that.

"And who are you so wet for, huh?" She takes off your dress over the top, her mouth flies to your breasts. She bites it through the fabric of a lace bra. You moan, throwing your head back. "You, you, Billie… Please!" Your despair causes sincere satisfaction in your girlfriend. She knows that you will never want to leave her for someone else. She will make you squirm under her touch while you repeat that she is the only one for you.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me,” Billie praises, kissing and biting down your beautiful body. She adored your body. Such a divine and only hers. You could feel the marks on your skin under her touch. “Bils, I need you. I really need you...” You're whimpering, making her smile.

“Do you think you can handle it?” She bites her lower lip, tilting her head to the side. Her gaze makes your body weaken even more. She had no idea what kind of influence she had on you. “Yes, yes I can, I promise!” You get up on your elbows to get a better look at her face.

“What a dirty girl,” Billie giggles, bending down to pick up the edge of your underwear with her teeth. Oh, you were crazy when she did that. Her every action, her every breath and look made you lose yourself in love with her. Even if she was going to destroy you right now. Your woman.

“Baby, you're so wet. Is my girl ready for me yet?” She smiles, easily sliding two fingers into you. Her palm pressed against your clitoris, adding extra friction. Her fingers slid inside you so easily that you were ashamed of how wet you were because of her. “Just shut up...”You exhaled heavily, covering your face with your hands. She laughed.

“Oh, my little slut wants to shut me up? I don't think it's going to work, baby.” Billie abruptly pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips. She greedily licks each phalanx of her fingers, moaning contentedly. You looked at her from under your eyelashes, still feeling the aching emptiness without her fingers inside you. As soon as Billie cleaned her fingers, she licked her lips, bending over your body. “You need to learn to watch your tongue, angel.”

These words sounded more harsh than anything else. Billie grabbed your hips and turned you over on your stomach. Your face was buried in the mattress and your ass was hanging in the air when Billie left a few ringing slaps on your delicate skin. “Hey!” You're whimpering, looking at her over your shoulder. “Oh, spare me those pathetic sounds.” She presses your head against the mattress, burying her hand in your hair. The tip of her strap teases your entrance, making you gasp with desire.

“Please, Bils...”You close your eyes, praying that she will give you what you want. “Not a brat anymore? It seems you just need a dick to shut that beautiful mouth.” She grins and you feel her cock slamming into you. Silicone slides easily inside you, making you grab the sheets and whimper into the it. After making a few slow thrusts, you feel Billies's hips against yours. She entered completely. “That's it, baby. You take me so well...”

You let loud moans fly from your lips when Billie finds the perfect angle, driving into all the right points. There are new tears in your eyes. A new pleasure. Your hair is disheveled and tangled because of your girlfriend's tight grip, and there is no trace of evening makeup left. She's always made you like this. She destroyed you with her presence, her voice, her gaze, her dick. “Faster...”

Billie grins at your plea, but obediently complied with your request, pushing into you with a new speed. You grab the sheets, looking at her over your shoulder. How sexy she looked. “Where's my sweet angel, huh? You're such a mess, baby.” You whimper when you see how she looks at you.

“Billie... I'm so close...”You're mumbling to yourself, praying that she'll hear. Of course she did. But she was such a bitch tonight. “What? Angel, I don't understand a word...”She was teasing and playing with you. You both knew what she was waiting for.

You want to sigh, but only moans come out of you. On trembling and weak hands, you get up on your elbows and try to talk to her the way she wants. Politely. “Billie, I wanna cum... Please, can I?” You immediately fall back, burying your face in the sheets, when pornographic moans come out of your mouth.

“Mm, such a polite girl... Cum for me” You laugh hysterically, feeling your walls squeeze her strap. It was the best feeling in the world. Your eyes are tightly closed, you literally bite the sheets, arching your back as you cum on her dick. You can't see her face, but you can tell for sure that she's smiling, watching what she's did to you. Not that guy from the bar, not anyone else. She. Only she could do it.

“Jesus, Bils...”You're breathing heavily, lifting your head from the wet sheets. Her strap is still moving inside you, helping you overcome a hard orgasm. “That's it, baby, you did so well...”She praises you by stroking your hair. It's one step from tenderness to rudeness, huh? Her grip tightens abruptly, forcing you to look at her through tears. “God, my poor baby. What a pity that I'm not finished with you yet” You're breathing hard, your mouth is dry, and you're sticking your tongue out like a fucking puppy after her games. Billie leans closer, her face inches from yours, and you already know what she's going to do. You always know what's behind that look. She collects saliva in her mouth for a few seconds and spits on your fucking tongue. As if you didn't ask for it yourself. Her warmth spreads over your tongue and you close your mouth. “Swallow” You obey and she gently kisses your cheekbone. The only thing she did gently this evening.

Billie turns you over on your back, laying your head on the pillows. She settles between your legs, devouring your body with her gaze. “Open wide for me, love” She purrs and you obediently spread your weak legs. Billie runs his fingers through your folds, collecting moisture. She brings her fingers to your mouth. “Suck” You swallow hard and take two of her fingers in your mouth, circling each with your tongue.

While you're engrossed in her fingers, Billie bends down to your pussy and runs her tongue over it, making you sigh and bite her. She hums into your flesh, looking up at you with adoring eyes. “No teeth, baby.” She grins and continues to devour you like a hungry animal.

Your sensitivity made itself felt and you tried to pull out her fingers to tell her, but she just pressed them against your tongue, depriving you of any opportunity to speak. You instinctively raised your hips, warning her. Your legs were shaking with pleasure and pain from over-stimulation. Your heels were crumpling the fabric of her shirt. You almost choked her with your hips. But she was just getting turned on.

Billie tapped your hips, giving you tacit permission to cum again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, showing you the stars of pleasure. You can't help but bite her fingers again, but this time she lets you, seeing your condition. She helps you get through your orgasm and gets up to put her head on your chest.

“I'm so proud of you, dove... But we'll have to change the sheets.” She starts laughing, and you can't help but pick up on her laughter, even though you're a little embarrassed. You gently run your hand through her hair, removing the hair band that has almost come off her hair. You put the band on your wrist and hug her tightly.

“You know you're my only one, right?”

“I know, angel.”

[leidensygdom]

The ways in which being asexual feels isolating

I've been pondering whether to post this or not, but I figured out I wanted to explain a bit of this experience.

So, I could go on a very long tangent on how being asexual is usually a lonely experience, and how much I've been otherized here and there- Specially in real life. How the same people that claimed to be queer (or allies) had been much weirder about my asexuality than they were about me being bi/pan or whatever.

But I think I wanna talk about how something like that bleeds in every aspect of socializing, even down to something like fandom. I stay away from fandom usually- I like to look at cool fanart and that's about it. I hate discourse, I hate drama, I hate reading people getting worked up because they're treating fanon as canon. But there's one thing I've noticed, over and over, that just sends me off my rails.

And it's how fandom tends to treat asexuality (or aromanticism). So, you get a character in some piece of media that explicitly, unequivocally, states they're either ace, aro, or both. "I do not have interest in a partner", "I don't desire to have sex nor do I enjoy the topic", whatever. And as an ace person, I do appreciate being able to see myself in media- There isn't many chases where something is established that bluntly.

Now, you decide you want to check some fanart for that. Fandoms have this tendency to make absolutely everything about shipping, even when the media they're basing it in does not revolve about that (and it's annoying, because a lot of times people aren't interested in the actual themes- It's all reduced to shipping). Suddenly, you notice people treating the aforementioned character as anything but aro or ace. It's all about shipping. "This person interacted with this other person in a way two friends would, but we gotta make this their entire personality now". Some people may instead go for "well, maybe the character is not having sex, but they're probably an absolute freak about it, studies it extensively, has encyclopedic knowledge about it-"

Now, there's of course sex-favourable aces, and that's completely valid, but it's already straying from what, canonically, the character had mentioned. Asexual or aromantic characters aren't really allowed to exist as themselves. People often see them as a blank slate to fill, to change, to fix. I could talk forever about how people react to real life aces like that. I've had people asking me incredibly invasive questions because they saw my lack of sexual attraction as something broken, something they could fix.

And I hate that! I think I'm allowed to say that I hate that! It's hard and unusual for media to cement an aro/ace character, because they're defined by the lack of interest for something, which is often hard to show. But when it does- No one seems to care. It's all shipping, it's all "well, he's gay in denial", "well, she's probably super repressed". If you took a canonically gay character and made them straight on a fanfic, you'd get angry people. Which is bound to happen when you erase representation that people identify with. But aro/ace characters are NOT even seen as queer, they're not even seen as "representation" by most people. You can erase that bit of it, put some god awful shipping on top, and people will applaud you. And it sucks!

I wish people would see being aro or ace as an identity worth respecting, not an identity that needs overwriting. It feels a bit too close to how people often treat aro/aces irl, and it sucks. It reeks of this sort of exclusionism, where "aro/aces are technically queer but it's queer lite at best, it's less interesting than being gay, and we kinda don't want them near us anyhow". Again, I've had far worse experiences about being ace than I have about not being straight.

Sorry if the post got long, but I hope this experience may at least resonate with other people who have been struggling with this, too. It has always felt just kind of lonely to be ace, and see how little people do even consider it an identity, even when it comes down to something like fandom.

[barcaatthemoon]

serial heartbreaker || leila ouhabi x reader ||

leila comes back to barcelona after you figure out that she cheated on you in manchester.

it became obvious that something was up whenever your teammates started acting weird around you. alexia and mapi were the first, but ona, pina, and claudia quickly followed suit. ona began to outright avoid you, which hurt pretty badly. almost as badly as whenever you finally realized what was going on.

you sat with your suspicions for several weeks before they were officially confirmed. leila was careful, but she got sloppy. it was in the back of someone else's instagram stories. your eyes had zeroed in on your girlfriend making out with another girl in the background of a video that one of her teammates had shot.

it was hard not letting on that you knew anything, but you weren't nearly as good at it as you thought you were. alexia could see that you were hurting, as could more of your more perceptive teammates. the one who had shocked you was lucy, who had snapped at leila whenever she came back to spain for a visit, claiming to have missed you dearly.

"get the fuck out of here," lucy had practically growled at leila. the woman had planned on surprising you, and at lucy ruining that, leila got pissed. the two of them were at each other's throats, and it took mapi and alexia leading leila away for things to calm down a bit. you couldn't hear them at first, but soon the hallway was full of your two barcelona teammates yelling at leila in spanish. "are you okay?"

"yeah, i'm fine," you answered quietly. lucy kneeled down next to you and put her hand around your shoulders. "how long have you guys known?"

"ona told me about it a few months ago. i didn't want to have to be the one to tell you. i'm sorry for not mentioning it earlier," lucy said. you nodded as you pulled her into a hug.

"it's okay. i probably wouldn't have believed you for a while. i couldn't, leila promised she'd never do something like this," you said. lucy understood how you felt. ona had been livid with the other spanish player whenever she had found out, to the point where lucy was certain they hadn't spoken to each other since. "when do you think they'll be done? i do have to talk to leila at some point."

"just tell her to get the fuck out of here, please? i know that she means a lot to you, but you can't go back to her. ona said it herself, leila will do it again," lucy pleaded with you. if it had been anybody else, you probably would have ignored the warnings, but lucy didn't like to get involved with people's lives like this.

"i'll try to," you promised. lucy pressed a kiss to your head before she helped you up to your feet. the two of you walked over to where alexia and mapi were still tearing into leila, who looked both ashamed and angry. lucy pulled your teammates away to give you some privacy with leila.

"amor," leila started. she moved towards you, but you held your hand up to keep her away from you. "please, let me explain."

"there's nothing to explain, leila. you cheated on me, it is that simple. you can blame the distance, your loneliness, the fact that you're just so affectionate. you can say anything that you want, but that doesn't change the fact that you cheated on me," you told her. "so go ahead and explain yourself because i'd love to hear whatever bullshit you've been telling yourself, but once you're done, i want you to answer all my questions."

"i missed you, and i was angry because i told you not to come with me. you offered to come to manchester, but i told you to stay here instead. i was all alone, and it was my fault, so i took it upon myself to be less lonely. it was just hook ups at first, i swear, and then there was this girl on the training staff. we hit it off, things are going great, but she's not you," leila said. all her words did was fill you with rage. she had confirmed that this had been going on for a lot longer than you knew, and worse than that, she was still with one of the girls she had cheated with.

"get the fuck out of here. if i never see you again, it'll still be too fucking soon." you turned on your heels and walked right out of the room. leila tried to chase after you, but lucy was right there to stop her. you walked into the locker room and went straight to your locker, beginning to pack up your things to go home.

"(y/n), are you okay?" mapi asked as she sat down next to you. you weren't crying, it was far past that, but you were obviously pissed. you didn't mean to direct it at mapi, but the glare you gave her had the woman backing away from you instantly. unfortunately for you, alexia wasn't as easily scared by you.

"i'm sorry that we didn't do something before," alexia said as she pulled you into a hug. her embrace was tight and comforting, but you didn't let yourself relax. most of the girls looked away, but you could see ona standing across the room looking at you longingly. she had been avoiding you for months, and it killed her to not be by your side as your best friend.

"come here oni," you told her. she raced over towards you, both of you dissolving into fits of tears as soon as you were in each other's arms. her apologies were scrambled in between sobs and spanglish, but you knew that she meant it. still, a part of you couldn't forgive her for what happened. she had known since the beginning that leila had cheated on you, but she hadn't said anything to you.

"do you need a ride home?" alexia asked once you and ona had calmed down a little. you nodded as you picked up your bag. the team didn't miss the way that you ignored ona as she said goodbye to you. the anger you felt for leila was starting to spread around the team, and if it wasn't for the fact that you needed alexia for support, you'd probably shut her out too. "it's not an excuse, but none of us knew how to tell you about leila. you seemed so happy, and i knew she'd do this when she started talking about switching teams. i didn't think it'd get so out of hand."

"were you listening to us?" you asked. alexia nodded her head as she started driving. you knew that she wasn't taking you back to your apartment. "did you know it was with so many girls?"

"no, it's never been that many before," alexia muttered. you could see that she wasn't just angry. "you were supposed to be different for her. i believed in her not to do this again. i'm sorry, if there's anybody you should be mad at, it's me, not ona. i'm the one who knew about this pattern. don't ruin a friendship with someone who doesn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire."

"it's hard right now. all i can think about is that she knew," you admitted. alexia sighed as she squeezed your hand. "i could have done the same thing to leila, but i didn't. why did she have to do that to me?"

"sometimes, she's careless about things that she shouldn't be. she was careless with your trust. it's hard, but try not to think about her. don't give her a second thought, because eventually, the pain will subside along with your feelings for her," alexia said. you tilted your head to the side as you realized that she was speaking from experience. "do you want to be alone right now or can i come inside too?"

"don't you have practice?" you questioned. alexia shrugged.

"not if you need a shoulder to cry on," she told you. "let me know what you need, and i'll do my best to get it for you."

"i want you to come with me, and maybe, when practice is over, we can call ona," you told her. alexia nodded as she got out of the car. she got your bag for you, and for a moment, it reminded you of the way that leila had been with you in the beginning of your relationship. the only difference was that alexia didn't look at you like leila did, as if she knew that you were already head over heels for her.

[chipistrate]

Welcome to the Grand Opening of Freddy Fazbears Balloon Circus!

After an array of previous undisclosed incidents at the Mega Pizzaplex, ending with the sudden collapsing of the building due to an unexpected earthquake, Fazbear Enterprise has demolished the old mall and rebuilt a new and improved carnival on the property! But just because the attractions above ground have been overhauled, doesn't mean the secrets beneath the surface have magically disappeared.

Reblogs appreciated!

MANY more rambles about this AU under the cut: would much appreciate if you read them, but there's no obligations!

EVERYTHING HERE IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE!! This AU has just been pieced together by my insane ramblings to my friend over the past few days, so everything in it's early stages of development, and this post is being written VERY late while I'm very sleep deprived and just trying to finish it in time to schedule it! If some things are a bit weird or inconsistent then please keep that in mind! Thank you! :D

Gregory, Vanessa, and Freddy all return to the now renovated lot where the Pizzaplex once stood, having been called back two years after their last failed visit too save a long lost friend, too repair their old creation known at the M.X.E.S after it was suddenly and unexplainably shut down again. Upon entering the new-ish carnival, they'll quickly find it hard to safely look for the entrance to the layers below as the friendly mascot suits above chase after them for being unwanted guests.

Above ground, they're hunted by the mascots- new suits built for both performers and endoskeletons to be able to wear. This night, controlled by corrupted endoskeletons, they've been ordered to chase after the intruders by someone lurking below the carnivals ground. As well as finding the littler animatronics, known as Balloon Babies, to be quite the inconvenience.

Below ground, they're hunted by the old Glamrocks, still functional after all this time, and now under a new threats command that's also trying to keep the 3 star family from reaching M.X.E.S; Vannie. Aka, Cassie. Still here in the ruins of it all, waiting for the her perfect moment to lure the family back in and get her revenge for what they did to her all those years ago.

The mascots are the new faces of the Freddy Fazbears Balloon Circus, their costumes built to be worn by both endoskeletons and actors- but in a safer way than the springlock suits. The actors are used during the day for greeting and interacting with guests, putting on performances, etc etc. While the endoskeletons are used at night as a replacement for security guards and STAFF bots, kindly, but forcefully, escorting any intruders off the premises. Under Vannie's control they, of course, are much less kind and gentle with how they "escort" the 3 star fam out of the carnival.

Balloon Babies are smaller, almost Helpy-like animatronics in appearance, built to keep lost and lonely children happy and entertained while waiting for their guardian to arrive. They can't speak, but they can play song, games, sound effects, blow up balloons with their fingertips, etc etc. They found Gregory after he had been forcefully split up from Vanessa and Freddy by the mascots, and upon the family reuniting, the Balloon Babies more annoying feature kicked in: The Emergency Alert System. Whenever a child they are playing with is approached by an odd looking adult or other figure that seems like they could be a potential threat to the child's safety, whether that be a kidnapper, unfit guardian, bully, etc. the Balloon Babies will use their emergency alert system to call one of the mascots over and deal with the threat, kindly guiding the threat away and bringing the kid to a safer area away from potential danger where they can stay with staff until a proper guardian arrives. The Balloon Babies had decided in their time with Gregory that Vanessa and Freddy were unfit guardians for leaving Gregory scared and alone this late at night, and any time Vanessa and/or Freddy is nearby, their alert system will sound off and call a mascot to their location. The problem, other than the obvious, is that the Balloon Babies are fixated on Gregory. They will always be attracted to him and find their way back to him no matter what, with the only exception being when he's under ground. Which means that, until they can find a way to deactivate or otherwise get rid of these guys, Gregory is forced to be split up from Vanessa and Freddy above ground, and regroup underground.

The only exception is Goldie, a soft yellow version of the Freddy Balloon Baby that doesn't follow the others. Goldie is the only one of the Balloon Babies that can go underground, Vannie specifically programming him to be able to do so. He follows Vannie around and provides her with much needed company, being her only real friend down here besides Roxy. Later on, Gregory will find Goldie, but instead of calling for the mascots whenever Vanessa is near, he'll send out a signal to distract the other Balloon Babies away from Gregory so they won't call for the mascots or overwhelm him. Goldie can tell that Vanessa and Freddy are fit guardians that love Gregory very much, and can also tell that they're afraid of the mascots, though he can't compute why- it's his job to make sure that kids and their families are safe, so he's doing his best to ensure their safety however he can. Later on, Vannie will come looking for her friend after a long period of time of him being away and find him with the 3 star family, causing more conflict between the two parties that Goldie can't understand- Cassie and Gregory are supposed to be friends, aren't they? That's what Cassie said. Friends aren't supposed to fight each other, they're supposed to protect each other. That's what Goldie believes, at least.

Random trivia;

-Gregory, Freddy, and Vanessa have been living together for about 3 years now. 1 year by the time of Ruin, and 2 years after the fact leading up to Balloon Circus.

-Cassie has been gaslit into thinking that all the stuff Dr. Rabbit did was actually Gregory himself with no outside influence, only fueling her want for revenge, not only for the elevator incident, but everyone he hurt. This will affect Gregory greatly(he has not 100% recovered and this Does Not Help).

-Cassie still doesn't fully trust the Mimic, despite being under its influence. She let the M.X.E.S stay up after the 3 star family put it back up after Ruin despite Mimic's demands for her to shut it down again, assuring him it was "part of her plan". She wasn't entirely lying, shutting down the M.X.E.S was how she wanted to lure the family back, but she'd be lying if she said it wasn't also partially because she wanted to keep "that old endo" sealed away. He's not completely free from fault either.

-Gregory and Vanessa both have chips implanted in their heads, it's how Dr. Rabbit and Vanny took over way back when. Those same chips gave them VR vision, but the chips have since been "domesticated" and can't go full VR mode anymore. Despite this fact, they do still have a few side effects of the VR vision, such as some walls and objects simply not existing, despite them looking perfectly normal and real. They can phase through them without trouble, and this helps them navigate the Balloon Circus, becauseeeeeee;

-Cassie was there during the construction of the circus and set up VR walls in certain spaces to help her hide out and travel around undetected, even during the day. The 3 star family can also use these now as an easier way of navigating through the circus, but also as a way to hide from the mascots and even sometimes the Balloon Babies.

-The entrance to the underground levels is behind a VR wall, but it's one set up by the construction workers so the patrons wouldn't notice it. The reason an intentional opening is there is because the new entrance is now used as a dumping ground for stuff from random items from the ruins of the Pizzaplex to unused stuff from the circus to anything the employees with access to the area want to throw in there. It's how the ruined Glamrocks ended up there.

-The Glamrocks were being slowly reintroduced to the public, the biggest attraction so far being 'Chica of the Sea', a tent for the underwater hologram show of a prerendered mermaid Glamrock Chica that would swim around, wave at guests, and do a few preset moves that employees could turn on whenever. There's hints of them wanting to reintroduce the others as well that haven't been shown off to the public yet, with the new roles being; Glam Freddy and Bonnie are the co-ringmasters of the main tent where the mascots performances are held, making sure everything runs smoothly. Roxanne is the mascots and glamrocks make up artist, as well as offering to do make up/face paint for any patrons that came by her tent (for a price, of course). And Monty would roam around the circus grounds as a strongman showing off his incredible strength. He also has a tent for this, but he was mostly supposed to roam around and sometimes try and make people swing by his tent, mostly so they would buy his merch.

-Chica being the first to be reintroduced has an effect on her character below ground, with her hearing the news and trying her best to dress herself up in whatever scraps she could find to look like her mermaid counterpart, practicing her singing and dancing despite her condition so she could prove that she could be just as good as the hologram if she just got a few repairs.

-Roxanne is headless, having lost her head in her tussle with the Mimic. But she still has control of both her body and head, carrying around her decapitated head in her arms.

-Vannie/Cassie cares about Goldie soso much that's her new bestie<33 Friendship ended with Gregory, Goldie is new best friend<3 (I'm so sorry Gregory)

-Vannie is also known as Vengeful Vannie, but usually shortened to just 'Vannie'. A callback to the "Vengeful Spirit" aka Cassidy, because I think the parallels between the two are neat<3 (THIS MEANS NOTHING LORE WISE IT'S JUST A NAMING THING.)

-Some of the stuff at Balloon Circus was bought from the carnival mentioned to be across the street from the Pizzaplex in the TFTPP epilogues, and rebranded to fit with the new Fazbear theming

I wanna talk more about these guys later- not sure what else exactly to do with them, but if anybody has any questions then feel free to send 'em to my inbox! I'll be more than happy to reply to the best of my abilities<3

[zzencat]

Your Person’s Qualities (SFW) - Timeless⏳

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Choose from left to right. Applicable to current or future lovers. Very prone to change—could be a temporary relationship.

————————————-

Pile 1.

It seems like this person is really into simple people or things. They could even be simple themselves. Old-school person or love? I saw apple picking. Maybe your person walks with their hands in their pockets often. A very chill and friendly person. Enjoys the presence of others, but is completely content in solitude. Enjoys walks in nature. I’m picturing the type to walk through a vacant Asian street market alone out of curiosity. Does this person wear plaid by any chance? Hair on the lighter side—light brown or generally, brunette? Or a ginger. Hairy arms. Someone of European descent is very heavy. This person can be prone to facial hair. Seems very balanced and in touch with their emotions. May be good at planning. Detail-oriented. Helps others without a second doubt, even to a fault, but they don’t mind; the type to shrug it off and won’t think much of it, hands back in pockets, if the help-ee didn’t thank them. Doesn’t dwell too long on problems and probably not the groveling type. This person seems perfectly content with who they are, what they have, and what they’re doing. However, this person may be…too nice? Like boring? Like too nice, too reserved, too forgiving? And the jokes are on the kinder, much, MUCH cheesier side. If you like this though, might be your person fr. Vanilla kind of person (in every meaning of the word), but nonjudgmental and ready to learn more. Also, very platonic vibes…maybe you started out as friends, initially thinking they weren’t your type at all, because perhaps you prefer someone more wild or impulsive, but you may slowly start to fall for them, especially noticing the little acts that they do for others.

Points of Interest: rain, jungle kind of smell, damp, wet grounds/roads, lanterns, dusk, one big red apple (temptation maybe?), rolled up sleeves, plaid, one food stall still open, hands in pockets, alleyway, no specific numbers.

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Pile 2.

Giving hook-up vibes. Probably parties a lot. Are they short? Or average height? If it’s a guy, I’m getting 5’8. Not that mysterious; they can be awkward as hell or don’t know how to continue a conversation without steering it into NSFW territory. A drink could help them relax with hitting people up. Could meet or could’ve met this person at a party and they want to stay in contact. Same school? Don’t expect too much out of this interaction because they seem very emotionally unavailable. Misunderstood a lot in childhood. Lonely. More timid than you’d expect but does what they can. You somewhat stand out to them out of the rest. Probably looks at you as someone of more to offer (like real love or an actual relationship) but is still scared of committing and it’s not ending soon. I think you feel it too, like there could be a potential connection, but either they’re too scared to reach out for something more or their ego is a shield that protects them from looking weak. Likely has a conflicting relationship with their parents (not being around emotionally or too busy to sit down and have a real conversation with them.) Definitely a lot of hesitancy, maybe from both sides. Maybe you don’t want to get hurt either. Uncertainty about the future, about them, about what relationship this could evolve into. “Do they like me or not?” type of frustration. This pile in general feels a lot less mature and figured out than Pile 1. You could both be pretty young and very focused on the present, or have an immature, naive mindset. Understatement of the year: Commitment would take a lot of time, effort, and tears from both sides, especially from your person (because they are so scared.) One or both of you could be used to acting nonchalant about things, or that something’s not bothering you, but it really does.

Points of interest: masc figure not much taller than fem figure, baggy jeans(?), junkie vibes, neglectful parents, too much time on their hands, image issues, not feeling good enough, “just walk away”, “it’ll never happen again”, trying to make someone jealous, “whatever”, lots of effort for no reason or no progression, back and forth, selfishness, high skirts, seduction, platform shoes/heels, chains, accessories, trying to look cooler than they actually are.

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Pile 3.

Ambivert? Likes taking walks at sunset, holding hands. Trying to get out there more. A very shy person inside, reserved at home. Round glasses? Struggles with a bit of social anxiety, fidgeting, or stutters. Enthusiastic. People pleaser, nice, quick to do things when told. Could be sassy at times or have quick comebacks. Dramatic. Doesn’t like to appear hurt in front of people. Sensitive inside. Suppresses sad feelings or tries to ignore trauma/triggers. Plays off struggles, self-deprecation. Maybe have a large group of friends, in a lot of clubs or doing well academically to impress parents or distract them from negative feelings. Knows how to talk to girls; may even have a lot of female friends/female influences. If you are someone who gets jealous easily, this might annoy you a bit. Can get really awkward if talking about trauma or mental health is brought up. Probably romantically prefers someone with more boy-ish, masculine qualities/personality—or someone that doesn’t care about what others think and pursues what they want. This person probably also likes loud people, extroverts, go-getters, daredevils, prone to anger, or people who pressure them into doing something risky.

Points of Interest: *gasps dramatically*, “At least I’m better than you at [….]”, tense, “it’s fine. I really don’t mind!”, isfj, esfj, estp, lies, secret nerd, excitement, “it’s what society wants”, fake friends, insecure, excuses, “I’ll go if you go”, everything has to be perfect.

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**Teddy Note: Feedback is very much appreciated as it will help me hone my intuition and become as close to accurate as possible as a WIP reader! Let me know if it resonates with you, and don’t forget to leave what doesn’t! I will only do these in a well-balanced energy. Thank you for reading :)

[teaboot]

I used to dream of finding Home.

Somewhere between my tweens and my teens, the house my family lived in stopped feeling like a comfortable pocket where I belonged and started feeling more like a roomshare with strangers.

I'd read a lot of books. A lot of stories about outsiders and misfits who fell into grand adventures that led them into perfect little keyhole they were destined to slide into. I thought that someday, in a much less exciting or eventful way, the same would happen to me. If I worked very hard to be good and kind and forgiving then I'd stumble into Home.

It never happened.

I moved from town to city to country, and didn't find it. Every building felt the same, no matter how long I stayed. None of them felt natural, or easy, or safe.

I was living in a dilapidated loft above a busted-out mortuary when I figured it out.

No running water. No heat. No AC. No furniture or mattress or internet, and a dusty bathroom with a broken toilet and a sink inexplicably pre-filled with cigarette butts, and it finally clicked.

I ripped out the old carpet. Swept the floors. Taped the sun out of the windows with foil and foam and big black garbage bags. Cleaned off an old shelf, stole a cot, piled all my blankets on top of it, painted pictures and taped them to the walls and spray-painted a mural and leaned a tarnished old mirror up against the wall.

I found a room divider in an old office room and took a lamp left out with the trash and set up an empty coffee pot with cheap silk flowers. Hung a shower curtain in the morgue and turned a storage bin into a bath and hooked my towel on a loose nail stuck into the wall.

And when I left, and left everything behind, I found another little empty hole in the world and did it all over again.

That's something I don't think I could have learned from all my stories. It's not something very interesting to read about, some lonely stranger puttering about by themselves in a hot, dark room. But it's important to share it, I think, so I've done my best.

I think that a Place is a beast, and to make it a Home, you have to dig in your claws and fight for it, tooth and nail.

Then, once you've tired it out, string up lights below it's ribcage and pet it nice between the ears until it purrs.

[writingsbychlo]

SWEET LIKE SUGAR | 01

summary; azriel is lonely, and goes to the pleasure house. he doesn't get very far before his world is flipped upside down, and he's not the only one.

word count; 7646

notes; working title. working fic. everything is just a work-in-progress. not sure how I feel about posting this, so if we all hate it, lets not tell me, okay? because I love it. I just didn't know if I wanted to share it.

You stared up at the building before you, nervously tugging at the hem of your dress. Your lungs would barely open to take a breath, every pounding note of the music from inside reverberating out across the pavement seems to shake you to your bones, and your heart was racing so fast it might tear right out. 

The smell of alcohol spilt out across the street, and the sweet tang of mirthroot smoke sat heavy in the air. It was cloying, probably even thicker inside. A voice cleared, impatient and deep, and you jolted out of your thoughts. 

“You’re blockin’ the fuckin’ door.” He growled, words already a little slurred, and your cheeks heated as his gaze leered across your body, a smirk forming on his lips. “‘Less you’re goin’ inside? If that’s the case, let me escort you.”

“No, no. I’m— you go ahead, please.” Your words could barely be choked out, the male rolling his eyes at you before swinging the door open and stepping inside, the music loud enough for a split second to shock you once again. Stumbling back a couple of steps, your body slammed into someone else, a squeak leaving your lips, and your eyes began to sting at the overwhelm of emotions now. “I’m so sorry, I’m in the way, I’ll just—”

“Are you alright?”

A pathetic laugh left you at the question, beyond your control as the wet sound of your inevitable tears leaked into it, despite your best effort to keep them at bay. “No. Nothing is okay, not even a little bit. Everything sucks, actually. Everything is shit, and I’m scared, and I hate it. No, I’m not alright.”

With a heaving breath, one that seemed to shake through every cell in your body, you hauled a watery gaze up to the owner of the deep voice and ridiculous question. And up, and up. Good God’s, he was tall, even in your stupid heels. He had a sharp jawline, lips pursed in a flat line, a straight nose, and thick brows raised in silent question. Or judgement, you really weren’t sure. No matter what, he was one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen, though. What he was doing here, you had no idea.

“I’m sorry. You should— you’re going inside, right? You should go inside, don’t let the sobbing girl in the street ruin a very fun night for you.” Stepping to the side, and raising your arm to wave at the club, he didn’t budge, and your gaze tracked back to his. 

“You’re not going inside?” His sights dropped, scanning along the material that could barely be called a dress, that you’d had to buy from a lingerie store just to be appropriate, and you still felt exposed. Warmth rushed to your cheeks once again, that lump returning to your throat, and you shook your head. 

“No. No, I don’t think I can.”

“You don’t work here?” His tone wasn’t so flat now, a slight tip of curiosity, and you shrugged. 

“I was… hoping to. I was trying to work here, but I’m not sure I can make myself do it.” Your lip wobbled. “Not that there’s, y’know, anything wrong with it. Gods, I respect those who do it and I wish I had their confidence, everything would be a lot easier for me if I could, but it’s just not who I am.”

“So, if you don’t want to work at the pleasure house, why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” You shot back, and his stare pinned you. Observant, invasive, intense. It was enough to make you crack after only a second. “Why does anyone do a job?”

“Money?”

“Correct.” Blowing out a breath, you crossed your arms, the adrenaline wearing off as your decision was made, back turned to a club you wouldn't enter. The cold was beginning to leak into you, to take hold. “But, I guess I’ll just figure something else out.”

He watched you for a second longer, before slipping off the leather jacket he was wearing, over proud wings that were tucked tight into the darkness behind him. Swinging it around your body to settle over your shoulders, your first thought was that it was heavy, and large, but warmth soon followed, like a blanket by the fire on a cold winter’s night. 

“Thank you.”

“Would you like me to walk you home?” His hands stuck into his pants pockets instead, black skinny jeans that clung so tightly to his thighs it should be a crime, and you had to force your gaze away. 

“You, uh, you’re not going in?”

“I’m getting everything I need right here.” Panic shot through you, your whole body tightening for just a second, and his eyes widened, those lips finally parting in shock and he shook his head. “That’s not— I’m not implying anything is happening here. You don’t owe me anything, fuck, okay—” He took a deep breath, head tipping back to stare at the sky for a second, and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know if I can go in, either.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So, I’d really rather walk you home, if you’ll let me, than stand out here in the cold for another hour debating my choices.”

Your lips flicked up at that, the first real smile you’d had in weeks threatening to spill over. What happened to your tears? “You’ve been out here even longer than I have.”

“I know. I saw you arrive.” A smile pulled at his lips too. With a single glance down the street, the not-so-good part of town you’d ended up in, and caved. 

“You promise not to, like, murder me, or something?”

A laugh burst from him, sudden and rough, like he wasn’t used to making such a sound, but something in his eyes flickered. 

“It’s not funny! Weren’t you ever taught about stranger-danger as a child?”

“No, we weren’t really taught that in the camps. They skipped right over trust, to how to stab someone in the back.” Your throat dried up for a second, before seeing the smirk still sitting on his lips, and you scoffed, a curse muttered under your breath that only made him chuckle more. “Alright, fine. I’m Azriel, and I promise not to murder you.”

A sharp sting on the back of your neck made you gasp, your hand flying to it, and your eyes widened. The burning sensation lasted only for a second, before fading to nothing but a tingle. “What the fuck was that, what did you do?”

“You made me promise!”

“And?” You pressed, fingers tracing the spot. They came away clean when you examined them, and while the skin was smooth to the touch, you could feel whatever had happened. 

“You’re not from the Night Court, are you?” Amusement and curiosity wrapped his voice, and you shook your head lightly. “That would be your promise mark. Making a promise brands you, here.”

“What?” He tugged down the collar of his shirt, and even in the darkness, you could see slashes of dark ink across his collarbone, swirls and shapes. Your hand came up, before you could stop yourself, rocking onto your tiptoes to get a closer look, and tracing one finger across a whorl softly. “You’ve made a lot of promises.”

The clean, earthly smell of him filled your nose, and you backed away from him, letting him slip his shirt back into place as he watched you closely. 

“Your hands. Are they promise brands too?” Those same hands formed fists by his sides, arms twitching to tuck behind his back and hide, and you could see the effort it took for him to straighten them out in the space between you instead. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn't have— that was so insensitive of me. I’m sorry, Azriel.”

“They were a promise of a kind, but not the marks the magic of this court gives you. These were promises from my step-brothers when I was a child, promises that worse would come. Worse could come.” 

Silence settled between you for a moment, his sights fixed on his own marred flesh now as he turned his hands slowly, over and over before himself. Cupping his hands softly, your palms met his, thumbs smoothing across the rough skin. “I hope you gave them some promises of your own.”

“I did.” His voice was something darker, something sharper, as if daring you to be scared by it. By him. Your hands only squeezed a little tighter around his own. 

“Good.” The moment lasted a little longer, his hands flexing briefly around your own, before he was pulling them back. “Do you still want to walk me home?”

“I do.”

“Well, I think I’d like that.” He only smiled again, offering you his arm, and you freed one hand from underneath the layers of leather to loop your own through. 

Ambling down the sidewalk, you got as close to his side as possible, stealing both his heat and his protection as drunken fae stumbled past you on all sides, the streets filled with broken glass and litter. It was the worst part of the city, every Court had such places but you’d never thought you’d wind up living in such a place. 

With Azriel by your side, even for the short walk it was, people seemed to steer far away from the tall, powerful man who was keeping you company. You’d received countless leers and stares since leaving the house in this outfit, but now, they didn’t even dare to look at you. The safety was something you’d never felt before, and you’d miss it when you were alone again in your apartment tonight, behind a door that didn’t lock and had a chunk missing from the bottom. 

Slowing down on the pavement before the place you currently called a very begrudging ‘home’, you avoided a pile of vomit on the street, cringing a little internally and hoping Azriel hadn't noticed it. You weren’t sure why you were so bothered by his opinion, but you were.

“Well, this is it.” 

Azriel paused, glancing up at the decrepit building you’d come to a stop before. The windows were boarded up along the bottom floor, graffiti lined the walls, and there were stains on the bricks you’d never bothered to question. Azriel took it all in, and shame flooded your body. The coat wrapped around your shoulders was probably worth more than several months of your rent here.

“Thank you for walking me home.”

“You can’t be serious.” He continued to stare, up and up at the several layers, to the open window with shouting pouring out from one of the upper windows. “You can’t live here. We haven’t even left—” The bad part of town.

He cut himself off, but the words still sounded out between you both. Slipping his coat from your shoulders, you held it out, but he didn’t take it. He didn’t even look at it, still staring up in disgust at the apartment building. “Gods, this place makes Nesta’s last apartment look like the Townhouse.”

“What?”

His focus moved back to you, like he hadn't realised he’d even said that out loud, before shaking his head. “Would you like to have a coffee with me?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” The offer shocked you, but sparked a little warmth, like despite every shameful thing he’d learned about you tonight, he wasn’t disgusted by you yet. “When?”

“Now.”

“But nowhere will be—” His hands came out, holding softly to your elbows and tugging you closer, before cold shadows seemed to dart from every corner of the street, wrapping you in a black bubble. The earth seemed to fall out from under you as your vision was lost, everything was silent and cold, before you were stumbling in your terror, and the shadows moved again. “What the fuck just happened?”

The coat dropped from your hand, crumpling to a pile on the street as you stumbled backwards. Only, this wasn’t your street. 

The faelights in the lampposts didn’t flicker in their stained yellow glass, but were a clear and bright white. No cracked street tiles or shouting, nothing but peaceful moths batting at the glass, and several houses lined up, spaced far from one another along the street. It wasn’t dark or damp, broken and stained, a part of the city you’d never even seen before. Only one row of houses lined the street, so far between each house it would take you ten full minutes to walk to the next, the Sidra bubbling quietly behind you over the bridge. 

Azriel dipped down, picking his jacket up from the ground, and when he took a step closer to you, you took one back, a shaky hand coming up between you both to hold him away.

“Where are we? What the fuck just happened? Why am I here?”

He sighed, shoulders straightening a little. “It’s called… well, I don’t know what it's called, because I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can do it. It’s like winnowing, only with my shadows. I’m a shadowsinger, I control them.” As if to emphasise his point, the darkness lingering all around you on the street swirled slowly, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched the darkness move. “You step into the shadows one one place, you step out of them in another. I brought you here for coffee, but that was just an excuse, if I’m honest. Really, I just couldn't bear the thought of leaving you in that place.”

“That place is all I can afford.” You muttered, arms crossing over your chest, a dull pound in your head as you tried to process every overwhelming piece of new information. “So, what are we doing here?”

“I live here.” He stepped up onto the pathway of one house, the gate squeaking a little as he pushed it open, and your jaw fell slack, staring up at the towering estate before you.

“Here?”

“Yes. Now, will you please come inside?” Tipping his head to the side, that smile was back, and you couldn't resist it, the pull toward him as your feet carried you in cautious steps. 

“Fine, but I don’t actually want coffee. I hope you have tea.”

“I have plenty of tea. So many flavours that you won’t know what to pick.” His grin only widened as you stepped through the gate, letting him close it behind you, and following you up towards the grand house as you put every effort into not making a fool of yourself in these ridiculous heels. As you reached the porch, he swerved around you, producing a set of keys from his pockets and unlocking the door, holding that out for you too. “Welcome to the Bridge House.”

“That’s a pretentious name. All of these houses are on the river, and none of them are on the bridge.” You muttered, his chuckle following you inside as fae lights came on automatically, lighting along the long hallway, giving a muted glow to the space. He shut the door, and you spun to face him, watching as he clicked all of the locks securely back into place. 

“I know, but Rhys likes to name all of his houses, and he wouldn't let me change it even when I bought it.”

“Rhys?” You echoed, deciding to skip right over the display of wealth you couldn't even begin to handle, and copy his actions, toeing off the shoes that had been torturing your feet for hours now, and giving a soft sigh when your feet flattened on the floor. 

“My brother. Not biologically, but, it’s what he, Cassian and I like to call ourselves.” 

With a warm hand on your lower back, he softly began to guide you through the house and into the kitchen, but the names lingered in your mind. “Cassian… Rhys— oh, fuck, as in Rhysand? The fucking High Lord?”

Azriel only smirked at your outburst, stepping away from the island counter in the middle towards the kettle sitting neatly on the stove. “So, their names you recognise, but mine you don’t? I’m almost offended.”

“Well, isn’t that supposed to be the point, spymaster?” You growled the word out, knees feeling a little weak underneath yourself, and you braced your hip against the counter. “Oh, Gods, this is so inappropriate. I can’t be here! You’re a part of the Royal Court, you’re—”

“I’m just Azriel, to you.” His voice had gone soft once again, pulling two mismatching mugs from the cupboard, and watching you cautiously. 

“I’m wearing lingerie!” You burst, voice too high and shrill to even be remotely calm, and he clicked his tongue. 

“I'm aware. You look cold and uncomfortable. Would you like something to change into?”

“Would I…” It was surreal. It was a dream. None of this could possibly be true. “I can’t be here!”

“Why?”

“Because… because you’re Azriel, the spymaster! You literally call the High Lord brother, and I am a pleasure house worker who can barely afford rent in the shittiest part of town, I came to your house in a pair of stupid heels that I had to tape the sole back onto, in a dress that barely even qualifies as underwear! Your jacket could probably have bought my whole apartment outright, and—” Azriel crossed the room before you could even process it, hands sitting on your waist to scoop you up and deposit you onto the counter just before your legs could give out fully. He planted his hands on the outside of each of your thighs, planted himself between them, and his nose practically brushed your own. “What are you doing?”

“Take a breath. You’re panicking. You’re going to give yourself a panic attack.”

“I think we’re way past that.” You whispered, but did as told, trying to take a shaky breath to match the one he took. You did it again, and again, each breath calming you a little more, but it didn’t help the chaos in your mind, just helped to slow your heart a little. “Azriel, c’mon, you and I both know it. I should go, and we should just hope none of your neighbours saw, because it’ll ruin your reputation.”

“My reputation is destroyed anyway. If anything, you’ll be wanting to hope nobody saw you with me, once you learn about me.” You rolled your eyes, head tipping forward to lean on his shoulder, and he slipped one hand up to rub softly along your back. You could feel everything, the sexy dip of the dress barely covered your ass now, and more embarrassment flooded through you. “Besides, you’re here now. You might as well stay for that tea. It’s not like anyone can see you in here, you’re not on a timer.”

“Okay. Just one cup.”

“Just one cup.” He confirmed, lingering for a second longer before pulling away. Disentangling himself, he filled up the kettle from the tap, setting it off on the hob. “What flavour tea would you like?”

“What’ve you got?”

Hopping down from the counter as he beckoned you closer, it was only when you were by his side that he opened a double-standing cabinet, both of the doors slowly opening on a hinge, silent as ever, to reveal the jars of loose tea within. Each one was lined up meticulously, labelled with the flavour of tea and the benefits underneath, your jaw dropping. “Told you I had plenty.”

“You could run a tea shop with this stash!” Your elbow flew out, nudging into his ribs to dim his laughter. “I have no idea where to even start. Why don’t you pick?”

“Alright.” Instead of getting one out, though, he closed the cupboard doors, backing you away from it slowly. “It’ll be a surprise, but how about we get you that change of clothes first, huh?”

You glanced down at yourself, giving into the urge to finally feel settled in your own body again, chin dipping in a single nod. His hand slipped into your own, warm and sure, before he was tugging you along behind him, and guiding you through the house. Up two sets of stairs, past far too many different rooms to count, before stopping at the doorway to the grand bedroom. It had double doors, for fuck’s sake. The one bedroom itself, as you entered, was bigger than your entire apartment had been. 

Clean, simply decorated and organised, and extremely homely, a sigh left you as you took it all in. “This is your bedroom?”

“Well, I am the only one who lives here.” He teased, dropping your hand and leaving you to observe in the centre of the room, as he made his way over to one of the wardrobes. 

“Really? I couldn't tell, what with this place being the same size as my entire apartment building.” He laughed, and you hardly had time to turn and see the smile that would be accompanying it, before soft material was smacking you in the face, and falling to the floor. You looked down, agape, to see a soft blue t-shirt sitting in a pile at your feet. “Did you just throw that at me?”

“That’s what you get for sassing me.”

He opened another drawer as you crouched to pick it up, shaking it out to hold the material in front of yourself. When it was lowered, he threw something else, another bundle you were just quick enough to catch this time, but it didn’t stop you from scowling in his direction. This time, it was sweatpants, thicker and black in colour.

“I’ll give you a chance to get changed, and I’ll be back.” 

He was gone, the door shutting gently behind him, and he was absolutely silent as he walked away, leaving you alone in his bedroom. It was an odd feeling, to say the least. To be trusted so deeply with someone’s things, when they had no reason to be, and Azriel didn’t read to you as the easily trusting type. 

Then again, neither were you, and you were somehow still confident that this wasn’t all going to end with your untimely death. Your toes sank into the plush carpets, sore patches on the backs and sides of your feet already threatening to be blistered by the morning, and this dress had been irritating your skin since the moment you’d put it on. Cheap material, but the best you could afford.

Slipping open the ties across the front one at a time, the dress came loose, enough for you to slip your arms out of the tight sleeves, and begin to shimmy it down your body, feeling less than elegant as you worked your way out of it. Perhaps it was a good thing you hadn't gone in, you certainly weren’t cut out for this kind of work. How anybody could make peeling themselves out of that sexy was beyond you.

Azriel’s shirt was built to accommodate his large frame, with panels in the back that buttoned up for his wings, but even once it was on, with those few slits down the back, they revealed nothing compared to the dress on the floor at your feet. You didn’t feel so exposed any more, so vulnerable, and as you slipped the sweatpants up your legs to tighten at the waist, you finally felt more like yourself again. 

A sigh slipped past your lips, hands smoothing down along your covered body, warm and comfy once again. You hadn't felt this settled in a long time, and already, Azriel’s house was feeling more like home than your shitty apartment ever had, and ever would. Scooping up your dress and folding it neatly into a flat square, you laid it atop one of the dressers, beside a half-burned candle and a book. 

You were sniffling the candle when there was a knock at the door the knob twisting slowly. 

“Can I come in? Are you, y’know, dressed?”

“I’m dressed, you can come in.” He nudged the door open, a tray in his hands, stacked up with pottery and plates, and you placed the candle back down to help. He didn’t need it, though, resting the tray down on the small trunk at the end of his bed, and straightening up. As he turned to you, his gaze found you again, running far more slowly along your body than he had out in the street, and the smile you were becoming fond of formed on his lips again. 

“Feel better?”

“So much better.” 

He patted the silky quilt on the end of his bed. “Come sit. I made cranberry and spiced apple tea. It’s very calming, a good late-night tea.”

“Sounds delicious.” Your legs crossed as you perched atop the plush mattress, a bed larger than you’d ever seen before as you took it in, spanning your gaze across the entirety of it. When you turned back, Azriel was pouring you a mug, watching.

“It’s because of the wings.”

“What?” 

“My wings.” He flexed them out behind himself, stretching them taut to their full, glorious length, and your hands shook a little in awe as you took the mug and saucer from him. Black, leathery flesh was thinner in some places, enough to glow a softer purple and red as the light shone through, some patches had tendons and veins visibly moving under the skin, marred patches of scars in the shapes of slashes and arrow piercings. “So I can stretch them out in bed and they don’t touch the floor.”

“They’re sensitive?” You wanted to reach out, to trace one of the scars sitting right at eye level, to ask what had caused it, but he only chuckled. As he poured his own mug of tea, he pulled them back in, hanging comfortably behind his back once again.

“Very sensitive. You can bring an Illyrian male to his knees with just one touch in the right place.”

“This feels like top-secret information. Surely you shouldn’t be spilling all the ways to hurt an Illyrian male to me?” You teased, and he uncapped a jar of honey, his smirk growing as one brow raised at you. 

“Do you want to hurt me?”

“Of course not.” He added two spoonfuls to his mug and stirred, before offering it to you, a fresh spoon to follow, and you accepted the scoops he made. 

“Then why shouldn’t I tell you?” You had no answer to that, instead grinning into your tea as you stirred it, watching the ripples form as you tapped the spoon against the edge, and rested it on the saucer. Steam curled up from it, and as you raised it to your lips to blow, he hummed. It smelt so good, your mouth watered. “Besides, who said you’d be bringing me to my knees in pain?”

You jerked, gaze snapping back up to him, before a splash of the tea spilt over the edge of your mug, hitting your thigh and dripping onto the covers below, creating a small wet patch. “Azriel!”

He only laughed, your cheeks heating at his innuendo, but the flush on his face was worth it, even if he was laughing at you. 

“Now look what you made me do, there’s tea on your covers.”

“Sweetheart, seeing that reaction would have been worth it if you’d spilt a bucket of mud on my bed.” Your cheeks flushed again at the drawl of his voice over his words, even if he didn’t know he was doing it, your heart jumping in your chest.

“I still might, as revenge.” Muttering your words didn’t make him miss them, laughter starting anew, and you hoped he at least couldn't see the smile the sound gave you as you sipped your tea. You finally let your eyes move to the tray, noting the large teapot sitting in the centre, the used pot of honey and your spoons, and the small plate stacked up with shortbreads. “Would it be already if I had one of those?”

He tracked your gaze, nodding rapidly when he realised and presented the plate to you. “I don’t normally have food in my bedroom, never mind my bed, but, I didn’t know when you last ate. I didn’t want to assume, and start cooking a whole meal, but I can—”

“Azriel.” His lips pursed shut, this time it was his turn to blush, an adorable shade of pink that suited him so well crawling across golden skin. “I love these, and I was hungry. They’re perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Slipping from the bed to stand once again, you placed your mug back on the tray, and held up your saucer instead to catch crumbs as you ate the first circular treat. 

“What are you doing?” Azriel’s voice was a little rough, and you licked stray crumbs and sugar from your lips, not missing his gaze following the motion. 

“I’m eating.”

“Why did you stand up?” He flexed his fingers around his mug, watching you happily as you took another bite. 

“I didn’t want to risk getting crumbs in your bed.”

“You can,” He stepped closer, putting his drink down and settling his hands on your shoulders, a look in his eyes you didn’t quite get a chance to read before he was moving you, pushing until your legs met the bed and you sat down slowly. “You can sit. I don’t care if you get crumbs. I’ll clean it.”

He moved to take the saucer, the one you had cupped under your chin to catch any loose crumbs, and you gripped it tightly, not letting him have that too. He was making all kinds of sacrifices for you tonight, you weren’t sure why, but this was one rule you could at least respect. 

“You can sit up at the pillows, if you want. You don’t have to sit down here.”

Glancing back, the end of the bed felt miles away, and you shrugged, feeling him stack another pastry onto your plate as your attention was turned away. “Will you sit with me if I do? I mean, I know it’s your bed, but…”

“I will. Let me just change, first.”

He swiped up his pyjamas, which had been sitting neatly by the pillow on what you assumed was his side of the bed, and disappeared with a flurry of shadows into the connecting bathroom. Not all of them went, some remained, swirling on the floor, and a single tendril rose up, like a snake lifting its head.

It didn’t have eyes, a face, or any discernible features, and yet you had the distinct feeling you were being watched by it. You popped another shortbread into your mouth, whole this time, and placed the rest down, watching it just as studiously as it approached you across the floor slowly. 

It slithered up, across the bedding, and snaked over your thigh until it found your wrist. It was cool, not cold, but a soft breeze across your skin. Soothing, to say the least, and it wrapped in coils around your arm. Up and up it went, crawling under the baggy sleeve-hem of the t-shirt you’d borrowed, across the pulse point in your neck and before re-emerging from your collar and darting into the hanging strands of your hair. 

Another soon followed, this one tickling across the bare bad of your foot before snaking up your leg, toying in your fingers, weaving through the digits. Another came, curious like puppies, but this one never touched you. No, instead, it danced across the trunk before you, over the tray and swirled around your mug, again and again in whirling circles. 

“What are you doing, little one?”

You reached a finger out, brushing it across the mist. “It’s trying to tell you to drink your tea.”

“Jeez, Azriel!” You jumped, shadows skittering like butterflies back to the corners of the room as he waved a hand, and you clutched your own over your heart. “You’re so fuckin’ sneaky, what is up with you!”

“Spymaster, remember? Sneaky is kind of in the job description.” He winked, winked, and wandered right past where you sat, up to the head of the bed. He looked good, too good for someone simply intending to sleep later tonight, with a fitted black shirt stretched taut across those muscles, and a pair of matching sweatpants to the ones he’d given you, except they looked much better on him. Pulling back the covers, he patted the mattress beneath, raising his head to look at you. “Come on, and bring your tea.”

You did as told, rising and grabbing both your mug and his, moving to sit on the space he’d learned for you, amongst fluffy pillows and cushions. He tucked the blankets back around you, caring for you in a way nobody ever had before, and you had to bite at the inside of your cheek to contain it. “Thank you.”

Your whisper was hardly audible, but he smiled nonetheless, one curl from his raven black locks flopping across his forehead as he nodded, before making his way around to his side. Sinking into the bed, he sat forwards, ruffling his wings for a moment until he was satisfied, before sitting back and taking the mug you offered. 

Once one hand was free, you indulged yourself, leaning across to tuck that curl back up into his hair, his golden eyes tracking every movement. “Why are you doing this for me, Azriel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you looking after me? Why are you being so kind to a complete stranger? I’m here, wearing your clothes, sitting in your bed, drinking your tea. Why?” The words hung thick in the air around you, for so long you sipped your tea just for something to do as his lips pursed in consideration. You swore you could hear your heartbeat, drumming in anticipation. This was it. This was where stupid, ridiculous, blind trust from desperation got you. Into the bed of someone who could ruin your life, who would make it seem like nothing ever happened, who—

“I don’t quite know.”

“You— what?” It wasn’t what you’d been expecting, head emptying once again, and he shrugged. He sipped his tea, and didn’t continue. You placed your own down on the bedside table to your left, turning onto your side and propping yourself on the pillows to study him. “You don’t know?”

“No. I just saw you, and I wanted to talk to you. So, we talked. Then I walked you home, and I saw where you lived, and I just knew I couldn't let someone as good as you go in there again.”

“You don’t even know me! What if I’m a really awful person?”

“I don’t think so.” He smiled, tucking a strand of your hair away behind your ear as he smiled. His thumb came down, tracing slowly across your cheek in a way that made sparks fly along your skin, your heart skipping another beat, and his grin only got wider. “I’m pretty good at reading people, and you’re golden. Besides, my shadows are all shadows. They know these things, they don’t trust people easily, but they like you. That tells me that you’re good, that you deserve more.”

“That’s a lot of faith to have in them.”

“They’ve earned that faith over the centuries.” His confession brought another wave of silence, but nothing about it was awkward. He finished his tea, as did you, sitting side by side in his grand bed, where your feet didn’t even come close to touching the ends. “Azriel?”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me something?”

His expression was sweet like sugar, and he rolled a little more to face you, a little closer to you, sharing your space. “What would you like me to tell you?”

“Tell me your funniest story.”

And just like that, Azriel was off, words flying from his mouth as he began to recreate the scene, and you slumped down into the pillows to listen. He told you about his brother, Cassian, and you laughed with him so much your sides hurt. You told him your own, your funniest tales of your time in school, pranks you and your friends had pulled, drunken nights out. 

Just one cup had become two, had become three, into four, as the stories moved on, conversation flowing so easily between you both in a way it never had before. 

The teapot was drained somewhere between talking about your childhood and his, when you’d returned the mugs to the tray, and found yourself braced in his arm, cheek on his chest listening to the rumble of his voice as he talked. 

Somewhere around the time of talking about all the promises he’d made, you’d found yourself sat up, cross-legged to match him and knees touching, leaning in like you were talking in secrets, hiding giggled in whispers like you were kids getting caught talking in a classroom. 

You told him about your trip to the Night Court, how you’d always felt so lost in Dawn, nothing seemed right, and after Amarantha's reign and the war, everything seemed to have fallen apart for you. He listened, he actually heard you, when you told him about your trip here, to see the City of Starlight and feeling more rooted here than you ever had in your home court. Something was calling you. You may not have the life you’d dreamed of yet, but you’d get there. 

He swore you would, he believed in you. He told you all the places to visit, the best parts of Velaris to see, when you could spare the time and the funds. Most seemed like dreams, things you’d never get to truly achieve, but it was fun to imagine them.

By the time the sun had been rising again, you were laying on your back, his head on your stomach as he lay sideways across the bed. Your hand was in his hair scratching across his scalp as he explained to you the trials that had brought him and his brothers to victory as Carynthian warriors.

“Azriel, can I ask you a question?” You whispered, dragging your hand through his hair one more time, before he was moving, propping his chin on your stomach and offering a sleepy smile.

“Sure.”

“What were you doing at the pleasure house tonight?”

“Looking for this.” He mumbled, yawning to follow it, and your thoughts swirled. He crawled up the bed a little more, collapsing down half on top of you still, half beside you in the bed, sharing your pillow. “Looking for company.”

“Well, yes, but not this kind of company.”

“No, not this kind.” His lips still smiled as his lashes fluttered, those pretty eyes finally opening to look at you again. “I’m so fuckin’ lonely, all the time. All those stories are great, they’re fun, but it's the times in between that hurt. When I sit at the dinner table, surrounded by five happy couples, all alone. When I see them, and I want to be so happy because they’re so in love, and I’m just jealous. Sometimes, I just want to be touched, to be loved, to be the one getting attention. Being the eleventh wheel sucks.”

“Eleventh wheel?” Your chuckle made him roll his eyes, shrugging helplessly, and groaning as he readjusted in the pillows, propping himself up. 

“I don’t know what drew me there tonight, just that I was lonely, and I want to feel love. Even if it was just a short time, even if I had to pay for it. Even if it wasn’t real.” He lifted your hand, weaving his scarred fingers through your own, and smiling fondly when he settled your hands in his lap. “Maybe it was fate that I found you instead. That, rather than pay for false love that would make me only feel worse after, I got to meet you, to help you. I didn’t bring you back here with this intention, I didn’t mean to bring you back at all, it just sort of happened. But, this has been one of the best nights of my existence, and all we did was talk.”

“Oh, Az…” Your voice cracked, leaning across towards him you pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling his smile pull under your lips. 

“Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.” You pulled back, settling your hand on his shoulder as your thumbs battled aimlessly. 

That blissful silence settled between you both once again, exhaustion eating at your boned as you fought to even keep your eyes open, and watch the growing sun rays come through the windows you’d never even bothered to cover last night. 

At some point, you’d have to leave. You’d have to give him his clothes back, and try to find your way home, living with nothing but the warming memories of this night to keep you from freezing in your apartment this Winter. It was all so worth it, because while you may not have confessed it in return, you hoped he knew it was one of the best nights of your existence, too.

“What if we did this again?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, words slightly slurred through your tiredness, and you wondered idly if you fell asleep here, would he let you stay until you woke up before sending you on your way?

“This. This, whatever this night was. We could make it an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” You snorted, cloudy amusement filling your veins, but he only hummed. “Would you like to pay me to cuddle you, Azriel?”

“I would, actually. That and… other things.”

“What?” That cut through the haze, your head snapping up to look at him, your hand pulling back from his own as an icy feeling filled your chest. “I’m not— that’s— if I was going to do that, I’d be at the pleasure house right now!”

“What are you— no! Not those things!” His eyes widened as he released, shooting out to hold onto you once again as you searched for the edges of the covers to fling back. “Not like that. I just mean, there are things I want. I want company, I want someone to talk to over the dinner tables in the evening and hold like this, someone to make me feel less alone. I need affection, and just look at us tonight. Just like this, this was enough for me. And, there are things you need.”

“What do I need?” Huffing out the words, he gently smoothed your fingers from gripping the blankets, tipping your chin up to meet his gaze again. 

“You need a place to live that isn’t that horrible building. You need a real address, in a good part of town, so that someone will hire you. You need a friend in this city, and I want to be that friend.”

“So, you’d, what? Have me move into your house, live here with you? You’d change my whole life all for the measly price of cuddling you at night? You know, a girlfriend would do that for you. You wouldn't have trouble finding one, Azriel!”

“You’d be surprised.” He muttered, rubbing his thumb over your chin as he still held it. “Most people are scared of me, or want something from me. Even after that, I’m hard to put up with.”

“Oh, c’mon, Az.” Your eyes rolled, and he pinched a little in response. 

“Sometimes I have to go away for days at a time, weeks at a time. I have a hectic and unpredictable work schedule, so planning dates and getting to know someone isn’t exactly easy when you might have to inexplicably stand them up and not be able to explain why. Even so, I’m meticulous and pedantic, and people don’t want to date someone like that. Even with all that aside, actually connecting with someone is something I struggle with.” He let it all off his chest in one burst, and you felt the weight of his troubles and confessions like a rock on your chest. “You’d be perfect for me.”

“You don’t even know my name!”

“I do!” His eyes sheened over, thinking back across the whole night, and you watched the moment he realised that perhaps he’d given you his name, but he’d never asked for your own. “Names don’t mean a thing when I can see your soul so clearly, already.”

“You know this is insane, right?”

“Totally.” He confirmed, smiling a little at your scoff. “But we should still do it. You can live here, with me. You can get a job, make this your home, and have the life you always wanted in Velaris. In return, I get to not feel like the darkness, like I’m alone, all the time.”

“Would I have my own room?”

“Any you like. You’re not going to be a prisoner, or some kind of kinky hostage. This will be your home too.” Your shared snickers at his wording only brought you closer, until your forehead was resting on his own, staring at him through warped vision at your closeness. 

“This is madness. How would it work, what are the rules here?”

“The rules are whatever we want. We do what makes us happy, what makes us comfortable. I care about you, I like you. I don’t know what it is about you, but you’ve had me since the moment I saw you.” Your breathing stuttered, his hand cupping your whole cheek now instead, and you settled down into the pillows to face him. “It may be crazy, but I am crazy, you’re gonna’ learn that. Let me change your life, sweetheart. You’ll be changing mine too.”

Your voice was nothing more than a shaky whisper, accompanied by a smile. “Then I think you’ve got yourself a deal, Azriel.”

[gor3-hound]

silver lining

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, hybrid!reader, very brief suicide mention, p in v, creampie, daddy kink, a LOT of pet names

a/n: hiii! throwing out some (kinda) fluffy smut for once lmao. mainly picturing vendetta leon, but any older leon works tbh. i'm so tired, so if you see typos, no, you don't >:[ hope you enjoy !!

word count: 1.7k words

Raccoon City was something that Leon would never forget. It's been years since the incident, and he still wakes up in a cold sweat some nights with nightmares of the things he'd seen.

It's fucked him up in more ways than one. He would have killed himself a long time ago if he was sure that Sherry would be safe. The “top secret programme” the government so lovingly initiated him into isn't the way he saw his life going - but if it kept her safe, he'd grit his teeth and bare it.

Sure, he's made his peace with it, but it doesn't make it any less difficult. He runs around like the government's personal lap dog and then comes home and drinks himself half to death. It's a routine he's gotten used to, and he doesn't plan on changing it anytime soon.

But it gets lonely. He's not a stranger to flirting with a pretty girl in the bar, but he never manages to get them to stay. He's not sure he's capable of forming a relationship anymore. Work always comes up, and no woman seems to want to stick around when he disappears for weeks or months at a time.

When he was younger, he always wanted a dog. That was another thing Raccoon City took from him. He still flinches when a dog moves too fast near him or gets too close. He's never been a cat person, either. Thinks they're grumpy bastards at the best of times.

He leaves it at that for a while. Looks like he's destined to be alone. Whatever. He's used to it by now. Or he thinks so, at least, until he starts to hear about hybrids becoming more commercially available as pets.

They've been around for a while, sure, but they were the type of exotic pet rich assholes buy to show off. He hears about the new hybrid adoption center opening in his city and spends one of his only weekends off doing a shit ton of research. He's not entirely convinced, but he figures there's no harm in taking a look. As soon as he spots you, he knows he's smitten. Bat your pretty lashes at him, and he'd do anything you asked.

You're the cutest little puppy girl he's ever seen. Fluffy ears atop your head, your tail wagging so fast behind you it's practically a blur. He doesn't even think about it when he calls a worker over, paying for you then and there. He doesn't even blink at the amount of money you cost him. He'd sell a kidney to be able to afford you if he needed it. At least the government pays well.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's been a few months since he brought you home with him. You were a pain in the ass at first, constantly bouncing around his apartment. Your tail was a hazard, always knocking things off his table and breaking things.

He wouldn't change it for the world, though. You've become the highlight of his day. He finds himself smiling as he opens the door to his apartment, hearing you thunder towards the front door as he walks in. He can't help but chuckle as you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning up to lick at his face.

“Alright. Easy, girl. Easy.” He says with a smile, pushing you off him and ruffling your hair as he steps past you. He shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up and settling on the couch. “I had a long day, y'know? Could at least let me through the door before you jump all over me.”

“But I missed you.” You whine as he pushes you away from him, following him closely as he moves to sit on the couch.

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too, pup.” Leon says with a grin, patting his lap. He waits for you to jump in his lap, leaning back comfortably. “C'mere, then. Don't you wanna come sit with daddy?”

Your tail wags lazily behind you as you shift closer, straddling his lap happily. His hands settle on your waist to tug you closer, and he rubs small circles into you with his thumb.

“Missed you.” You repeat softly, cuddling close to him.

“You’re a sweet girl.” He nuzzles his nose into your head and caresses your hair. “A good girl…” 

Leon hums quietly and his hand starts to wander along your side and up towards your chest. “And beautiful, too. Can't believe I got so lucky, baby.”

You giggle softly at that, tail wagging just a little bit faster as you press your chest into his hand, shivering as his thumb brushes your sensitive nipple over your shirt.

“D'you wanna play with me, daddy?” You ask softly, trying to press as close to him as possible. Your hips start moving on their own, rutting your aching pussy against the hard muscle of his thigh. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. He always smells so good when he gets back from work, sweat clinging to his skin. 

“I just got back, baby. What's got you so worked up, huh?” He teases softly, grabbing your hips and adjusting them so you're grinding down onto his steadily hardening cock over his pants instead. He groans softly, reaching around to pet the base of your sensitive tail.

That gets a twitch and a whine from you, making the corner of his mouth tug up into a lazy smile. He rocks his hips up into you until he's fully hard and leaking.

“Alright, alright. C'mon, puppy. Let's get you to bed.” He grunts, trying to act like he isn't as desperate as you. His voice is low and gravelly, brows furrowed in concentration as he lifts you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

He plops you down on the bed, kicking his shoes off and pulling off his jacket. His hands roam your body, tugging off your clothes as he runs his palms along your curves. His eyes take you I'm greedily, his hands working to undress himself instantly.

“Fuck.” He groans as you shift on your hands and knees, ass up in the air as soon as you see his cock. His cock twitches, pre-cum leaking and staining his stomach. “Always so eager…”

All he gets is a whine and an ass wiggle in response. You lift your tail straight up, presenting your glistening pussy for his hungry eyes. “Daddy, please…”

“Yeah, yeah. I got you.” He murmurs, settling between your legs. He runs the pads of two fingers between your glistening folds, dragging them from your clit to your entrance, gathering the slick dripping from you before pushing them inside.

He thrusts them in and out a few times, letting you get used to the intrusion. Not that you need it - your pussy is always so drippy, sucking him in greedily every chance it gets. He curls his fingers, earning a low moan from you, your cute ears pressing firmly against your head.

“That's it.” He coos, repeating the action every time his fingers are half buried inside of you. “There's my good girl. You want my cock, don't you, sweet thing?”

All you can manage is to babble please repeatedly, already so desperate for him. He's not sure how he ever managed without you. You always make him feel so wanted, and not just when he's buried balls deep inside of you. It's nice. Makes an unfamiliar warmth build in his chest, something he hasn't felt since he was still a bright-eyed kid in the police academy.

“Don't worry, baby, I got what you need.” He says softly, pulling his fingers out of you and rubbing your juices onto the sheets before grabbing your hips. His breath hitches as he slides his length into your tight heat, his head tilting back in pleasure before he lets out a low moan.

He leans over you, pressing some of his weight against you as he starts to thrust slow and deep. He presses his lips to the back of your neck before leaning back, his thrusts picking up in pace.

“Such a pretty puppy.” He groans, gripping your tail to pull you back against him every time he fucks into you. The room is filled with your needy moans and the sounds of your sloppy pussy.

“Daddy…” you whine, drool spilling past your lips and onto the pillow your face is smashed against. He can feel you tightening around him, so he knows you're close. He adjusts his angle slightly so he rubs up against that sweet spot that makes you see stars every time he pushes in.

“C'mon, cum for me, pretty girl.” He grunts, hand tightening on your tail as the other slides up from your hip to your waist, giving him more leverage ti rock you back onto his cock.

“Fuck, daddy… cummin’!” You moan, your walls clenching so tight around him you almost push him out. He presses his hips against your ass and thrusts shallowly, keeping him buried deep inside of you as his tip grinds against your cervix.

His mouth hangs open as he feels you gushing all over him, his breath caught in his throat as his cock jumps and kicks against your cervix, the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him making him shoot ropes of his cum deep inside of you.

You whine softly again, slumping against the crumpled sheets. His breathing is slightly heavy as he drops his weight on you, pressing you against the bed.

You grunt at the feeling of him dropping on top of you, wriggling yourself free with a soft huff. You cuddle up to him after, ignoring the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. You give him a few locks to his stubble cheeks before cuddling up to him with a smile.

“Sleepy.” You huff softly, nuzzling into his neck with a content sigh, your eyes fluttering shut. He lazily wraps an arm around you, tugging you closer to him and petting your back.

“I bet. C'mon, baby. Think we deserve a nap.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead before letting his eyes shut, too.

[sexyandcringe]

Hopeless romantic

Part 1 ◇ Part 2

Warnings: none except mentions of readers past traumas, mention of sexual objectification.

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt no comfort.

A/n: it's my first long-fic, please be nice :)

You're not used to being loved.

Your parents were always strict, hardly ever showing their affection, you didn't even have any close friends until you started working, where you found your best friend who showed you the blessings of a platonic love; but time passes and things happen, you had to move out of the town, leave your one true friend behind.

You are not used to love but especially romantic love, because all men did was see you as the object of their sexual desires, or maybe a good time-pass until a better one came along. Never as a person with feelings, never as a woman who loved them more than they loved her.

Sometimes you were too much, sometimes you weren't enough.

Too affectionate, too clingy, too dramatic, too loud. Not pretty enough, not smart enough, not horny enough. You tried and tried to be more, to be less, to be loved, but despite your efforts, love remained elusive, even with women.

So, after years of hoping and yearning, you resigned yourself to a loveless existence.

It is not to say that you never felt happy; even if you didn’t have love, you had fun and drama, you had friends to drink with (accompanied by the ting of pain the day after), you had a lot of books to read (leaving a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you finished one), you had dates and clothes and all the good and beautiful things in life and you've learned to appreciate these fragments of happiness.

But sometimes you get lonely.

You are used to it at this point, the crushing weight in your chest at 11 PM is your daily ritual before you finally give in to sleep.

So when you see Osamu Miya’s warm smile as he greets you in his restaurant, you battle to stop your stupid crazed heart, which is currently trying to jump out of your mouth.

You are just a client, his smile doesn’t mean anything, he is only doing his job, and you have seen him give the same smile to the old ladies who only order a coffee and linger to chatter for more than two hours, too. He’s a professional, after all. You are a regular and all he wants is your money, the bastard.

(you completely ignore the fact that he remembers details about you that no one bothers to remember; like the colour of your jewellery, the names of the dogs in your shelter or how your eyeliner is a little glittered today.)

Still, you are glad you got to know him. If anything, at least he is a good friend to you, always listening to what you have to say and filling your stomach with delicious food.

“ ‘Evening, Y/N. The usual?” He asks. You nod as you sit on the corner of the counter, the same seat you sat on the first day you came in.

(Osamu puts a “Reserved” sign on it every day until your arrival, not letting anyone else sit on it because it’s yours. But you don’t need to know that.)

You chatter with Tsumoto, the part-timer student who works in his shop, about his new crush, giving him advice you wouldn’t listen to nor follow from somebody else, and just as you are about to tell him that he should just write love letters to his crush, the doorbell rings; a pretty girl with dark long hair and the body of a goddess walks in, looking around for something, or better, for someone.

“‘Samuuu!” she calls him just as he comes out of the kitchen, and his face lights up, his arms envelop her figure and her lips meet his cheeks in an affectionate gesture.

… what?

“Emi! How are you, doll?” his voice holds tenderness as he guides the girl to one of the seats available, “Have a seat, I'll fix something up for you.”

She is a beautiful girl indeed, her hair flutters in the air like sea waves and her deep green eyes would make any man weak in his knees. She graces him with a smile, her flawless teeth gleaming.“A coffee is enough ‘Samu, I’m going to meet a friend soon.”

“Roger that!” he nods, signaling to Tsumoto for the order, before returning his attention to her.

He looks happy, you don’t think he has ever looked at you with this much fondness, and you’ve never witnessed any girl embrace him, let alone kiss his cheek. Hell, you didn’t even know if he had any female friends who were not his friends’s girlfriends.

(You feel your vision blur and something clenches in your chest. You swallow it down.)

You have no idea what they are talking about, you are not listening, all you can think about is how much you feel so so stupid. You didn’t hope for anything, you tried not to hope for anything at all, but feelings are hard to get rid of, especially if you see the one causing these feelings every week.

You look at them talking like best friends who haven’t seen each other for a long time and the feeling of inadequacy gnaws at you. You wonder if you ever even stood a chance to begin with. You yearned to be someone close to Osamu, someone who could give him hugs and kisses easily, someone who knew everything about him; you yearned to be part of his inner circle, but now you feel utterly stupid and delusional. Of course, he would never see you in that light, his affection is reserved only for a pretty girl like her. Of course he wouldn’t even think about getting physical with you. What were you even thinking?

Of course, you can’t be part of his world.

Reblogs are really appreciated! - Part 2

[gay-dorito-dust]

Whoa you like Nuada too? I can’t pass this up! Can you please write Nuada with a reader who is cheerful individual? I like grumpy x sunshine ships 😆 I feel he wouldn’t know how to go about it and more confused when he falls for reader (Gender neutral pls)

Of course I like Nuada anon! How could I not?! I’d be ashamed of myself if I didn’t.🦦 also this is long as shit. I got carried away…no I won’t apologise.

Nuada first heard of you whilst being held captive at the BRPD through Nuala, whom had met you earlier that day through your mutual love of literature. And according to his sister you were a bright, bubbly, happy and warm individual who made her feel welcomed and included the moment she came to the Bureau; even going so far as to gift her with a poetry book with a cerulean blue cover.

It was actually a personal possession of yours but due to never haven gotten to read it, you had decided that it would serve Nuala far better than it ever did you. Nuala naturally refused to accept it but, you were persistent that she’d have it as you would rather have it be well loved and read than sitting on a cold, lonely shelf collecting dust.

‘They’re such a delight to talk to brother.’ Nuala began, clutching the poetry book with the cerulean cover close to her chest as though it were a priceless treasure, which to her it very much was.

‘They’re human dear sister, this persona they’ve put on is probably a trick, an illusions of sorts to lure you into a false sense of security.’ Nuada warns, not as trusting towards humanity as Nuala was. Giving? Warm? Welcoming? These were traits that the elven prince would’ve never associated with humans. Ever. It just sounded too far fetched to think that such a kindhearted and selfless person could ever have existed. Nuada only knew humanity for their glutinous greed, so such simple acts of kindness as gifting someone a poetry book, would do very little to change his perspective on the entirety of mankind.

Nuala frowns. ‘You haven’t even met them and yet you refuse to give them a fair chance. I understand your grievances towards humans but all I ask of you, dear brother, is that you learn to trust one, even if that one happens to be y/n.’ Nuala pleaded with Nuada, holding out on a spark of hope that with your influence, Nuada’s heart will no longer be veiled in shadows. Nuala truly believed that if anyone could come close to doing just that, it would be you, she just knew it.

Nuada merely scoffs at the notion his sister has in you being the one to unveil his heart of the pain and suffering. While he may have once bended to his twins every plea, this was one he could not find himself willingly doing so and the look upon Nuala’s face told him that she was very much made aware of that fact and wordlessly left.

Nuada wouldn’t get to experience you in your entirety until the BRPD decided that Nuada was trusted to head out on missions as your partner, they too also had some inclination that your bright and sweet persona would not only run off on Nuada but also soften his resolve against all of humanity; an request that would take a lot out of you.

‘You must be Prince Nuada. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name I’ve heard so much about.’ You said, barely able to contain your excitement at finally being given a partner. Sure the stories you’ve heard about the elven prince were…less then enlightening, framing him as an angry and vengeful being incapable of change, but the ones you’ve heard from Nuala however painted Nuada as a somewhat tragic figure.

‘I can’t remember the last time I saw my brother smile, if he even smiled at all.’ Nuala would say as a saddened look came across her face before she looked over at you when you abruptly grabbed her hand, face set in serious determination.

‘I’ll try and get him to smile more for you.’ You said.

‘It’s an impossible feat.’ Nuala counters but you weren’t having any of it.

‘Then I’ll just keep trying until I do, no matter how long that may take.’ You replied, staying strong to your conviction.

‘Why. Why would you go out of your way to do something for someone you barely even know?’ Nuala asked, feeling your strength, determination, heart and more theough just holding your hand alone. It was overwhelming of hoe bright you were that Nuala swore she would soon be blinded by your light alone, however it was because of your power of will that gave her hope, hope that you’ll might just do what she had long since believed to be impossible.

You merely smiled and relied with, ‘because even the strongest of us deserve to smile and like you said, you don’t remember the last time that you’ve seen your brother smile. So leave that to me and I promise to have Nuada smiling soon.’

And you always meant your promises. Always. What you wasn’t expecting was how handsome Nuada actually was. No one had bothered to tell you prior that your partner was a true beauty. A beauty with a piercing set of golden eyes and desirably soft, silky hair that fell past his shoulders in a platinum blonde waterfall. He held an air about him that made you both nervous and excited, however you had to quickly remind yourself that he wasn’t going to warm up to you nearly as quickly as you’d hoped.

Nuada on the other hand was immediately blindsided by your personality. It was so vibrant, colourful and filled to the brim with radiant life that he was certain that he looked rather dull and lifeless in comparison. It also looked as though his sister was right about many things in regard to your character, however that didn’t warrant Nuada to immediately start trusting you like she had wished for, after all you were still a human at the end of the day.

‘I’m-‘

‘Y/n. I’m aware.’ Nuada cuts you off abruptly before you could properly introduce yourself.

You made a face. ‘How-‘

‘My sister speaks highly of you,’ you began to smile at that but Nuada wasn’t finished, ‘but I have yet to witness what’s so special about you.’ You merely shrugged and answered with your entire chest. ‘You will soon enough. I promised your sister to get you to smile after all.’ Nuada’s brows raised at this but before he could get you to elaborate on that further, it was already time to head out for your first mission as a partnership.

Your first mission had turned out to be an avid success that it would only stand to reason to keep sending you and Nuada out as a team. You worked extremely well together and your fighting styles complement each others, while also concealing any weak spots that the other may have almost seamlessly. You and Nuada both complement missions in quick and swift succession. That was out in the field however, the way you acted towards Nuada afterwards made him feel a weird warmth within his chest.

You would often note of how Nuada fell a good distance behind everyone else after group missions, and so you would then fall to the back of the group also -not wanting him to be alone- before naturally falling into step with him, all the while still adhering to giving him his own personal space. You didn’t force a conversation with him like he expected you to, but instead allowed a calming silence to befall the pair of you as you headed home; Which was something he was oddly grateful to you for as he wasn’t that much of a conversationalist after battle.

However he couldn’t help but wonder why you were putting in so much effort into him. He hated your kind and yet you’ve treated him with nothing but respect and kindness. You didn’t push his boundaries, you didn’t overstay your welcome but even long after you left his side, Nauda could still feel your lingering warmth within every breeze that passed him by. Nuada just didn’t get why you were so hellbent on your promise to his sister, was it truly that important for you to help fulfil Nuala’s wish? And if so, what was it that she had said at the time for you that solidified your need to see it through film the end?

While Nuada had to admit, it was quite admirable that you kept to your word but some days he couldn’t help but question whether if that was your sole reason for sticking so close to him. Whether or not he’d ever confront you about it was his to debate upon later, but as for now he decided against it; His pride would never allow him to indulge in such thoughts and ideations that weren’t remotely relevant to hating humans.

Nuada had also noticed that after being your partner for a while, he had developed a need to protect you from all harm. At first he thought that if you died on a mission, the fault would fall onto him and he would be put back into confinement until further notice, but he soon learned that wasn’t actually the case; Far from it actually that he soon found himself sitting across from his sister to discuss about it.

‘Sounds like you have grown fond of y/n, brother.’ Nuala had said, smiling as she relishes in the times that Nuada obviously expressed interest in you without knowing it, but luckily that’s when the link they share makes situations like these a whole lot more simpler to navigate.

‘I merely find them more tolerable than others.’ Nuada defends, crossing his arms over his chest, still heavily in denial that anything he felt for you could possibly go beyond the realms of being cordial with one another. Yet that didn’t explain the sting in his chest whenever you were as joyful and excitable with anyone who wasn’t him, almost as though he wanted you to only beam that bright for him and him only.

‘Then why do you feel at peace with them near? Has their light finally unveiled your heart?’ Nuala asked and this time Nuada stayed silent for a longer period of time as he was beginning to realise that yes, you did infect have unveiled his heart from the shadows he cast over it. What scared him however was how you had done it. You constantly showed him patience during the times where he needed it, showed him understanding when he talked about his feelings, something he hadn’t done as much before meeting you; you even showed him solidarity for the times where he needed someone to stand by his side.

You had changed Nuada’s way of life in small but meaningful ways that there came a day where he starts to hate the fact that he had come this far without the gentle guidance of your voice for him to follow unto a better path. However despite acknowledging that you play a pivotal part in his current life, doesn’t mean that made Nuada’s understanding of his feelings any clearer than they were when he first discovered them.

‘They make me feel things I’d never thought I’d feel again Nuala.’ He began, knowing that whatever he said to his sister would be kept solely between them. ‘I’ve been lost admits my need for revenge that even the fluttering in my chest, or the warmth that reaches my cheeks feels foreign to me now.’ He adds, taking the time to remember the first time he felt something towards you that wasn’t explicit hatred for being human. ‘It feels as though I’m experiencing them for the first time and I can’t help but become addicted of sorts, that whenever they smile at me-‘

‘You hope that they smile at you like that forever.’ Nuala interrupts her brother softly, already quite well acquainted either that feeling from the times she felt Nuada’s emotions through the link.

‘Yes.’ Nuada said in an almost whisper. ‘I wish to be the reason y/n smiles as much as they are mine.’ Nuala couldn’t help but express her happiness for this new stage of Nuada’s life, all she wanted was for her brother to be happy and she was made even happier at the fact that it was you who made him the happiest he’s ever felt in a long time.

‘We shall get through this together brother.’ Nuala reassured, feeling her brothers’ still prevalent confusion, making Nuada look back at her, ‘then soon everything else will fall into place. You just have to put faith in the hope that y/n will be there to catch you when you fall.’

Nuada was still confused about everything but with hi sisters help, he hopes to surely get a clearer understanding of what he was currently feeling before confronting you about it.

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter V - Two Hearts as Embers

Summary: On the eve of your wedding day you are left feeling agitated, anxious and lonely. But an unexpected late-night visit and some surprising revelations might be just what you need to calm your racing heart.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece), ritualistic self-inflicted wounds, ritualistic blood consumption

Notes: Hellooo! It’s me again, and I bring you something I have been dying to write for a while (pretty much since chapter got published). I had lots of fun writing this one and ended up loving how it came out.

Like I’ve mentioned before, I have left the question of the reader’s parentage more ambiguous (she can be biologically Laenor’s daughter, or Harwin Strong’s or some other folk Rhaenyra decided to bed once, it doesn’t matter). I did this in order to not imply a certain appearance for the reader and leave the whole thing up for interpretation.

High Valyrian translations are in the end notes.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope with all my heart you enjoy!

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You had never been more agitated than you were feeling after supper. Not even the bath you requested your maids fix for you had helped to calm your skittish nerves, nor did the calming tea Alicent suggested you drink before bed. Sleep eluded you, so you decided to read something as a distraction but found yourself rereading the same sentence several times, such was your lack of concentration.

Time couldn’t go by any slower in your opinion. It had been almost four whole moons since your betrothal to Aemond, and not a day went by that you didn’t wish the wedding day would arrive faster. No less than three days after your quarrel with Jason Lannister in the courtyard (to which Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at Tyland’s apologies on behalf of his brother, pretending not to notice the proud smile Daemon sent your way once you’d told them what happened) your mother had given birth to a healthy baby girl, to whom she gave the name Visenya. You insisted on helping with the delivery, like you had done before with the birth of Aegon and Viserys, and nothing she said could pry you from her side.

“You shouldn’t see me like this, tis’ not a pleasant sight.” she had said, even though Visenya’s birth was the most uncomplicated one compared to her two older brothers you had witnessed.

“Worry not, mother.” you had soothed her, swallowing down your own fear of the whole situation “I wish to be here for you. And besides, it shall be me in the same place as you are now soon enough. I should see what awaits me.”

Almost as soon as she could stand unassisted again, without much care for her own well-being, she started planning and preparing your wedding feast, much to both Daemon’s and Alicent’s dismay. She started ordering servants around, asking the maesters to send ravens to all great houses, requesting the cooks to buy different exotic meats. You told her all the fuss wasn’t necessary, that just a feast with the whole family would suffice, but she and even Alicent scolded you, saying that the heirs to the throne warrant only the best on their wedding day.

After getting past her initial shock at the way Rhaenyra handled things, Alicent joined in the wedding planning efforts. The whole ordeal brought them closer, and now without the looming figure of Viserys, the very thing that had drifted them apart in the first place, and Otto no longer caring about securing Aegon’s claim, the both of them managed to find their footing again and their friendship started to bloom once more. It was the main reason you tried not chiming in too much on the planning of your own wedding, wanting them to have this moment for themselves knowing how much, at least on your mother’s side, she had missed her best friend.

Now, on the eve of the day you were to be wed, you were disproportionately anxious and you couldn’t even understand why. You knew Aemond wanted to marry you as much as you wanted to marry him, you knew this union would avoid a bloody and gruesome war between your kin, you knew it would make both of you, and in turn both your mothers, happy. Then why did you suddenly feel so apprehensive? It couldn’t possibly be due to cold feet, you could think of nothing else but how much you wanted this day to come. So why?

You wanted to see Aemond. His presence brought you comfort and you always felt safe when you were with him, ever since you were merely more than a babe, and even more so now that you had gotten to know each other once more. But Alicent, fervorously adept in the Faith of the Seven, had prohibited you from seeing one another after dusk had fallen, claiming that the groom seeing the bride before the wedding brought misfortune to their union. So you resigned yourself to simmering alone in your thoughts until the wedding, or until you have gone mad.

Deep down you knew you could talk to your mother. She would most likely understand, even relate to what you were feeling. However, you felt like she already had too much on her plate with the last minute preparations, same thing with Alicent (and to be honest you still weren’t all that close to your soon to be good mother, maybe someday). Daemon had been away from court for almost a week now, no word to where he was going, just a promise that he would most definitely be back for the wedding. You could talk to Helaena, but you didn’t wish to bother her with such trivial matters, as she had her hands full with her two children (three if you included her husband in the bill). Jace and Luke? Absolutely not. Maybe Baela could talk some sense into you if she was still awake at this hour.

There was one other person who used to bring you a similar sense of security as Aemond did, someone you used to go to when you felt frightened as a child and who calmed you down in a way your mother never managed to match. But he was no longer here, and the almost debilitating ache his absence evoked in your chest brought tears to your eyes. You shook your head, desperate to get rid of this feeling and focus on something else

Then something caught your attention. A muffled, dry thud echoed around your chambers, so low you almost didn’t hear it. It sounded out again, louder this time, and you guessed it was coming from the wall. Or rather behind the wall. Walking over to where the sound was coming from, you placed your head on the cold stone, the side of your face flat against the surface as you tried to listen better. You beamed brightly once you heard the sound again, this time right under your ear: someone was knocking on the wall from the other side.

Eagerly, you opened the door, expecting it to be your soon to be husband, but the face that greeted you on the other side was not who you were hoping for.

“Daemon?” you questioned, feeling more confused than ever. He didn’t answer and only stared at you until you stepped aside to let him into the room “When did you get back?”

Once again your question went unanswered as he sauntered into the chambers, and only now did you realize he was holding a beat up parcel in his hand, its contents unknown to you.

“What are you doing here?”

He placed the parcel on your bed and turned around to face you.

“Put these on and meet me outside when you are ready.” he walked back the way he came, halting only when you grabbed his hand.

“Daemon, what is going on?”

“Just do as you are told.” his face softened upon noticing the apprehension on your face, a reflection of your earlier fidgety state “Trust me on this, alright?”

After a beat you nodded, moving back towards the parcel. Looking over your shoulder you noticed Daemon had walked out the hidden door once more, leaving it ajar just a crack. As you opened the bag you were left puzzled as you pulled robes that were almost the same beige, grayish color of the parcel. As you unfolded it, however, you noticed the red details on the fabric, lining the bottom of the skirts, cuffs and shoulders. You changed out of your nightgown and pulled the robes over your head, tying it around your waist. 

Staring at your reflection on the mirror, something about the clothes, all the intricate details on the midsection and the patterns embroidered in colors, all of it seemed almost too familiar to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on where you remembered it from, though, no matter how long you stared at yourself in it. Deciding not to dwell too much on it, you followed Daemon out the secret door.

A thousand questions raced through your mind as you followed him through the secret tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast. When had he gotten back? Where had he been? Where were you going? None of the scenarios you created in your head made any sense so you kept your head down and followed after your step-father. You eventually left the passages, coming out on the side of Aegon’s High Hill that faced the sea. Daemon started walking towards Shadowblack Lane, intending to climb all the way down to the beach. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, careful to watch your footing on the steep track.

“You will see.” he gave no more away, elusive as ever.

“You know, kepa, had I not known you for so long now I would think you are trying to abduct me before my wedding day.”

“You know I have never been the biggest fan of the one-eyed cunt, tala.” he chuckled at the scathing glare you sent his way “But you seem fond of him, so I rest my case.”

You walked the rest of the way in silence before you stood a short distance from the beach. There, as you walked ahead of Daemon, you spotted three lone figures, standing next to decorations in shades of red and yellow and illuminated by lit pyres. Upon closer inspection you realized one of them was your mother, holding something you couldn’t quite make out in her arms, and another was a priest or cleric of some kind. The third person, on the other hand, you couldn’t even see for their face was obscured by the hood of their cloak.

As she noticed you approaching, Rhaenyra nudged the hooded figure who turned around to face you as well, and when you could finally see under the cloak you felt like your heart had ceased beating and all air left your lungs in a single, shaky exhale.

No, you thought, it can’t be. He was dead, had been dead for years. He couldn’t possibly be here, your tired mind had to be playing tricks on you.

But when he pulled the cloak down, revealing all of himself to you, it was clear it wasn’t an image conjured by your mind to toy with you. He was really here.

“Father?” 

Your voice was so soft, so scared that if you spoke too loudly you’d break whatever spell you were under, wake up in your bed and find out you had been dreaming all along. Tears brimmed in your eyes, something heavy and tight burning on your throat, as you felt a hand gently rubbing between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t even noticed when Daemon had caught up to you, now trying to bring you comfort in your most vulnerable moment. One look at your mother smiling kindly at you, a mist in her own eyes as she gave you a single nod, had you taking off running into the arms of Laenor Velaryon.

You buried your face in his chest, your arms circling his waist as his own wrapped around your shoulders, one hand gently cradling the back of your head and holding you tightly against him. Years upon years of pent up grief, of deep seated longing and anger and resentment and pain and desperation poured out of you, a weight being lifted off your shoulder as they shook from the force of your sobs. You felt him tightening his arms even further around you, swaying you from side to side as he used to do when you were younger and in need of comfort, and the realization that he was here, that he was truly alive, made you shed even more tears and cry even harder.

Eventually your sobs subsided to sniffles and you pulled back, staring up at him. He used the bottom of his cloak to dry the lone tears that still rolled down your cheeks, the coarse material helping ground you enough to properly take in the sight of him. He looked expectedly older than you remembered, more worn down, but at the same time the lines of worry on his face seemed less deep than before, like he was happier, more free somehow. His silver hair was a lot shorter, having foregone the dreads and letting his natural curls take over. 

“H-how… how are you-?!” you hiccuped, still not fully understanding the situation.

“Tis’ a long story, mayhaps better suited for another time.” he spoke delicately “Your mother can explain it to you in the future.”

“But what are you doing here?” 

The grin that spread across his face was as bright as you remembered, so mirthful and full of life. 

“You did not think I was going to miss my little girl’s wedding, now, did you?” he poked your ribs, another nod to simpler times.

For a moment you panicked, holding tightly onto his forearms as if he would disappear if you let him go.

“No, you can’t!” you stammered, fearful “If someone sees you at the sept-”

“No one will see me,” he shook his head, running a hand over your hair in hopes of soothing you “for I am not going to the sept.”

“Then how…?”

Your mother finally stepped forward. 

“Tis’ why we are here tonight.” she spoke for the first time since you arrived at the beach and it was then that you figured out what she was holding. 

A traditional headpiece.  

And everything started making sense. You might not have remembered the clothes but you could never forget the headpiece worn by your mother during hers and Daemon’s own wedding. You had been too out of it to truly pay attention to what was happening, for the death of your father and the whole ordeal with Aemond on Driftmark were still fresh and weighing heavily on your mind, but you remember looking at her and thinking how well the piece suited her, making her look like the most beautiful woman in the realm in your eyes.

It made sense, the robes, the cleric, the decorations.

It was a valyrian wedding ceremony.

“Getting Caraxes to accept him as a passenger was quite the task.” Daemon jested. So that’s where he had been the previous days, he had gone to fetch your father.

Rhaenyra and Daemon had organized the whole thing in order for you not only to have a wedding in the traditions of your roots, something they knew both you and Aemond cherished deeply and bonded over, but also to give the opportunity for your father to witness it.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Laenor continued, cupping your cheeks “You are my first born and my only daughter, no matter what anyone says.”

The smile that took over your features threatened to split your face in half from how large it was, a new wave of tears pooling in your eyes as you hid in his arms once more. It didn’t matter if you were his by blood or not, he was your father. He was the one who had cared for you, who soothed you when you were sorrowful, who held you when you were frightened. He was the one who had started teaching you how to fight, how to defend yourself against a world that would certainly try to bring you down. He was your father and you loved him as such.

A set of footsteps approaching had you pulling back from him, turning to face whoever had intruded in your moment, only to come face to face with Aemond. He was wearing similar robes to your own, the clothing complementing his figure and making him appear even more handsome to you. 

He stared at you in bewilderment, his eye moving rapidly between your father next to you and your mother who now stood next to Daemon. She placed the headpiece in her husband’s hands as she walked towards Aemond, and as she approached him, Laenor gently grasped your shoulders and turned you away from them, starting to style your hair.

You tried not to eavesdrop, you really did, but Rhaenyra wasn’t being very subtle either way.

“This is me trusting you.” she spoke with conviction, not wavering in front of a man seemingly feared by the whole court “If this got out, it could be my ruin. I am trusting you to keep this secret, valonqar, as I am trusting you with her.” there was a pause in her speech before she continued “Should you break my trust, for any reason whatsoever, either by betraying me or her, I will take her away from you. You will never see her again.”

It was silent for a moment, her words striking fear even in your own heart, before you heard Aemond’s quiet answer, his voice almost a whisper.

“Kostā pāsagon nyke, mandia. Nyke kivio.”

A warmth spread through your chest as you took in his words. Laenor seemed to notice your giddiness for he chuckled at your antics.

“Does he make you happy?” he spoke after a moment, his tone more serious than before.

“He does.” you answered without hesitation.

His hands settled on your shoulders, his voice lowering so only you could hear.

“And do you love him?”

Turning around you noticed the pleading look in his eyes, hidden behind the wall of sterness, and you noticed how much your joy mattered to him, even after all these years.

“I do.”

His worry melted away as he smiled brightly again.

“Tis’ all I could ask for.” he pulled a few strands of your hair, giving it its finishing touch “There, now you are the prettiest princess in the realm.” he spoke softly, reciting the words he would always say when helping you style your hair as a child. 

With a kiss to the top of your head, your father turned you back around towards your husband to be, who stood next to Rhaenyra, and something made you stop dead in your tracks. 

He was no longer wearing his eyepatch.

Sometime between the moment he arrived and now, while you had your back turned to him, he had bared his face for all to see. The force of the realization of what he did, of what this meant to him almost brought you to your knees. This was him, trusting in your mother, like she trusted him before. By trusting her enough to show her the most vulnerable side of him, one he had admitted once to having never shown anyone other than yourself and the occasional maester before, not even his own mother, he was proving to her that the faith she had placed in him wasn’t unwarranted.   

In this very moment you knew you never wanted to spend another day apart from him ever again.

Rhaenyra stepped forward then, the headpiece back on her hands and, as you walked closer to the two of them, she placed it on your head, straightening your clothes. She didn’t have to speak, for her smile revealed everything she was thinking.

I am so proud of you.

“I know, mother.” you whispered and you could swear she blinked a few times too fast, trying to keep her own tears from falling. She took a step back, going to stand between Laenor and Daemon behind you as you finally turned to face Aemond fully.

He looked beautiful, perhaps more than you’d ever seen before. The light cast from the pyres shining on the sapphire, glimmering like the night sky, made him look almost celestial, the red of the robes contrasting against his pale skin and under the white strands of his hair. As you stood before each other, so close you could feel the heat emanating from him, all your thoughts were silenced, none of them mattering now that you were about to be united in fire and blood.

“Shall we begin then?” your mother gestured for the man, who you now realized was a dragon priest, to step forward and stand besides the two of you, handing Aemond a small blade made of dragonglass.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va sȳdronti vāedroma.” the man spoke in a measured cadence, almost as if he was reciting a love poem or singing a ballad.

Blood of two, joined as one

Aemond raised the blade to your lips, cutting a small line across the middle of your bottom lip.

“Mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr.”

Ghostly flame, and song of shadows 

He brought a finger to your lips and tenderly, almost reverently, dabbed his finger in the speck of blood that had formed on your skin. He traced a line in the middle of your forehead, right between your eyes, branding you with a mark, his mark. 

“Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteski.”

Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires

You, in turn, did the same to him, reveling in the softness of his lips as you slashed his skin. Like he had done, you gathered the crimson liquid and marked him as inherently yours.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, qēlossa ozūndesi.”

A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness

The dragon priest then handed you a larger dragonglass blade which you used to slash a line across your palm, handing it to Aemond so he could do the same, none of you minding the sharp sting. Then the both of you took each other’s hand, perfectly aligning the fresh cuts as your fingers intertwined almost on instinct.

“Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.”

The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light

With a goblet placed under your joined hands, collecting the dripping crimson of your mixed blood, the priest wrapped an embroidered ribbon around your hands, uniting you for eternity.

Once he was done reciting the vows, the man then handed you the chalice and Aemond’s eye followed your every move as you brought it to your lips. The coppery taste didn’t bother you,  warmth filling in your chest at the comfort the thought of consuming the merge of both your essences elicited in you.

Aemond did the same, taking a generous gulp from the goblet, and you couldn’t help the flush that took over your cheeks as you watched the way his throat moved as he swallowed or how his tongue peeked out of his mouth as he licked his lips, not letting one drop go to waste.

Only after the dragon priest had taken the chalice from his hands did Aemond step even closer to you, toes almost touching. He placed a finger under your chin, tilting your head to look at him, thumb delicately tracing the line he had cut on your mouth. Then slowly, gently, he pulled your face towards his and placed a soft albeit passionate kiss on your awaiting lips. He kissed you with devotion, with a sureness of a man who knew exactly where he wanted, no, needed to be. He poured all of his feelings into that one kiss, sealing your fates forever now, tying it to one another.

He reluctantly pulled back, although he did relent to one final tender peck as your lips chased after his own, resting his chin on your shoulder as he embraced you.

“I have longed for this day for as long as I can remember.” he whispered, like he was bestowing upon you his most well kept secret “And now you are mine.” 

“I am yours.” you cupped his cheek as you pulled back, running a thumb over his scar like you had come to learn soothed him “As you are mine.” 

“I am.” he nodded as he nudged his nose against your cheek, causing your head to turn to the side, facing your family “I have always been.” 

As you stared at your family, Rhaenyra no longer trying to hold back her tears as both Laenor and Daemon tried comforting her, you felt loved and adored and safe and content in the arms of your husband. In this very moment, you couldn’t help but thank whatever gods were listening for giving you this, everything you could have ever dreamed of. You’d cherish it greatly from this day, until the end of your days.

High Valyrian translations: - ‘kepa’ and ‘tala’ - father and daughter (meant here affectionately, not by blood, as there are no terms for step-relative in High Valyrian) - valonqar - younger brother - kostā pāsagon nyke, mandia. nyke kivio - you can trust me, (older) sister. i promise

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

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@garden-in-the-rain

[moonstruckme]

helloooo, i have a request if its possible♡

since we got figure skater! Sirius..... Do you think we could get hockey player! James x figure skater! reader? Maybe they go to the same place but the place where they practice its kinda shitty so its literally kinda like an across the hallway situation where the hockey practice happens on one ice rink and when you leave you can walk thru the ice rink of the figure skaters that its on another section of the place IDK I'M NOT AN ARCHITECT SORRY

BUT THE POINT ITS, that one day James leaves practice later than usual and he's walking to get out but he heards his favorite song playing and he goes to see whats up because its his favorite song ever! and goes to the other ice rink and sees the reader practicing and inmediatly he has the biggest crush ever and its almost dreaming about a house and three kids with that cute girl

idk i think i explained myself like sht but hope you like the idea! cause i think it would be soo cute

Hi lovely, you explained yourself perfectly! Thanks for being so patient with me, I hope this is alright <3

hockey player!James x figure skater!reader ♡ 718 words

James’ entire body is pleasantly sore, and he’s very much looking forward to going home to a nice, hot shower. 

“Do you and Moony want to go get breakfast tomorrow morning?” he asks Sirius as they leave the locker room. The two of them had taken longer than usual changing out of their gear, Sirius filling him in on the absolute hell week Remus had at his new job. To hear Sirius talk about it, all the other professors are simply jealous of Remus. James is sure that’s partly true, but he’d bet they need less reason than that. Somehow, James had thought leaving school would mean emerging into a more mature world, but adults seem just as petty as teenagers. Maybe pancakes and a good, uplifting chat would do something to take the sting out of Remus’ first week and help prepare him for the next. 

Sirius cuts James a sideways look, gray eyes narrowed. “Breakfast at what time?” 

“I was thinking six, six thirty.” Sirius scoffs, and James grins. “Only joking. How’s eleven?” 

“Still too early,” Sirius grumbles, “but we’ll go.” 

James bobs his head, pleased to have a course of action for helping his friend. “Ask Moons where he feels like going, and just…” He hears a faint, familiar melody. “...just let me know.” 

“Sounds good.” Sirius pushes open the door, but James has stopped. He’s looking back towards the rink, intrigued. “Coming?” 

James waves him off. “In a bit. See you tomorrow.” 

Sirius makes an amused sound, not unused to James’ diversions, and goes. 

James follows the sound of his favorite song, unabashed about bopping his head to the beat as he approaches the rink. He knows figure skaters sometimes use the rink after his hockey practice has wrapped up, and he absolutely has to see who’s choreographed a routine to this. He comes to a stop near the edge of the bleachers, and watches through the tempered glass as one lone skater launches into a turn. 

This wouldn’t be the track James would have thought of for a figure skating routine, but frankly, you’re doing it justice. Your movements are springy and nimble as you glance across the ice, one complicated-looking move to the next to the next. It seems like both skates are never touching the ground for more than half a second. There’s a lot to be said, probably, about your skill, your technique, but James is a philistine. All he can think about is how pretty you look. 

You’re gorgeous. Stunning. Graceful in your movements and seraphim in your countenance. A wisp of hair has freed itself from the confines of the rest and whips about your face, but you don’t seem to notice it, your gaze steady and lips just slightly pursed in concentration. 

James would never tell his friends because they’d mock him to hell and back, but he does believe in love at first sight. Only under particular circumstances, though. The sight has to be good enough—meaning, he has to see some aspect of who that person is behind a pretty face. You certainly do have a pretty face, and you’re dancing to his favorite song, and James doesn’t understand how he could ever be expected to not be totally enamored with you after this one spectacular look. He worries that if you glance over, you’ll see him with giant cartoon hearts boinging out of his eyes on springs. 

The song ends, and you spin to a stop. James’ breathing stops, too, as your gaze lands on a point not ten feet to his right. He wonders if he’s being creepy. It’s not like this is a private rink, and James wouldn’t be weirded out if he spotted someone watching him running drills or something (actually, if it were you he’d be over the moon about it), but he’s been told not everyone feels like he does about that stuff. And though he hardly thinks of himself as intimidating, James is also a big guy. He wants to woo you, not spook you.

You skate to the edge of the rink to restart your music, and James slips out. He hears it blaring softly behind him, and he probably looks like a total idiot when he grins and dances out the front door. An idiot in love.