#and i fucking hate that the bar is so low and yet i have hope every year

[jellybeans223]

.

[whimsyfinny]

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader, eventual smut

Warnings: language, mention of drugs

Chapter Word Count: 2330

—-MDNI—-

A/N: wooooop new series! I'm trying something new with this one! As a mom myself I loooove reading mom!reader fics, so I wanted to write my own. It's a slightly shorter first chapter, but the following ones should be longer. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, reading your comments makes my day ❤️ and of course, this is proofread only by myself so pls pls let me know of any errors! I really hope you enjoy it. I also didn’t write this at 2am for once so brownie points to me hahaha

Photos from Pinterest

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Chapter 1

“Come on, (Y/n)! You have to tell me all about it! What was he like? Did you kiss? Hold hands? Where did he take you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the rapidfire questions spewing from Kats mouth. Kat, the stunner sat opposite me with perfect dark skin and the inability to have a bad hair day, was my closest friend. We lived on the same street, drank at the same bar and both hated this small, slightly judgemental town equally. We bonded over the similarities in our lives - like both of us having fallen pregnant at a young age and being dealt the hand of having to raise our kids as single parents. Life was fucking hard sometimes (well, nearly all the time), but my son, Levi, and Kat, made this life worth living.

“Jesus Christ, ok! The date was ok.”

“Uh oh. ‘Ok’? That means it was awful, right?” she raised an eyebrow.

I took a gulp of my coffee.

“The date was ok. But he was…. Seriously not my type. He was too…perfect?” I winced as the words left my mouth, fully aware of how utterly ridiculous that sounded.

“Girl, ‘too perfect’? What the fuck kind of excuse is that?” Kat snorted slightly into her latte.

“I know, I know. But he reminded me of a Ken doll, ya’know? With his white jeans and his Armani sweater over his shoulders - that’s not really… me. The dude gets more manicures than I do. Plus he drives a Fiat Panda. Levi wouldn’t be caught dead getting in and out of one of those.”

“You can’t use your sons taste in cars to dictate the men in your life. That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“Ok then, you go out with Robert and tell me about all the kale facts that you never wanted to learn.” I leant back on the couch, clutching my coffee with both hands to bring some warmth to my fingertips. Kat did the same opposite me, leaning back in the plush armchair as we both took a second to glance out of the large café windows. This was our happy place, right here. It was the place we would come to when we first met and the boys were still in diapers. It was our happy place for the last nine years, and we would come here for every situation: be it a breakup, a catch-up, to discuss terrible sexual encounters or dire situations that need insane back-up plans. But we mostly came here to people-watch. Being the young, single moms that we were, we were constantly under the scrutiny of the small town, having every decision judged by the perfect Jeep-driving soccer moms and the old ladies from church. When we came here, to sit by this window in these comfy-as-fuck couches, it was our turn to do a little judging.

“Vicki Priestley isn't fooling anyone with those sunglasses,” I said, taking another sip of coffee as I watched the thin peroxide blonde across the street repeatedly wipe her nose with the back of her hand.

“Right? We get shunned for…well… fuck all, yet that Paris wannabe can snort coke on a Tuesday school run and everyone turns a blind eye? What a joke.”

“Amen to that,” we watched her for a few more seconds as she climbed behind the wheel of some monstrous four by four and sped off down the road.

“Did you hear that Mrs. Harris caught Mr. Harris with a young mistress? Apparently she works at the bank.”

“Oh my GOD yes I heard!” Kat exclaimed, leaning forward, “and as revenge she put Nair in his shampoo - he's completely hairless, even his eyebrows are gone.”

We both snickered as we raised our mugs.

“To Mrs. H for taking no shit.”

Conversation flowed as topics ranged from the new dessert parlour that opened last week down the road to the extortionate price of kids' Motocross gear.

“I mean the bikes are so tiny, why do they have to cost that much?”

“You're preaching to the choir babes, Toby just outgrew his boots for the third time this year,” Kat grimaced at the thought of how much money she'd spent already.

“Ouch, they're like what? Eighty bucks a pair?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah well, I had to get Levi a new helmet after that little dickhead from the tournament last month crashed into the side of him. That boy was more upset about the stickers he lost than the bruises he got,” I shook my head with a smile on my lips. Kat did the same.

“That's a tough kid you've got there.”

I sighed.

“Yeah I know. Despite never having met him, he's so much like his dad. It's a little concerning actually,” I laughed nervously, instantly regretting bringing up Levi’s father in front of Kat. I glanced up at her, taking a sip of my coffee in an attempt to hide behind the mug. The wiggling of her eyebrows being an indicator of her impending wrath.

“That man is the reason why you’re never satisfied with your dates. He set that bar waaaay too high.”

I scoffed. “He did not. We were young and he just swept me off my feet a bit, that’s all; with that ‘give ‘em Hell’ attitude and handsome face. Plus he had a great car.”

“Last time you said his face was ‘gorgeous’,” Kat cupped her face and fluttered her eyelashes, puckering her lips. I threw a sugar packet at her which she batted right back at me.

There was a moment of quiet as we both looked out the window again, my mind unable to stop itself from racing through old memories.

“Do you think he’ll ever come calling?” Kat asked, some sincerity to her tone. I sighed and slumped back further on the couch.

“I highly doubt it. He doesn’t even know that Levi exists. I tried calling him a few years back but some guy John W. had that number instead. I gave up after that. Plus, he had this kinda dangerous job, and normally if he showed up it was because something was going to go down,” I paused, looking into the dark liquid in my cup, “It’s probably a good thing that he hasn’t just shown up.”

“You say that, but you still have that photo you took together on your vanity.”

I shot her a look, pursing my lips and pinching my brows as she laughed, knowing she'd stumped me there. I quickly downed my coffee and checked my watch before standing and grabbing my bag.

“Come on, let's stop interrogating me and go pick up the boys before all Hell breaks loose at the track.”

“Mom it wasn't my fault, I swear.”

I slammed the car door closed and turned to the boy who stood close enough to be my shadow.

I turned around to face him with a stern expression, “so you did do it? After I called that boys mom a liar? LEVI.”

Levi, my son, looked close to tears, his bottom lip trembling.

“Mom, I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again!”

I narrowed my eyes at him before sighing, already exasperated, throwing the car keys into my bag.

“Did you at least stick to the golden rule?”

His answer was a vigorous nod, the tremble in his lip disappearing.

“‘Never throw the first punch; throw the second and finish the fight,’” he recited the words like a prayer.

“And…?”

“‘Always claim self defence.’”

I smiled and ruffled his soft brown hair.

“Good boy. What started the fight anyway?” I asked, guiding him to walk through the parking lot towards that new dessert parlour.

“He said I was weird for not having a dad.”

I looked down at him, eyes softening and I lifted a hand to rub his shoulder. It wasn't the first time he'd had this argument, and it likely won't be the last. Kids can be assholes. “And then he hit me when I said ‘at least my mom's boobs are real.’”

“Levi!” I stopped in my tracks and looked at him, mortified. I didn't even know where to start with that one. “Where-”

“Jamie from math class told me what ‘implants’ were… and he said that Brad's mom had them.”

He looked up at me innocently, and I knew then that he didn't fully grasp what he'd said to Brad - the kid he'd just punched between the eyes. I sighed for the umpteenth time and started walking again.

“Whatever, just… don't say that to anyone again, ok? You're gonna make me look like a terrible parent.”

“Ok mo- whoa! Look at that car!” It was Levi's turn to stop dead in his tracks as he stood in awe of the sleek black car parked by the sidewalk.

A black Chevy Impala.

“Oh wow,” my words came out slightly breathless, my mind suddenly racing to him and the conversation I'd had with Kat earlier that afternoon.

“So cool!” Levi gushed, walking up close to it but not close enough to touch.

“Yes, very cool. Now let's go inside before they run out of ice cream,” I ushered him to the door, reflexively looking over my shoulder, not knowing if I even wanted to see who could possibly be in the area.

The bell jingled as we walked in and Levi ran up to the counter, pressing his forehead to the glass. My eyes scanned the menu and I was pleasantly surprised to see they served coffee.

“What do you fancy kiddo?” I ruffled his hair again and waited for him to decide, and it wasn't long before he'd made up his mind. After ordering, we headed towards a small table-for-two at the edge of the room, and as Levi slumped down in his chair something familiar caught my attention.

A voice.

My heart quickly became erratic in my chest and my palms grew sweaty. I looked in the direction the voice had come from and was met with a slap in the face from memory lane.

There he was; the same wicked grin and mischievous eyes that had burned themselves into my memory. He dressed the same as he did nine years ago - right down to the necklace and leather jacket. He was engrossed in a conversation with another man, who looked slightly younger than himself, all whilst digging into a stack of waffles.

“Mom?”

The sound of Levi's voice snapped me out of the stunned fog I was caught up in and I quickly sat down, trying my best to focus on my son and not the man who was sitting only a few feet behind him. Levi looked like he was about to ask another question when a giant chocolate sundae and a coffee appeared at the table. I heard the waitress challenge Levi to finish the whole thing, but it was like I was listening to the world through water. My mind wouldn't stop racing. He's here. Do I talk to him? Will he remember me? Do I tell him about Levi? I hurriedly pulled my phone from my bag and sent her a hasty message before turning back to the boy in front of me, convincing a smile to appear on my lips.

“If you have room in that black-hole stomach of yours then you definitely could've finished your veggies earlier at dinner.”

He smirked slightly, like he always did when he knew he was getting away with murder, and it almost took my breath away. I saw the same smirk grace the lips of the man in the booth behind him. The mans gaze shifted to the side and when his eyes met mine - the same vibrant twists of green and gold that I have tattooed on my memory - I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping in my chest as I tore my eyes away. I clutched my coffee cup, staring intently at the dark swirling liquid, praying to anyone or anything that I'd find the answers to my troubles in the bottom of this mug. The prickling on my skin was unshakable, like his eyes were on me and I was trapped under his intense observation, unable to breath. Minutes felt like hours, and eventually he and his companion stood before heading to the door. The moment they were gone with the bell signalling their departure, the air gushed from my lungs as I dropped my head into my hands, earning myself a confused look from my son. I offered him a reassuring smile which he accepted before returning to shovelling ice-cream into his face.

Just when I thought I was safe, I looked up and locked eyes with him. Our eyes locked through the window just as he opened the car door, leaning on it. It was like time froze, and for a few moments, despite my earlier urgency to not make eye contact, I was now unable to look away. My breath caught in my throat as a smirk pulled at his lips before he ducked down into the driver's seat, slamming the car door closed. I found myself chewing on my bottom lip as he tore out of the parking lol, that familiar rumble of the engine practically rattling the windows and, despite the noise, it was a comforting sound.

Once they were out of sight and the impala could no longer be heard, I sighed, pushing my hair off my face and running my hands through my hair. As Levi polished off the last of his ice-cream, my phone buzzed on the table. Opening it and reading the message, a small wave of relief washed over me as Kat confirmed that Toby would be at his dad's for once so she could come over to drink wine and discuss very important topics. She hasn't got a clue what I need to vent about yet, but I feel like tonight is going to be a very long night.

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Next Chapter: Chapter 2

@suckitands33 @jackles010378 @megara0224 @libby99hb @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, noncon, bondage + gagging, cumming untouched, voice kink, degradation but also some praise, male masturbation, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day four [ sampo koski + voice kink ]

“Oh my, I’ve not even touched you yet and you’re already so twitchy!”

it was embarrassing, to say the least. the way your body reacted to his relentless cooing and crooning. you hated it. in fact, you would’ve told him exactly where he could shove all those sugar-dripping syllables, had your panties not been stuffed in your mouth. you tried to work the fabric out a little at a time, but Sampo’s long digits had ensured that they were secure and deep in your cavern, forcing you to taste your own desire for that loathsome, loathsome man.

“Could it be that you’re imagining all of the not so nice things I can do to you, all tied up like this?” he teases, his emerald eyes sparkling with delight and glued to your exposed core. with your legs spread wide, ankles bound to a long, metal rod that kept them spread wide. there was no shielding your sex from his gaze, as unfortunate as that was. because you knew that he was watching every clench, every drip, every twitch. “You are, after all, completely and utterly at my mercy.” he flashes you a devilish smile.

what you return is a sharp glare, your brows knit together as you chewed incessantly on your own panties, hoping to saw through the lingerie with your teeth and be able to spit it out. because you knew, once you did, not only would you call him every low-down, dirty, rotten thing you could think of, but you knew of a catapult of spit that would have his name on it.

so far, however, no such luck. the cotton dries your mouth out, and what should’ve been sweats, were gurgled groans of faint protest.

“Hm? No?” Sampo asks with a Devil’s smirk, taking a step forward. his right hand juts forward and wraps his large fist around the metal spreader, pushing it upwards just a bit. it pulls your ass off the bed just enough to angle your unwilling yet needy cunt in his direction, and allowed the light to catch your sticky folds, your wetness glimmering against your own skin. “Then, why are you so wet? Because so far, all I’ve done is tied you up, spread you open, and told you…”

Sampo trails off, his eyes flickering with a sudden realization. the realization that makes his grin spread wider.

oh, no.

“Could it be that you enjoy the sound of my voice?” he stares at you, adoringly, with his toothy grin, and when you shake your head, he chortles, and runs his tongue around his lower lip, his gaze dropping back down to your pussy. “Are you certain? Because this pretty little cunt of yours is sparkling—“ your body jolts at his praise, your hole clenching and demanding to be filled. you clench your fists in frustration. Sampo saw the display, and elicited a delighted mewl. “Oho, so she likes praise, does she? To be called a pretty, little cunt? Soft, and warm. And we can’t forget tight, now can we?” he begins to giggle at how easily your body twitched and puckered at every word sang to your core. “A perfect hole like that, already milking like she’s supposed to, is meant to be fucked. But I have something much more fun, before we reach that point.”

you look up at him, hoping the fire in your eyes is enough to get your muffled grunting across.

Sampo seems to ignore your angry sounds, staring into your eyes as if he were a gentle lover, and he swoons. “I’m going to make you cum before I even lay a finger on you,” he says, matter of factly, leaning closer to you. the expanse of his chest was pressed against the bar, hoisting your ass higher into the air. “You’re going to listen to me get off, and you’re going to turn into a needy, dripping mess. Well, more so than you already are. Are you ready?”

“Nnnff!!”

it was the best you could do, shaking your head and thrashing wildly against your restraints, but you could tell in an instant that he hadn’t really been asking a serious question. it was another tease. because a moment later, he was fishing around in the open fly of his trousers, retrieving his cock and pulling it through the gap. you didn’t want to stare, but you noticed it was already starting to harden up in his grasp.

“Mm, I can’t help it.” Sampo murmured, breathy, as if he’d read your glance in an instance, spitting in his palm to lather his length in it. “When I see a pussy that pretty and needy start to picket up just for me, I start to get excited.” a low, rumbling sound bubbles in the back of his throat as he starts to stroke himself, his body close to yours, his stance wide. his cock was long and imposing, strong and leaving a subtle shadow on your belly as it hovers inches above you, his fist jacking back and forth. “Uhhh…” Sampo breathes out. the sound coupled with the slick smacking of his sticky fist kissing his base at a rapid-fire pace was almost too vulgar; your eyelids wanted to flutter. “That’s good.” he was stretching out his moans on purpose, teasing you with different variations of his taunting baritone. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking about right now? Hm? What is making my cock so hard?” without waiting for an answer, Sampo leans against the bar, trying to get as close to your face as possible. for a moment, you feel a wave of his breath against the apples of your cheeks, and you turn away, but he whispers, his voice thick with lust. “I’m daydreaming about plowing your little pussy, cutie. Uh-huh, nnn.. I’m going to pound you out so good that you’ll forget your own name. Just thinking about how perfect you’ll look hanging off this big cock like a little fuckdoll…” Sampo moans loudly, and the sound sends need storming straight to your core.

“Just watching you stretch…”

another needy moan, and this time, your cunt trembles, your swollen clit throbbing.

“Feeling you milk me…”

your muscles tighten up. your toes curl.

“Ahh, the way you’ll look so cute with the shape of my cock bulging out of your little tummy!”

your eyes want to cross.

he sounded so needy, and yet so wicked. his moans were all laced with the specter of a whimper, as if he hadn’t gotten off in weeks, and sounded delightfully depraved. not to mention the images he was forcing into your mind, and the visage of him jerking off right above your wanton pussy.

“I bet just listening to me moan and groan has got your tummy all in knots. Hnn, do you feel tight and desperate?”

you didn’t want to, and you tried to stop yourself, but you nodded, letting out a strangled moan.

“Mhm,” Sampo purrs, his grin slightly strained as his pace picks up. his hips had also started moving on their own, matching the rhythm of his wrist, fucking his hand with reckless abandon. “That’s so cute… and so pathetic. Getting all worked up, right on the brink of cumming, just because you hear me moan in pleasure. You must be a truly naughty little thing if the sound of your rival jacking off, explaining how he’s going to turn you inside out, makes you this needy. You’re like a starved animal.”

Sampo seems to really love watching you writhe and whine, seeing your eyes start to roll back as he moans and grunts, because his swollen cock was twitching, too, now, and he was close to his own climax. “Fuck yes.” he hums, gripping the bar tighter with one hand, the other still pumping himself silly. “Close… close…” his pleasured voice now sounds strained, and with a weak gaze, you peer up at him to see his brows furrowed and his jaw tight. the chase for his high taking his toll on his composure. a red tint kisses his cheeks, and his broad chest heaves up and down. “Mmm… you like these sounds, hm? When I’m right on the edge, about to cum for you? About to cum all over you? Yes?” he chuckles, though it sounds as though it gets stuck in his throat with a soft gasp as he bites down on his lip, and allows himself to gargle on a long, euphoric growl. “I can see it all over your face, fuckdoll, that lust… go ahead, erupt for me! Push me over the edge!”

it was as if Sampo had conjured your orgasm out of thin air, and ripped it out of your body with so much force that it left you stunned and twitching. you’d released before you even fully processed that you were peaking, and were trembling and panting, trying to regain your wits when you heard Sampo stutter and moan, splattering his own release across your stomach with a happy sigh.

“Such a pretty sight,” he breathes out, and releases the spreader to allow your butt to hit the mattress again. you bounce slightly, before laying there, defeated, with his throbbing, dribbling cock looming over you. “All trembling and panting, leaking juices all over my bed. If you reacted so deliciously to my voice, I can’t wait to see how you’ll fare when I actually get to play with your greedy, little pussy.”

[a-ikuoliver]

WHAT UP MERCURY

For that birthday bash, could I get that blowjob shot with Kirishima please and thank you! 💛~

eeeee thank you! i'm so sorry i was so long with this but i hope you enjoy nonetheless <3 birthday bash intro + rules + menu | event masterlist

eijiro was punctual, prompt, showing up at least 15 minutes early for his shifts (only 8 minutes on his worst day), the exact opposite of you. living closer to the restaurant than him, you still somehow managed to spawn countless grey hairs out of his skull, and at least a handful of heart convulsions every time you'd show up seconds before your shift would begin. knowing your routine, when you offhandedly mentioned needing a ride tonight, eijiro jumped at the opportunity; a little to make sure you'd be at the event on time, but mostly to have this time alone with you, to admire you while he had the chance before you'd both be worked off your feet for the night.

event nights, despite the tips, were his least favourite nights; both of you ending up too busy to flirt by the bar, to run into each other in the freezer, or for his hands to brush by your hips when you both met in front of the kitchen. instead, eijiro wouldn't even have time to admire you from across the bar.

→ KIWI 8:37PM i'm downstairs x

← THE PERSONALITY HIRE 8:37PM fuck i'm not ready yet, come up?

→ KIWI 8:38PM still in 6?

← THE PERSONALITY HIRE 8:39PM 6, door's unlocked x

with a dazzling smile, eijiro slides his phone back into his pocket, glancing up to the third floor, to the light shining from behind sheer curtains, your silhouette moving frantically behind it, the shape distorting when a gentle breeze blew through the half-open window. he wants to stand here longer, to watch you at your most you, when you don't know he's admiring you. you're so alluring when you flirt back, getting his pants tight and palms sweaty with perfectly placed lingering touches on his shoulders, but when he can stare at you without you watching, when you smile without a concern in the world, it drives him insane. tearing himself away, he finally makes his way toward the entrance of your building, climbing the stairs two at a time, pausing in front of the metallic 6, the numeral gleaming under the hallway lights.

it's unlocked, he knows, he knows he's welcome to come in, and still he knocks, a gentle tap of his knuckles just beneath the number screwed into the wood, crossing the threshold without permission almost like crossing an unspoken line in the sand, separating workplace crush from something else entirely.

"coming!"

his heart skips a beat hearing your voice, like he hadn't worked by your side for nearly three years. after only a second, the door swings open. you're barefoot, clad in a low-cut shirt, a sliver of deep red lace peeking out from the neckline — your signature event outfit, the implication of what more was beneath raking you in tips. another reason for eijiro to hate events, the way your cleavage sat threatening to ruin his respectful guy reputation with you, threatening to ruin the friendship he'd built with you.

"kiwi! i only need 5 more minutes," leaving the door open, you rush back inside, frantically rushing around the apartment, tossing random objects beside your tote bag; a lipgloss, a perfume, sanitiser, water bottle, and a pair of shoes flying out of your bedroom door.

stepping through the doorway of your home, he glances towards your open bedroom door, spotting a mess of pillows, sheets, blankets and clothes strewn atop of the unmade bed, a sleep shirt and lacy pair of panties at the foot of your bed. carmine eyes linger on your underwear a little too long, too long for him to pretend his blood wasn't rushing in his ears.

"time for a quick drink?" your voice makes him jump, deep garnet eyes jolting back toward you in the kitchen, his blood rushing further south when you bend down, his gaze trained directly down the front of your shirt when you reach for two tall, thin shot glasses.

you're already pulling out the liquor, an eyebrow quirked and eyes glimmering when his eyes meet yours once more, his gentleman reputation already beginning to crumble after only minutes.

why did he agree to this. to being alone in your apartment with you. he's so used to being shoulder to shoulder behind the bar, too busy to do anymore than flirt with a wink across the restaurant, so close, but the possibilities so far away. now, here, with you, his knees weakening almost as much as his resolve with every second ticking by, and he was still across the room from you, only feet from your bedroom. from the discarded lace.

"might make the shift bearable." you giggle, unscrewing the cap to the amaretto when eijiro responds with a nod, certain his voice wouldn't be anything above a hungry growl, giving away all he tried to hide. pouring the amaretto and irish cream into the tall glasses, turning around to fish your whipped cream from your fridge as eijiro settles onto a stool across the counter from you, again taking his chance to admire you, your thighs and ass too tempting under the low light.

clearing his throat, he adjusts himself on the stool, gently tugging on his collar when you squirt the finishing touch on top of the glasses, swiping through the sweet cream with your ring finger, sucking it clean between your perfect lips. you have to be doing this on purpose, his cock pulsing against his briefs when your tongue pokes out to catch a stray remnant at the corner of your mouth.

while his eyes are busy taking in the shape of your lips, the curve of your throat as his deep red gaze strays further south, until he's nearly staring directly down your shirt. while eijiro's busy drinking in the sight of your cleavage, he doesn't expect to see is you, leaning over the bench to slide him the shot, staying with your chest parallel to the granite as he grips the glass in a large hand.

watching you with wide eyes, eijiro tracks your every move; your fingertips tapping against the counter, the way your tongue flicks out from your lips to lick the whipped cream from the top of the shot glass, tracing along the rim with the tip of your tongue, sucking it from the top of the drink before bobbing your head back down again, this time taking the shot glass between your lips, pursing your lips around it before you stand back up, tilting your head back, swallowing down the liquor with your hands still planted firmly on the counter, eijiro's eyes nearly turning black watching you.

a sliver of cherry iris remains unswallowed by his pupils, eyes glistening as his blood pumps, all logical thought fading from his mind, replaced by the image of you ahead of him, swallowing down the shot, the sliver of your bra poking out, the panties he can still see out of the corner of his eye, the glint in your eye.

"how pissed do you think bakugou would be if we called in sick right now?"

[logictoinsanity]

Do you ever think about Logan being terrified of thunder and fireworks (too proud to ever ever admit it, of course he's not scared of shit) both because of PTSD from the wars and also because his enhanced hearing makes those sounds 100x louder for him than anyone else.

And how he's always been shut out and alone so it was easy to hide it and hide away until it's gone but now he's living in a tiny apartment with Wade so there's no way to keep avoiding it

WELL NOW I HAVE

And you're so fucking right, he'd never want to admit that he's scared of thunder storms and fireworks of all things, he's the fucking wolverine, he's seen things regular people can't even imagine, and he's scared by the fucking weather??

He tries so god damn hard every time to just be okay and power through it, he knows it can't hurt him, but every time no matter how prepared he is and how hard he tries, with the first crash hes spiralling, it feels like someone shot a gun right next to his face, his ears are ringing and his head starts hurting and he looks around and all he can see are trenches and guns and the dead bodies of his fellow soldiers. Before Wade, he'd always just find somewhere to hunker down and wait it out, pretty much in a constant state of flashbacks and panic attacks until it finally stopped.

This is just me projecting but I feel like Logan would feel safest in small spaces where he can shove himself into a corner, so he knows no one can sneak up on him, so he spent a lot of stormy nights and fourth of Julys shoved into the closest of a shitty motel.

I also think that it reminds him of the night the X-Men died, like most things do. He'd run off to go drink himself into a coma at a nearby bar, and a storm picked up while he was there. He didn't think anything of it at the time, but later realized that it had probably been Orroro's last attempts to save herself and her friends. He blames himself for not thinking of that at the time, just one more reason to hate himself.

But then he moves in with Wade, and it doesn't occur to him at first to even worry about it, so much happened so fast, storms and fireworks were pretty low on his list of concerns with a whole new universe.

Luckily, Wade isn't home when the storm hits, neither is Althea. Unluckily, Wade returns about 30 minutes after. He almost thinks Logan went out, since he isn't in his usual spot on the couch, or anywhere else for that matter, until Wade goes into the bedroom and hears the tiniest shifting sound coming from the closet.

Logan freezes when the door opens. He'd been hoping Wade would stay out until after the storm, but when did Logan ever get a lucky break? For a solid ten seconds, it's silent, Wade staring down at Logan, Logan remaining squished in the back corner of the closet, knees to his chest, looking like he can't decide whether he wants to stab Wade through the skull or bolt out of the apartment into the rain.

Wade opens his mouth to say..something, he hadn't actually figured out what yet but it didn't matter because before he got the chance there was another crack of thunder, and Logan jolted like the lightening had hit him square on his head. His eyes went distant and dark like they did when he just woke up from a nightmare and he slammed his hands over his ears, pressing his face into his knees. Wade felt kind of stupid, once he realized what was going on, of course Mr. Logan every-war-ever Howlett would have a problem with noises like that.

Wade panics, for a second, because scared of not, this is still Logan, and he's well aware of how Logan tends to feel about being caught in a vulnerable position, but then he sees Logan's hand shaking, and hears a sound that if he didn't know any better (he doesn't) he'd call a whimper (it was), and his heart just shatters, he can't stand seeing Logan this afraid, so he quickly steps into the closet and closes the door behind him. The closet is hardly big enough for one grown man to crouch in, much less two, but Logan is clearly in no state to leave, so Wade shoves himself into the corner between Logan and the door, careful not to lress up against him incase the touch is to overwhelming.

At this point, Logan has recovered slightly from the most recent crash of thunder, and he lifts his head, though he still won't look at Wade. He wants to be angry, mad at Wade for catching him like this, he wants to scowl and tell him to fuck off and leave him alone, but he's been panicking for thirty minutes now, flashing back with every clap of thunder, slowly starting to calm down only to be yanked right back into his own mind when it happens again, he's exhausted and just doesn't have the energy, so he just sighs, swallowing thickly to try and stop his voice from shaking and grumbling something about how he's fine, it's just loud, Wade can go about his day and he'll be out in a bit.

Wade honestly only understands about half of what he says, between the mumbling and the shaky voice and the storm outside, but he's sure as hell not gonna leave Logan to deal with this alone, and besides, the closet isn't to bad, kinda cozy once you give it a chance, and hey what're the odds they have a closet big enough for this in such a shitty apartment anyway? pretty plot convenient if you ask him. He ends up telling Logan all of this, partly to reassure him he doesn't mind but mostly to buy time while he figures out what to do. After a moment he lets out a quiet gasp and stands up, assuring Logan he'll be right back. Logan just nods and puts his head back on his knees, resigned to his fate of riding out his PTSD episode stuffed into a closet with fucking Deadpool.

Wade comes back a minute later with a small assortment of items in his arms, shuffling to sit back down. First, he sets down a small electric candle that he had laying around for some reason, because even if Logan can see in the dark closet, he can't, and he explains as much as he turns it on and the soft, warm light fills the space. Wade's heart breaks just a little more now that he can see Logan better, the way his whole body is shaking with every breath, the tear tracks covering his face, some dry, some fresh, but he does his best not to make to big a deal out of it and moves on.

I'm gonna put something on your head now, Peanut. You trust me? Wade asks, trying to keep his voice low and even.

No. Logan grumbles in response, but he leans towards Wade just slightly, and Wade places his gaming headset over Logan's ears. Logan pauses, evaluating, before giving a small nod and relaxing ever so slightly. He can still hear the storm, but it's better. Wade grins, trying desperately to keep his cool as he shows Logan the rest of his items. He brought a bag of Logan's favorite chips, a water bottle, and a bottle of whiskey.

They spend the next hour and a half in that closet together, alternating between Wade talking (much more quiet and restrained than usual) and Logan nodding occasionally in response, to out of it to say much but appreciating the distraction nonetheless and, with every crack of thunder, Logan panicking, and Wade doing his best to keep him tethered to reality.

It still sucks, storms probably always will for Logan, but it's better, and when the storm finally ends Wade leads him out of the closet, and he doesn't make a big deal out if it (like Logan feared), He doesn't make fun of him or think less of him, he gets it. And damn it if that doesn't make Logan feel more cared for and understood than he has in years, maybe ever, even if that fact alone pisses him off to no end.

[crystlizabeth]

Can you write something with Simon Riley x curvy African American new recruit ?? These writers do not write for the black girlies. Flirting, nsfw, anything

Little taste of color

Simon Riley x BlackFem!reader

Summary: Hard week of training he found himself out for a drink little did Simon know he would find himself accompanied by the new recruit. Inviting herself next to him.

Warnings: cursing, suggestive, smut, use of alcohol (I hope this is to your liking for I saw you other and one I couldn’t really think of anything in the field work and I accidentally deleted it- sorry babes!) Readers code name is Fox!, public sex, the reader is a tease, man handling, degrading, praising, hair pullin, choking. Not properly proofread 🤗

A drink was what he needed a long fucking week with the new recruits coming in having to deal with them like the were children. A particularly recruit stood out, she was a transfer from America Lanswell saying she would be a good fit for the team as to give her a chance. But she irritated Ghost, giving him attitude though he was her superior, and Simon would punish her and she take it with a smile. A grin plastered on her face as she ran laps for hours on end, god that pissed him off.

And to think he would get a break from that hell there she sat at the bar talking to the bartender. Simon stood in the doorway for a moment taking a look at her, his eyes trailing her just as he made it to her just to find her looking right back at him. Her face being held by her hand a sly grin spread across her lips. He watched closely as her tongue traced the bottom of her top teeth.

Simon felt as if he was being hunted he felt— intimidate and god he hated it. He would be lying if he didn’t admit she was gorgeous but oddly enough scary, in the way she was incredibly skilled. He turned his head avoiding her eyes going to sit at the bar multiple seats away from her.

He took a moment to breath his hands running down his masked face. This was the last thing he wanted, he just wanted to be alone but she had other ideas. He could feel her presence, yet decided to ignore it.

“It’s rude to ignore people Ghost.” She hummed her fingers running around the rim of her glass.

“Didn��t come to socialize Fox..” he took a swig of his drink.

She laughed lightly that caused Simon to glance at her, to his surprise he got an eye full of the top of her boobs. The top she wore very low cut her tattoos that laid on her chest of full display. “Whatcha lookin at LT..” she smiled Simons eyes quickly meeting hers. Looking away causing her to let out a pleased sigh, he felt hot in a bad way a way he shouldn’t feel towards one of his recruits.

But he’s a man.

And she is a sly fucking Fox.

“Soo, Lieutenant what do you drink? Whisky I take it, Hmm Jameson?” She said finishing of her drink, wiping the little bit of the side of her mouth.

His eyes watching but still answering her “Mmhm Jack Daniels here and there, I take it your a vodka type of girl..” he muttered.

Her head tilted to the side a little bit her sly smile lingered on her lined glossed lips, he wouldn’t mind seeing the dark gloss on his skin. As his mind ran wild her voice broke him out of his thoughts “More of a Tequila girl, Casamigos or— patron..” she hummed.

Interesting he thought, watching her order herself another drink he noticed a silver ball on her tongue. No fucking way, he thought watching her lick a bit of salt off of her new drink sipping on the clear liquid.

Simon could feel his pants tightening, cursing lowly to himself he picked up his glasses swallowing the dark alcohol. “Not taking it slow huh?” She asked.

His dark eyes met hers, “Pardon?”

“You just swallowed the whole glass pretty much..” she cackled,  why did he feel so defensive he felt as if she was mocking him for fuck sake.

She leaned in closer her right arm leaning on the bar as she faced him, her dark curls falling in to her face as she looked as him her eyes practically looking straight through him. Maybe the Alcohol was finally getting to him because he wouldn’t mind wiping the sly grin of her face pushing it into the wall as he took her as he pleased.

She let her hand touch his forearm leaning up twords Simons ear, “What got you all hot as bothered LT?” She whispered her hot breath touching his ear. He closed his eyes holding his breath feeling her sit back down.

“What do you want Newbie.” He spoke his voice low, she smiled biting her lip he hands falling between her thighs squeezing her hands.

“We’re both adults Lieutenant, and I believe that you need a taste of color huh?” Her grin becoming wider,

“White boy wasted on brown liquor..” her seductive tone dripping of her wet tongue. He felt her foot run up his clothed leg slowly getting higher, Simons large hand wrapping around her ankle squeezing it as a warning.

“Do you know what your doing.” He said.

“Yeah, I do..”

She had been railing him up for the past twenty minutes, just to see if maybe he was actually going to give her a second glance. Her superior had actually been checking her out, to him she was nothing but a giant tease. He let go of her ankle, watching as She got up her ass bouncing with every step she took waking towards the bathroom turning the corner with a wink. Was he gonna follow her— yeah, he was.

Opening the door he saw her leaning against the sink, her body on display. “Take ‘em off.” He said pointing at her jeans.

“Make me.”

So he did walking over to her he grabbed her pants unbuttoning them starting to pulling them down, her hands gripped on to his biceps looking up at him through her lashes. One of her hands trailing up to his mask her fingers going under them, his hand quickly grabbed her wrist stoping her.

“It stays on.”

“I just want your lips lieutenant..” she whimpered..

Groaning he let himself pull the mask up over his lips, her eyes fell hungry admiring his scared lip. She pulled him down her lips pressing against his hungry, he picked her up placing her on the countered sink pulling her jeans the rest of the way down to her ankles. He leaned into the kiss he could feel her gloss lingering on his lips, pulling away he glued in the mirror seeing the dark kiss marks on his lips around his mouth a lazy smirk fell his face as he looked back down at the darker woman.

“What just gonna look at yo’self.” She sassed.

He let his fingers hook around her panties only to stop, instead letting his thumb find her clit rubbing gentle circles around it. He watched as she sat up a bit more her eyes squeezing shit, her mouth falling agape.

“Hmm that feel good sweetheart..” he teased, leaning down kissing the side of her face down to her neck his thumb still going in circles. His lips trailed down her neck soon kissing the top of her breast soon his face fell between her legs. Pressing kisses on the wet spot that was displayed on her panties, he felt her thighs squeeze his face slightly Simon could hear her muffled moans her fingers griping the top of his mask. Pushing her leg out he pushed the black underwear his tongue laid flat licking up against her folds, that made her break the throaty moan escaping her lips.

He let his knees touch the floor his arm wrapping underneath her thighs pulling her to his face letting himself eat her whole, her moans getting louder casing him to reach up two of his fingers entering her mouth pressing on her tongue causing her to close her mouth. Her hand wrapped around his wrist, her hips falling into his face as he ate her out.

“Fuck— Ghost..” she choked, his fingers falling out her mouth his hand wrapping around her pretty little neck.

That made her arch god she wanted to come right then and there, his grip tightened around her neck as her thighs tightened around his face.

“Atta girl common cum for me.” He spoke muffled by her thighs.

A breath moan came from her mouth as she came. He came up catching her lips, “yeah pretty girl— was that good?” He said slapping her pussy softly a cheeky laugh coming from him hearing her yelp.

“Fuck you—” she whined.

“Yeah was planning on it.” He said pulling her off the counter turning her towards the mirror. 

Pushing on here back here chest pressed against the counter Simon letting his hands pull here up by her hips slightly her as on display for him. Fuck it looked even better out of her combat pants, “Ya ready for me?” He asked watching the woman in front of him nod.

“Speak when spoken to Sargent.” His hands griping her hips harshly.

“Ah— yes, I’m ready—I’m ready for you..” she hissed.

A small smirk falling across his lips as he gave himself a few pumps before rubbing in between her dripping folds. Simon took into consideration entering her slowly watching her mouth fall open a quiet moan falling from her lips. “Atta girl… adjust f’ me..” he said pulling her up making her back touch his chest.

Simons arm snuck around to the front of her his forearm resting on her Brest his hand holding around her neck but not applying pressure. He soon let his hips move their skin slapping against one another mixed with the sounds of their arousal, he watched her as he fucked him self into her. Simon could feel her fuck her self back onto him, Simons right arm wrapped itself around her waist for more support. Her hand holding herself up on his forearm that was wrapped around her waist.

She looked so pretty like this, watching her keep quiet made him curious on just how loud she could be. “Fuck.. Lieutenant..” she moaned, her head falling down.

He let his hand squeeze her throat “Look up I want you to watch me ruin ya..” he spoke his mouth next to her ear.

A small whine came from her Simons hips still thrusting into her. Her head looking up into the mirror her eyes meeting his, “yeah—atta girl” he said.

He quickly repositioned putting her leg onto the counter his hand grabbing a fist full of her hair keeping her eyes on herself in the mirror, his other hand resting on her hip continuously fucking into her.

“Common slut take it like a good girl.” He said gripping the fat on her hip harder.

“Imma cum— oh fuck..” she cried out.

Simon could feel her legs start shaking, disregarding what she said he continued fucking into her harshly watching her mouth fall open and her walls tighten around him he knew she was about to cum. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare. Wait till I say you can cum.” He growled leaning down close to her as he continued to fuck her.

“Please—-please.. i can’t hold it..” she pleaded. He only chuckled lightly watching her fall apart with every thrust.

He made her hold it, as he fucked her like a toy. But it was soon to come to an end feeling his own orgasm reach him. Her whiny pleads only making it come faster hearing her beg from him she was almost in tears. “Where would you like me to come..” he asked softly.

She wanted to say I’m me but he wouldn’t allow it, “in my mouth..” she spoke in a broken tone.

“Cum for me Fox, common sweetheart come for me..” he said leaning back up harshly thrusting into her.

Her walls tightened around him her orgasm finally hitting her as she shuttered a broken moan coming from her mouth.

“Good fucking girl..” he praised, he could feel her cum sticking to him creating a white ring around his cock.

“On your knees sweetheart.” He spoke.

She did as she was told her taking him in her mouth, it only took a few thrust before for his load filled her mouth the hot liquid hitting the back of her throat. “Yeah take it all slut.” He degraded holding the side of her face her nose almost touching his pelvis her eyes looking up at him with teary eyes. He could feel her swallowing making him hiss at the sensation.

They quickly cleaned up themselves finally remembering they were in a public bathroom. Fixing herself up in the mirror she noticed Simon looking at her.

“What?” She asked smiling as she wiped the mascara off from her under eye.

“This stays between up understood.”

She turned her body around facing him leaning her back against the counter looking up at him. Simon letting his hand fall on the sides of her.

“Your secret is safe with me.” She whispered kissing his mask.

Moving around him with a small giggle, “I’ll see you at training tomorrow LT.” She spoke giving him a sweet smile.

With thats he opens the door and left.

It was gonna be different now, really fucking different.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: You get what you give

For this round, drabbles are written based on a random choice of character and image from this pinterest board. Pls feel free to keep adding to it.

Character: Andy Barber

Prompt

Warnings: this drabble includes elements such as mentions of alcoholism and cheating. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

Andy Barber.

You'd know him anywhere but you didn't expect him there. The tight-ass, straight-laced family man in a place like this. His department store suit stands out on the dingy bar. So does the woman grinding in his lap. She's not his wife. 

He has one hand on a pint of foamy beer and his other on her ass. He encourages her with a growl as she nips at the air before him. The tension is palpable. 

Your hand rests on your phone as you hide on the gloom at the other end of the bar. Your vodka tonic is forgotten as quickly as the shitty day you hoped to drown in it. Your thumb hovers above Laurie's name, hesitant, calculating. 

Andy fucking Barber. 

That jackass with the side eye. You're not stupid. You heard what he said about you. He didn't realise you were in his bathroom, that you were witness to yet another row with his long tortured wife. 

Well, you might be a goddamn drunk but you're not a fucking cheater. The only man in your life is the bartender.  

You flick away your contact list. Instead, you tap the camera icon and swipe into recording mode. You carefully angle the lens up to catch the screen. Yoi watch through the screen as the woman straddles him, grazing her fingers through his beard as she draws him into a sloppy kiss.

Oh yes, it's very messy indeed. 

🍺

You expect chaos when you hit send. It isn’t thoughtless or spiteful. The truth is the truth. As he always says, honesty is the greatest virtue of all. You always roll your eyes when he goes on his exhaustive lectures; often treating Laurie no different than their son. 

‘Sorry, Laurie. I didn’t think you’d believe me but proof is in the pudding.’ 

Maybe there is a bit of spite left in you. You hope she’s happy now. Andy may have been right about you but you were just as on point about him. Let it burn, you might just smell some of the ashes as they settle. 

Days pass. No response. You don’t expect one. You were surprised she didn’t block your number when she cut you off. You wouldn’t have blamed her either. But you can still hate them all. 

It’s not Laurie, it’s him. He shows up at your office. You sit behind reception where you always do and tuck away the flask you keep in your bottom drawer. Shit. 

“Hello, sir, how can I help--” 

“Don’t fucking do that,” he points over the top of the square desk and grips the edge, “you know why I’m here.” 

You can’t help a smirk. You wiggle a pen and innocently tap your bottom lip, “I’m sorry, did you have a meeting with one of our agents?” 

“You are fucking low,” he snarls. 

“Ah, yes, but seems like we frequent the same gutters,” you sneer back. “She looked young. Did you check her ID? You might not just be a creep, you could be a criminal, Mr. ADA.” 

“Fuck you,” he bends over the higher shelf of the desk, “do you have any idea what the fuck you’ve done?” 

“Mr. Barber,” you reach for the phone, resting your hand on the receiver, “if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to call security.” 

He quakes with rage as his face turns red, “you’re a fucking bitch.” 

“Might be, but at least I’m not a cheater--” 

“Alcoholic slut,” he sneers. 

You lift the receiver and hit speed dial. You stare him down as you do, “hi, Joey, yes, I have a client here who’s a bit... aggressive, do you mind coming up here? Thank you.” 

You wink at Andy and put the phone down as you sit back. He glares back at you and stands straight. He puffs through his nose like raging bull. 

“Just you fucking wait,” he threatens as he retreats, “you ruined my fucking life. I’m gonna burn yours to the ground.” 

[ciitroner]

Cabin In The Woods: and the consequences of your actions

Kidnapper!Ghost x Reader x Kidnapper!Soap

PART 3 OF THE KIDNAP!AU BACKSTORY SERIES, part 1, part 2.

ROUGH DAY (main story)

Summary: Never did you once believe that the seemingly abandoned cabin you stumbled across after an accident on your hike would belong to two men you once met at a bar. You wish you'd listened to your gut feeling about them...

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI), afab!reader, kidnapping, oral sex, NON-CON, blowjob, DARK FIC, creepy/pervy behaviour, toxic behaviour, somnophilia? (not really, but you were about to drift to sleep), dacryphilia, humiliation, mention of stalking, slight violence, manipulation, hair pulling, fingering, you get hurt in the process of the hike

Notes: This took way too long, I deleted a few drafts before I said fuck it and settled with this one. Ok mwah enjoy Wc: 4.9k

The evening sun, accompanied by the small occasional breeze carefully, yet harshly, caresses your tired body. Your frame hangs low as if you had not slept in years, your eyebags complimenting the appearance. One after the other, with a shaking huff and a puff, you lift your legs to strive forward. To where - you had yet to discover. You had lost your hiking trail and were now only hoping for a helping sign, although to no avail. Your friend, whose house you were staying at, at the moment, had suggested that you enjoy the forest and nature instead of… well, sulking at home over not getting a job. It was a good idea at the time, and you had promised her to take a lot of beautiful photos that both of you could sigh happily about later on. The only problem is, that you’ve never gone on a hiking trip before, and suddenly being thrown into the worst situation you could currently think of- fuelled your hate for nature. No signal, and an almost dead phone did you no good.

With every rise of angriness and anxiousness over the setting sun, you find the strength to go deeper into the forest - maybe not the greatest idea, but you are so very sure that the hiking trail was around that area… probably… hopefully. You feel a droplet hit your nose, pulling you out of your thought process. How lovely! The bad situation became even worse. It’s slowly but surely getting colder, and what was once only a few drops of rain had turned into a heavy downpour. You could barely see your surroundings, but at least you don’t have to worry about water, you laugh miserably to yourself while you resume walking - as standing in the middle of nowhere would get you… nowhere. The forest ground is wet and slippery, forcing a few gasps and yelps out of you when you lose your balance from time to time. You’re cold, wet, muddy and grumpy after a few stumbles when the first flash of lightning lights up the dark sky, and not very much later - you hear the sharp sound.

“Ah… shit.” You’d have to find shelter as soon as possible, as being surrounded by trees wasn’t ideal in a full-blown thunderstorm.

The slow, hunched walking evolves into jogging in fear when the next bolt of lightning hits somewhere close. Something, most likely a root, knocks you down on your knees as you trip over it. Barely hearing your groan over the loud pitter-patter of the rain, you get up again - and you’d guess your knees were scraped bloody through your pants due to every fall - though, this one was significantly harsh. Your soggy clothing and annoying backpack weigh down on you, not much unlike the anxiousness of getting lost and eaten by wolves - and holding back tears is the only thing you feel like you have control over at the moment. Gasping for breath, you push through a dense thicket, the rain soaking every inch of your being and thorns grabbing onto the poor excuse of clothes you’re wearing. The forest seems to close in around you, and bile rises in your throat - which you have to force down with a gulp. The eerie creaking of branches, the rustling of unseen animals… creatures, the horrible sound of lightning and the relentless downpour create a symphony of discomfort - nonetheless, you push through the labyrinth of nightmares.

Each step forward is a struggle, and being unable to see what’s in front of you awakens a cruel twist of fate as it sends you tumbling down a steep part of the mountain. The world becomes a blur of mud, rocks and undeniable hurt as you desperately claw at anything within reach - attempting to halt your rapid descent. Time seems to slow down, and the echoes of your terrified screams mix with the howling wind until everything goes dark.

With a shocked and pained gasp, you awaken. God knows how long you’ve been out cold - but it mustn’t have been too long, as the world around you is still dark, and the storm continues its wrath, indifferent to your plight.  Pain radiates through your body as you lay there, dazed and battered. You must’ve hit your head, making you pass out, you conclude after a horrible headache crashes down on you. Your hands hurt and so does a part of your lip, you could only guess that it had been injured in the accident. Grimacing, you manage to push yourself upright - letting out pained ah’s and oh’s when you have to balance your body on your hands to get up. Your backpack is still in its place - you realise, and you’re thankful as it could have dampened the fall. You stay standing still for a while, just… appreciating life, thankful you’re still alive. You put your hands in your pockets to preserve the warmth when you realise that your phone is gone, and you realise it's worthless to try and look around if you don’t want to fall somewhere again - as horrible as it was, your life was a bit more important.

As you’re turning around to take a new path, hopefully bringing you some place higher up where you could scream for help during the day, something catches your eye. With a squint of your tired eyes, you notice a cabin in the far distance. You realise it’s not a trick of your exhausted mind and that there indeed is a cabin nearby, nestled within the shadows of the towering trees - and like the most cliché horror character, you’re not taking a chance, limping forward towards the entrance. The cabin emerges from the darkness, its outline becoming clearer as you draw near. It looks old and slightly ugly, you notice - the chair and table on the front porch most likely have been broken and fallen over due to the relentless storm and many more.

With a deep breath, you approach the creaking door. You decide that it’s better to be potentially breaking into the cabin than to be left standing outside in dangerous weather conditions. You pull down the handle, and you’re relieved when it opens. The interior of the cabin gives a special charm of itself - as if time had paused within its walls - and you’re thankful that the shelter you had found for yourself had a good roof, not letting any drops of water slip by. The air is thick with the scent of aged wood and dust. Pretty - but basic, furniture is arranged sporadically as if the owner only had put them there to… put them there. You notice a lamp over a kitchen table with two seats and realise that there might be a chance that the electricity still works, you could only hope. Quickly closing the door behind you, you take on the job of grazing the walls with your sore fingertips, for a sign of the light switch. You mutter an apology to the absent owner when you spread mud and water over the floor in your search, and promise yourself to clean it afterwards, “Aha!”

It takes around ten seconds before the light starts flickering before staying lit. You’re careful to avoid the rugs - some normal, and other animal pelts - when you search for other light switches, as you didn’t want to stay in the dark for any longer. When you’d get home… if you got home, you’d give your friend two slaps on each cheek before giving her a long hug and cry into her shoulder. Then you’d research every how-to on hiking there is, even though you’d never go again - it’s good to know. The occasional gust of wind through a window, incapable of being fully closed, makes the dust dance in the air and you cough.

There’s a fireplace in front of the sofa, surrounded by a bit larger stones, with a flat-screen TV resting on the mantel above the fireplace. You’re cold, and the only thing on your mind is a shower and a hot drink - but you shake your head and explore further, setting down your large backpack close to the entrance. You’d have to take out your things to examine what’s wet and what’s not later - even though you took a waterproof bag (thank god for your friend’s boyfriend), you don’t know if your things were safe from the horrid weather and fall. It’s a two-floor, cosy cabin - the upstairs area consists of a balcony and a bedroom. The windows, though framed by large heavy curtains, allow glimpses of the storm outside, and the flickering bedside lamp you’ve turned on allows you to see the dust gathered on the wooden frames of the bed, and a few flies that had died. The downstairs area consists of the living room, kitchen, and surprisingly clean bathroom - aside from the dust, there is no sign of mould nor any horror film yellowish-bathroom colour anywhere in the sink. You sigh in happiness and pray to whatever entity that had let you live the fall down the mountain that the hot water still works.

The owner might not have visited for a while, and you can only hope that they don’t feel like coming during the few hours- or days, you might be here. The wooden floor creaks under your every step when you walk over to pick up your backpack and settle it down on the kitchen table - obviously after dusting it down with a feather duster you had found in a corner. You needed a change of clothes as soon as possible if you didn't want to get sick - and thus, you unzip it and uncover a carefully wrapped bundle of spare clothes. The previous overthinking, while you had packed your bag, pays off as you take out another pair of underwear, shampoo and some warmer sweats. Luckily, as it was packed at the bottom - it hadn’t become wet, unlike your equipment at the top. You walk to the bathroom and put your clothes down on the counter connected to the basin.

You turn on the water in the bathtub, and let it run while the gentle hum of the electricity powers a small heater. You undress and look at yourself in the mirror, horrifying - you conclude. Steam begins to rise, and you slide the curtain to the side and walk in, sighing as the too-warm water almost boils your skin off - as it should. You made a mental note to remember the fireplace afterwards before you begin washing yourself, scrubbing the dirt and grime off of your body. The scent of your shampoo fills your lungs, and you smile to yourself.

After a long time, you emerge from the shower, wrapped in a dry towel, and feel a renewed sense of vitality. You slip into the fresh, clean clothes - a stark contrast to the dampness and discomfort that defined your… adventure thus far.

You towel dry your hair before leaving the towel to dry on the bathtub curtain rack along with your previous clothes - abandoning your shoes for a pair of warm fuzzy socks you had brought with you, wearing them with a pair of slippers you’d found. Although a few sizes too big, you cringed at the thought of walking on the dust and dead-flies-filled floor. The cabin was creepy, and the occasional flickering of light paired with the storm outside made you take no chances - so in case a monster of some sort came up behind you, at least you could hit it with a slipper. You shrug.

You bring out a vacuum cleaner and plug it into an outlet in the kitchen before cleaning the cabin, making it a more comfortable place - you were especially careful not to leave any dust particles around the fireplace, as it's highly flammable. You decide to clean upstairs as well, fixing the bed in slight sympathy for the owner, before arranging the logs in the fireplace - creating a carefully crafted pyramid you’re frankly proud of. A small box of matches rests on the mantel, and thankfully there are a few left. You strike a match, the flame dancing briefly before settling into a steady glow, and carefully touch the match to the kindling. The flames grow, licking at the wood and bringing the living room area to life.

You’d brought a few - now soggy, although still edible - snacks with you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep your stomach satisfied for at least a day or two. A breeze from the broken window made you shiver and stay closer to the fire, it was still dark outside, but the rain had calmed down by now and would probably come to a full stop in a few hours. You eat a few protein bars, before falling asleep on the sofa - not being able to turn the television on, as you had no energy to search for the remote control. Dangerous, yes, but it seems like your bad luck had run out as you awaken in the morning (or afternoon, you had no idea - as the only clock in the house had stopped working) with a fully intact cabin and now only a small sad fire in the fireplace. It’s sunny outside, thankfully - and you quickly wash your dirty clothes in the bathtub before hanging them outside on a clothesline. You grimace at the sight of your shoes, it would take at least a few sunny days to dry them fully - even though you almost turn them fully inside out. You walk back inside again, to get yourself some food.

“Hey!”

You let out a shrill scream at the unsuspected voice behind you, and you quickly turn around - cursing as you stumble because of the big slippers on your feet. He’s big, the man. Owner, you presume, inspecting him with wide eyes. He has a large balaclava with a skull print on it, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve seen it before. His gaze is cold, and there’s a certain standoffishness to his demeanour.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes, half-heartedly you assume by the hint of amusement and lack of warmth in his tone. His gaze assesses you, not unkindly, but with a detached scrutiny that makes you uneasy. He kicks his boots off by the front door, leaving it ajar, before setting down four full bags on the table you’d kept your backpack - before moving it to the sofa while you snacked yesterday. Your accelerated breathing and heart rate calm a bit when you realise that he doesn’t have any will to hurt you for breaking into his cabin at the moment, you feel the need to excuse your actions.

“It’s okay, it’s been q-quite a night,” you gulp, throat dry, “found your cabin while I was lost due to the storm.”

His response is a nonchalant nod. “Make yourself at home,” he responds, voice authoritative - making the suggestion almost sound like a command. It holds a distance that almost seems intentional. He takes in his surroundings and notices how clean it is, unusual to what it would normally be like after not visiting for almost months at a time. “I… I cleaned,” you announce with a cough, getting up from the floor feeling like an idiot. He seems indifferent, as if your actions hold little significance to him, “I can see that.”

He opens cabinets and slowly but steadily empties the bags, most of it is food, and other things include batteries, you notice. You feel awkward standing while he does the work, “d-do you-”

“Name’s Ghost,” he states abruptly, cutting you off mid-sentence, and not bothering to extend a handshake or any other friendly gesture - continuing to store the items in their places. The introduction hangs in the air, the conversation feeling more obligatory than welcoming. You take off his slippers - and he seems to track your movements through the corner of his eye - before offering your own name. He lets out a short hum, and there’s that. It doesn’t lead anywhere, and you’re both left in silence before the front door opens once more. The sudden footsteps behind you startle you, and you turn around to find another man there.

“Did ye hang those rags outside- oh,” the man notices you and raises his dark eyebrows, “didn’t expect tae see anyone here,” he greets with an accent, although somewhat confused, his tone is friendly and warm - rivalling against Ghost’s composed and cold behaviour. Ghost offers the man a subtle nod in his direction, acknowledging his presence without uttering a single word.

“I was on a hike, got lost and sought shelter from the storm here…” you quickly explain yourself, fiddling with your fingers behind your back in anxiousness of being stared down by two large men. The man continues your conversation while Ghost neatly folds the plastic bags before putting them in a box somewhere in the corner.

“Nae bother,” he drops your name and your ears perk up, eyebrows furrowing in shock. He speaks with a grin as if nothing weird had happened at all. He takes off his boots before joining Ghost in the kitchen - muttering something about teabags. “Thanks for gien’ the place a tidy up.” You ignore his thankfulness.                  

“How do you know my name?” you ask, a tinge of uncertainty layering your words. The man’s grin widens, “we met at the bar, ‘bout a month ago. We had a good time, tad bit too much on the bevvy, though.”

“Ah… Soap?”

“Aye.” He almost vividly describes the details of your… not so much conversation, reminding you of a night when you were perhaps a bit too inebriated to recall much. You have to shush him after a moment, and he cackles at your embarrassed face.

You find it odd that Soap remembers everything so clearly - especially since it’s been a month, while your memories from that night are only flickering fragments. The realization that he has been holding onto these details gets you uncomfortable.

“Ye like yer tea wi’ a wee smidgen of sugar, aye lassie?”

It’s as if he has been meticulously collecting pieces of your life. Despite the peculiar circumstances, Soap continues to engage in casual - slightly one-sided - conversation, seemingly oblivious to the unease settling within you. The sun shines bright through the window close to the table, where Soap is now ushering you towards. You shake your head.

“I… I think I should go home,” you utter tentatively, voicing the sudden urge that has gripped you. Ghost’s gaze, still concealed behind the balaclava, remains unreadable - though the air surrounding him seems to thicken. Soap, his charm momentarily faltering, raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Leaving… so soon?” he questions, friendly demeanour momentarily slipping into an expression of perplexity - leaving you with goosebumps. He leans casually against a wall, as if waiting for your explanation.

“It’s just… I don’t know. These past hours have been a bit,” you wave your hands around, wanting to find the right words, “too much,” you stammer, struggling to articulate your urgency to leave. Soap’s grin returns, but there’s a subtle shift in his gaze, “we’ve got everything ye need right here. Naw need tae go,” he voices with a friendly tone that contradicts the unease in your gut. He places a warm cup of tea in front of you, setting you down on a seat, before sitting on the chair in front of you with a cup of his own. Ghost, still a silent observer - now also with a cup - stands beside Soap, not much unlike a bodyguard.

“Ye’ve been through so much… take a day or two’s rest here before you leave.” It’s voiced almost like a demand. “I guess,” you sip on the tea - silently cursing Soap because he made it just the way you like it. Soap relaxes against the wooden chair and Ghost moves slightly away from your eyesight - before lighting his balaclava to drink.

That was your third and last mistake.

“Love the hustle and bustle o’ the city, but sometimes, a quiet place like this feels like a different world, aye?” Soap shares, a lopsided grin on his face. “I guess,” you repeat. It had been a nightmare, really. You’d never go out again after this.

“Especially since we’ve now got an Angel sent from heaven, now.”

“I- I guess,” you would be a bit more creeped out if he wasn’t exactly your type. You’re both attracted to each other, it seems like. Awful situation.

You continue chatting, Ghost quipping in with small jokes occasionally - and you laugh. The tension in the air slowly disappears, and soon enough - when the tea cups are empty, Ghost drags his mask over his jaw again, hiding anything but his eyes. He gets a stool and settles down next to Soap. You’re thankful they’re being nice hosts.

“Soap-”

“Johnny,” he cuts you off, “he’s Simon. No need for call signs.”

“Ah… Johnny,” you begin, and swear that you see him shudder slightly, “where do you keep your plasters? My knees-” he cuts you off, “hurt in the storm, yeah? Lt will show ye.”

Simon, without uttering a word, motions for you to follow him. Johnny stays in the kitchen, mumbling something about dinner, had it been that long? He leads you to the bedroom to your surprise, you’d guess they’d kept them in the bathroom… but alright. The silence in the air is thick, only broken by the occasional creak of wood under your feet as you climb the stairs. The flickering poor bulb on the ceiling sparks to life when he turns it on, and he gestures towards the bed.

“Take your clothes off.”

“W-what?”

Simon doesn’t repeat himself, doesn’t even glance at you as he walks to the bedside table and rummages around, before getting up and leaving the room. You decide to strip, not wanting him to stare at you while you do it, at least. You take off both your shirt and pants, leaving you in your underwear when Simon returns to you with a damp cloth and a few plasters. “We need to clean the wound before applying the plasters.” He deadpans as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You hesitantly nod, feeling way too naked.

“Have you done this before?” you ask dumbly, “i-is it a part of… your job, or something?”

“Sometimes.” He kneels between your legs, and you hiss when he starts to almost expertly wipe at your knees. He doesn’t stop for your cries, focus unwavering and trying to get it over as quickly as possible. You recall Johnny calling Simon “lieutenant”, and you guess their line of work was military. He carefully places plasters on the scraped areas once he finishes cleaning the wounds. He throws you out of your thought process when he sits beside you, towering over your vulnerable body, “elbow” is the only thing he says before lifting your arm. You two sit in silence as he works, his touch is surprisingly gentle, despite the lack of expression on his face - and the whole process feels clinical, as if he’s merely completing a necessary task.

“You’re lucky it’s not more serious,” he finally speaks, placing a warm hand on the back of your neck, squeezing slightly and breaking the quiet tension looming over you both. His words are cold, his voice deep, and you find yourself longing for the warmth and friendliness that Johnny had exhibited earlier. The hand stays for a bit too long before he gets up. As you put your clothes back on, Simon exits the room without a word, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You can hear the distant sounds of Johnny’s clinks and clanks in the kitchen. Descending the stairs, the delicious smell of food fills your lungs, and you’re so hungry - you realise.

“Feelin’ better, bonnie?” Johnny asks as he places three plates of food on the table. You nod, sitting down in your previous seat. It’s a simple microwavable dinner, but you almost drool. Simon sets down a wine glass in front of you all and Johnny brings a bottle, “to relax, aye?” he winks. You could use a glass of wine, to be honest, and so you let him fill your glass.

The three of you sit down to eat, and the conversation flows more naturally this time. Johnny, though still eccentric, appears to have softened his demeanour, engaging you in discussions about various topics. You find yourself laughing at some things you normally wouldn’t, you blame it on the wine and stress. As the night progresses, they suggest you take the bed - to which you reply that you can’t- won’t

“Can’t let you sleep on the sofa!” you exclaim.

“Who said anything about a sofa?” Simon shrugs. You brushed it off and assumed they had a guest room somewhere you could borrow, you were naive, you realise, now. Because that’s how you end up between them in their bed. To preserve heat in this cold climate, Johnny had said, plays with your sense of logic like a puppeteer.

At some point, he’d started touching you a bit inappropriately, and when you’d turned around to cuss him out - he’d latched his mouth to yours. Simon lies on his side, facing you two - yet not moving a muscle to help you at all. Between filthy and sloppy kisses, you manage out a “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing, Johnny!” to which he only responds with a shaky moan and rubs his growing hard-on into your thigh, “fuckin’ loooove when ye sae m’ name. Gets me so hard, lovie.”

He stops shoving his tongue down your throat to instead lick a stripe down to your neck, where he starts sucking hot open-mouth kisses into your skin. You let out a quivery breath, closing your eyes to not see the drooling man hunched over your body - the imprint of his dick tight against his jeans. You remember cumming on your vibrator to the thought of it a month back, but now you’d do anything to run away from it. A slap on your cheek brings you back to reality, the skin almost burns and tears prickle in your eyes. Simon is staring you down, while Johnny raises his body just enough to almost rip his t-shirt off of himself.

“Keep your eyes open.” It’s a demand, a scary one at that. Military men are, in theory, hot, but in practice… still hot but also terrifying. He brings his calloused fingertips to gently stroke the cheek, before gripping both of your cheeks until your lips pout and your face aches. Johnny grins crookedly, bends down and gives you an almost cute kiss before yelling “ass up!” Your body almost flies down the bed with the force he drags your pants and panties off of you, and you let out a squeal which both of the men laugh at, “P-please, I can… I can give you money” you beg through your pouty lips and make them laugh harder, “sure,” Johnny comments, “got naw money to pay rent, how are ye supposed to pay us?”

“How,” your mouth hurts, “how do you-”

Simon releases his grip on your face and moves to pet your hair.

“So talkative. Take her mouth, Johnny.”

The man almost flies up to sit next to your head, pubic hair rubbing against your cheek when he drags his leaking cock over your lips. He’s big, awfully so, and he knows it because he pulls at your chin until you open it reluctantly, “nice ‘n wide now, sae ahhh,” then sinks in. The moan he lets out almost makes you rub your thighs together, it’s filthy and pornographic, and only intensifies when you swallow around him in an attempt to not puke up the dinner you’d shared with them. Simon smacks your thigh, which makes you avert your wet eyes from Johnny to him. He continues petting your hair while his other hand simultaneously moves downwards to your pussy, body easily moving in between your legs to make it difficult for you to close them. His middle and ring fingers spread your flaps apart and tease at your hole before dragging them upwards and collecting your juices. You fight but fail the loud moan that escapes your mouth, “Y-yeah just like that- fuck…” Johnny rambles on.

It’s embarrassing, and you have to hold back from crying when you see how wet you are. Simon gladly spreads his fingers to show off, before wiping them off on Johnny’s balls, making his breath hitch, and his next thrust a bit harsher. With the hand on your head, which has since long stopped stroking, he wraps his fingers in your hair suddenly and pulls you slightly upwards. Tears trickle down your cheeks, and your sobs only rile the man in your mouth up even more. Simon gets closer to your face, almost rips your hair off of your skull and moves his still-wet fingers down to your clit, rubs painfully - almost past the point of pleasure.

“You, are never leaving.”

[perfinn]

the heat that drives the light

aemond targaryen x tyrell!oc - part v

wc: 4.4k

summary: aemond and cecily have a much needed conversation.

cw: NSFW, this is the one y'all! j pushes her aemond/mr. darcy agenda, fingering, almost a handjob, p in v, titty suckin

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

Aemond thinks the only being who truly knows him is Vhagar. Too big, too much to be confined in any castle or dragonpit. When Aemond is in the sky with her, or otherwise, he feels he is himself. 

“I suppose the thing that confuses me the most,” he says to her in soft High Valyrian, reclining against her neck on some beach somewhere in the Crownlands. “Is that she truly seems to want it. To know me, I mean. Carnally and… otherwise.”

Vhagar grumbles where she’s settled, head in the sand and her green eyes watching the waves lap at the shore. She’s a fine listener, but has never been much of a conversationalist. 

Aemond sighs. “It is not ladylike, is it?” He says. “To desire sex so readily. A man desires sex. A man or a whore, perhaps.”

Vhagar huffs at that, seeming to disagree. 

“Well, I’m sure you do,” Aemond grumbles, smiling in amusement. “You are an animal. It's different for you. But I suppose men are like animals too. We fuck like hounds. Ladies, highborn ladies as fair and fragile as Cecily, they shouldn't want that. I don't know how I can make her see that I only deny her out of respect for her position.”

Aemond looks out at the crashing waves. He must be somewhere near Duskendale, he thinks. Far enough to be freed of the suffocating walls of King’s Landing, at least. There is a fishing boat on the horizon. Aemond wonders, distantly, about the men on it. Are they married? What must it be, to be common and married? There is so much more opportunity to love one’s wife, he is certain, when it comes not with the pressures of political alliance. Not that he wishes he were common, oh no. He only finds himself envying that they lack the same burden of responsibility. 

“I don't know what to do, Vhagar,” Aemond admits. “Dragons sing to one another. I cannot sing to her.”

Vhagar shifts her head so one of her eyes can see Aemond. She seems, as ever, to be judging him. 

“It is not as simple as you make it out to be,” he says. He’d never speak like this to her with anyone listening. Treating her as though she responds verbally. But none are around for miles save for the fishing boat that is becoming only a dot on the horizon. “She believes I hate her. And in truth, I do not think I do.”

Vhagar blinks slowly, a low rumble sounding in her throat. Aemond can feel the vibrations of it against his back. He feels glad he can interpret her answer however he wishes. Use her to give voice to the thoughts he dare not raise himself. 

“I suppose I ought to just talk to her. Prove to myself she is not so humiliating. She seems… smart. Strong willed. I suppose I do like that in a woman.”

Vhagar lowers her head to the ground again, ancient gaze on the ocean yet again. Aemond wonders if she ever sees the sea and thinks of the Lady Laena. What it must be to live so long and lose so many. 

Aemond stands, sighing and nodding with determination. “You are wise, my girl,” he says, turning around and running a hand over her drooping scales. “I can hope only to match a portion of your wit someday.”

Aim high, Vhagar seems to say. But do not strain yourself reaching for what is impossible.

Aemond makes his way to Cecily’s chambers that evening. It is Ser Erryk stationed outside her door today. 

Cole had initially protested the idea of stationing a Kingsguard outside of Cecily’s door each night, but it had been Alicent to suggest it and then insist upon it. Cecily was a part of the royal family by marriage, and more vulnerable by far than any of them bar the children. Ser Harrold had agreed with the queen’s conclusion. Aemond had concurred, though quietly. 

He knocks on the door, entering when Cecily calls him in. She’s sitting in the settee by the hearth, a needlework hoop in her lap.

“Cecily,” he greets. Cecily startles at the sound of his voice, moving to stand up. “No, don’t. I mean… you may sit. I hoped I could join you.”

Cecily fails to hide the surprise in her face, but after a moment she nods and gestures to the armchair across from her. She adjusts in her seat, wearing her nightgown and a silken green robe. Her chestnut hair is loose, falling in soft ringlets down her back and around her face. She smiles nervously. 

“I wasn't expecting company,” she says, fiddling with the hoop in her lap. “Yours especially.”

Aemond hums, looking down at the hoop before spotting a well organised wooden box on the table full of thread, each spool labelled by embossed letters. “How do you do that when you cannot see it?”

Cecily blinks, smiling a bit and lifting the hoop back up into her hands. “Very slowly.”

Aemond huffs in amusement. “I can imagine. How do you know if it looks good?”

“I haven't a clue,” she admits, lifting the hoop and turning it to face him. “What say you?”

It seems to be half finished. What has been stitched is a dragon of shining green, and the charcoal sketch around it shows roses. It is not as refined as, say, Helaena’s work, but for a girl who cannot see, it is fine work.

“It looks fine,” he tells her truthfully. “A dragon and roses?”

Cecily smiles wryly, setting the hoop back in her lap. “Yes. My father’s suggestion. I suppose he means for me to gift it to you. He tells me your dragon is green.”

“She is,” he says.”Though some might call her brown.”

“All the same to me. She was green in the history books.”

Aemond is quiet for a moment. “You remember?” 

Cecily leans forward and feels for the table before carefully setting the hoop down. “I do. Or, at least, I have memories of things I saw. But I never know whether I can trust them. May I tell you a truth?”

Aemond nods. Then, he feels his cheeks heat. Idiot. “Yes.”

“I fear that I have actually forgotten it all, and my mind is filling in the gaps of how people look.”

Aemond stares at her in silence a moment. “Is it not all filling in the gaps?”

She shakes her head. “Not always. I told you, my parents are said to look the very same as they did when I went blind. But memory is a funny thing.”

Aemond watches her, not wishing to interrupt until she feels she’s finished speaking. 

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “You probably do not want to know.”

“No,” Aemond says quickly. “No, I do. Or I would not have asked.”

Cecily smiles nervously. She nods, fiddling with the stitching of her robe. “I do wish I could see you, sometimes. But I have a clear image of your face in my head now.”

“I have been unkind to you,” Aemond blurts out, kicking himself for speaking his mind so carelessly. 

She seems just as shocked by the admission, doe eyes blinking slowly. “Not unkind.”

“Yes, unkind,” he says firmly. “I have been cold and rude to you when you have not earned it. In truth, I believed you a burden.”

She’s quiet a moment, fidgeting now with the embroidery on her robe. “Because I am blind.”

“Yes,” Aemond breathes. “I thought our parents matched us because of our deformities. I thought… you were chosen for me because they believed that my one eye is all I am.”

“And in turn you believed my blindness is all I am,” Cecily says quietly, carefully. There is no coldness or resentment in her voice. How can she speak to him so calmly when he admits to her such cruelty? He would surely be seething if she admitted to the same. “I noticed as much. And it hurts more than I am prepared to say.” 

Aemond’s throat grows tight. He opens his mouth once, twice, before he can find the strength to tell her, “I’m sorry.”

“I do not blame you,” she admits. “People with sight base their thoughts and impressions on what they see first. I am given the privilege of being able to do nothing but judge people on their character alone.”

Won't she accept his apology? Can't she know how much it pained him to say so little?

“May I ask you something, lord husband?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, then adds, “Please call me Aemond.”

Cecily nods, taking a deep breath. “Do I repulse you?”

“Re-repulse me?” Aemond sputters. “How could you repulse me? You are beautiful.”

She purses her lips. She doesn't believe him. He can see it.  

“Cecily,” he murmurs, reaching across and gently placing a hand on her knee. She startles for just a moment. “I desire you. Most ardently.”

Cecily exhales, lips parted. Aemond cannot take his gaze from her. “Yet you will not touch me.” 

Aemond shifts out of his seat, moving so he kneels before her. He takes her hand. “There is little in this world that would make me feel worse than to disrespect you so readily.” He pauses, staring up at her. He lifts her hand to his mouth, lips brushing over her knuckles. “Is it what you truly want?”

He sees his wife shiver. “More than anything.”

For a moment, Aemond closes his eye, taking in the sheer relief of the truth. His desire is not unfounded, not bred in sin and shameless lust, it is requited. She does not simply desire the wanton pleasure of sex. She desires him. He sighs softly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before standing up slowly. 

“Stand,” he encourages. 

Cecily rises. Aemond tilts her chin up so he might see her face. He reaches for the velvet ribbon tying her robe and pulls on it slowly, parting the silk which he slowly slides from her shoulders. The nightgown beneath is a gauzy white fabric, hemmed with lace. 

Such opulence merely to sleep in. Such opulence only to be removed. There is a small string tied to a bow at her chest, securing the gown on her shoulders. He takes the end of it and gently pulls, freeing the knot. The chest of the nightgown falls open.

It does not expose her completely, but he can see the gentle curve of her breasts, the way they sit upon her chest. Cecily’s breath catches and she closes her eyes. 

Aemond moves slowly as he slips it from her shoulders, giving her each and every opportunity to pull away or stop him. 

She does not. 

He slips the nightgown from her shoulders and watches it slip down her body and pool around her feet. There's nothing beneath it– he has bared her to him. 

“No smallclothes?”

Cecily’s cheeks flush. “I do not like to sleep in them,” she murmurs. “I-I wasn't expecting-”

“It's alright,” Aemond assures, placing his hands on her shoulders and gently trailing down the length of her arms. Her skin is warm. Milky pale and scattered with moles. The firelight flickers against her form, dancing across her skin. 

“May I undress you?” She asks softly, reaching up and resting her hands on his chest. 

“You may,” Aemond grants, hands continuing to explore her body as her fingers search for the clasp of his doublet. He lowers his hands to her hips, examining the way they dip inward slightly and tracing over them. Cecily finds the clasps, slowly undoing them, one by one. 

Aemond is given ample time to explore her body. His cock twitches in his pants but he ignores it, trying instead to commit the shape of her to memory. He slides his hands up to the slight dip of her waist, gently rubbing his thumb over a round mole a few inches below her breast. 

She is not maddening. Not in the way he thought she’d be. He has not lost all control of himself in touching her, but he is maddened all the same. How can he ever let himself do anything else but explore her?

He lowers his hands when Cecily pushes his doublet off his shoulders, shrugging it off and wasting no time in pulling off his tunic, dropping it to the ground so his chest is bare before her. Her deft, delicate fingers find his stomach, a soft breath leaving her mouth as she traces the defined muscles there. 

Aemond raises his own hands back to her waist. One large palm settles on her warm skin while the other ventures upward, brushing gently over her nipple. Her breasts are small, round things that sit seemingly perfect on her chest. Cecily sighs softly when Aemond’s fingers brush over them, and he feels a smirk pull at his lips. 

“You’re so…” Cecily trails off, a look in her eyes that Aemond hopes is admiration. He had once believed there was naught but emptiness in her eyes, but there is so much. Just because they do not see, does not mean they do not sparkle like amber. “Strong.”

“And you are beautiful,” he murmurs, experimentally pinching at her budding nipples. 

She gasps, eyes fluttering closed. Her hands travel down, finding the lacing of his breeches. “Aemond, that feels…”

Good, he hopes. He watches Cecily bite her lip, hands pulling at the lacing with more urgency. Though he wishes not to think often of his night in the brothel with his brother, where so many of the whores chuckled at the young prince, he cannot say that the woman he did lie with– he dare not recall her name in such a moment with his wife – did not leave him without any knowledge of how to please a woman. 

He hopes she had been truthful in her teachings, and that he may please Cecily. 

“Good,” Cecily continues, tugging his breeches down. “Very good.”

Aemond grasps her hips, kicking his pants away. “I’m going to walk you back toward the bed,” he warns in a murmur. Without waiting for an answer, he steps forward and urges Cecily’s hips back. She acquiesces, trusting him to lead her safely to the bed. 

“Step,” he warns, just a moment too late. Cecily stumbles, and while Aemond’s face drops into terror for having scared her, his wife only begins to giggle.

She wraps her arms around him for stability, sweet laughter filling her chambers. 

“Are you okay?” Aemond asks, her laughter infectious enough that he feels a smile pull at his lips.

“Yes,” Cecily giggles breathlessly, leaning her forehead against Aemond’s bicep. “Yes, I’m golden. I can keep walking.” 

Aemond huffs a soft chuckle, gently leading her the rest of the way to the bed until the backs of her thighs hit the mattress. Cecily pulls away to climb back onto it, shimmying back to lay half upright against the pillows while Aemond climbs over her. She wears a comfortable smile, and Aemond’s heartbeat quickens. She is so beautiful when she smiles. How could he ever bear to make her frown?

Her hands find his body again, trailing down his torso as he settles himself between her legs. Her fingers brush through the small amount of silvery hair at the base of his cock. His breath hitches, and he almost reaches to stop her again. But he resists, letting her trail her fingers to his hardening cock.

Cecily’s mouth opens and fascination fills her eyes. “May I?” she asks shyly.

Aemond smirks. “Wanton woman,” he mumbles, only making her smile. “You may. If I may do the same.”

“Of course.”

While his wife wraps her soft fingers around his length – Seven hells, it’s better than he imagined – he smooths his hands over her inner thighs, spreading them enough so that he might see that which he desires most. 

Beneath a thick bushel of dark hair sits her cunt, pretty and pink and all but untouched. It fills him with swelling pride to know no one has touched it but himself. He exhales slowly, gently dragging his thumb through her slick folds, gathering enough that he may rub the pad of the digit over her pearl. Cecily shivers, inhaling a sharp gasp. Her hand squeezes Aemond’s cock and a similar noise escapes him. 

He cannot focus on her while she strokes his cock as she does. He takes a gentle hold of her wrist, pulling her hand away from him. “Allow me to take care of you,” he murmured. 

“I want to make you feel good too,” Cecily insists softly. 

“It is I who has denied you too long. Allow me to make it up to you.” He drags his gaze away from her core to see conflict on her face. “Please.”

She worries her bottom lip a moment before nodding. “Okay. But next time I will return the favour.”

Aemond chuckles. “As you wish,” he says, looking back down to her cunt as he rubs slow circles onto her pearl. Cecily shivers again, dropping her hands and winding them into the sheets beneath her. Aemond lifts his gaze to her face a moment as he toys with her, watching the way it twists in confused pleasure. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” He asks. 

She shakes her head, cheeks flushing pink. “No,” she murmurs. “I-I would not know how.”

“Mm,” he hums, moving to pet his middle finger over her entrance. “That is okay. Then we must find what makes you tick together.”

Cecily tilts her hips up, mewling softly at the feeling as he presses a slender finger into her waiting heat. He goes slow, gaze flicking between her face and her cunt. He cannot decide which sight is more delectable– the way her face twists and slackens as her body accepts the stretching pleasure, or the way she so eagerly accepts him into her core. His wife squirms against the intrusion and he leans down to press gentle kisses to the unblemished skin of her breasts. 

He feels Cecily shiver as he drags his tongue over her pert nipple. He pumps his finger slowly into her cunt, working his way up to fitting each knuckle into her. She’s desperately tight, all but untouched. The idea of having it wrapped around his cock is intoxicating– it's all he can do not to plunge his cock into her right now and spare them both the waiting.

He gently sucks a nipple into his mouth, groaning softly as he works his finger in to the base. Cecily is squirming and moaning at the feeling, her hands finding purchase in Aemond’s hair. Aemond begins to pump his finger into her, slowly working in another. 

“Seven hells,” she whispers, voice strangled and mewling as Aemond grazes his teeth over the delicate skin of her breasts. 

He pulls his mouth away, lifting his head to hover over her face. The desire to kiss her wrestles with the wish to see her face as he unravels her. When her eyes flutter open and her lip is pulled between her teeth, the need to watch her wins out. 

He eases the second finger into her, cunt acquiescing now to the stretch. Still, she’s tight. He wonders if it would hurt her too much to take her now.

No, he thinks. He won’t hurt her, not tonight, not again. Not ever.

When he can thrust two fingers into her with no resistance, he presses his thumb to her pearl and begins to ease a third in. Cecily winces and Aemond shushes her as sweetly as he can manage, pressing gentle kisses to her collarbone. 

“Just one more,” he murmurs, circling the sensitive bud to make it easier for her. She squirms still beneath him, but sweet whimpering moans spill from between her lips. “Is this what you wanted, sweetling? Mmm?”

Cecily nods rapidly, grasping for Aemond’s shoulder and gripping it tight. He’s suddenly determined to bring her to her end before he ever puts his cock in her, pressing his thumb harder against her pearl as he sucks a nipple into his mouth again, hunched over her smaller form as his aching cock drips onto the sheets beneath him. He pays it no mind, the noises of pleasure he’s pulling from his wife worth so much more than a simple touch on his stiff manhood would be. Cecily’s voice breaks off as his third finger squeezes into her, giving more resistance this time. He gazes up at her face, tongue flicking at her nipple as he feels her spasm around his fingers. 

“A-Aemond!” She cries, a hint of panic creeping into her voice at what must surely be a foreign sensation for her. So pious. Innocent. It makes Aemond’s cock twitch.

Aemond hushes her. “It’s alright,” he murmurs. “Let go.”

He sees the hesitance on her face for a moment, before she seems to decide to trust in him  – Gods, why does that trust stir something in his chest so distinct from lust? – and relaxes, her back arching as a long, sweet mewl escapes her and she comes on his fingers. He feels her walls spasm around his fingers, greedily sucking the third finger in as Cecily writhes on the bed, helpless to her body’s baser whims. Aemond guides her through it, pressing kisses to the skin of her breasts.

“Good girl,” he murmurs when she stills, panting softly. He slowly pulls his fingers out of her, shifting onto his knees between her legs. He ruts his aching cock along her sensitive cunt, making her whine. He gently shushes her, placing his hand– still slick with her essences – onto her hip and rubbing slow circles into her soft skin. 

He takes his cock into his hand, stroking it a few times and exhaling shakily at the relief he hadn’t realised he needed. Lining himself up with her, he leans forward to watch her face as he presses the bulbous head of his cock into her. Less thick, perhaps, than three of his long fingers, but nothing to scoff at. Aemond knows he’s above average size, and knows Cecily has taken him before. But then he was careless, passionless. And she did not take him to his base. Now he takes it slow, wants to see her ache for him as he eases tortuously slow into her. Cecily’s face scrunches up, hands darting to his shoulders for purchase. Her mouth drops open as he splits her on his length, and Aemond lowers his gaze to watch her take him. Gods, she’s divine. He’s been inside plenty of women in his day, but none quite so perfect as Cecily. It’s like her warm, wet, tight walls were made to take him.

He meets resistance a few inches in, grunting softly. He moves his fingers back to her pearl, rubbing at it slowly as he thrusts shallowly into her. This way, he eases his cock the rest of the way into her, a low, shaking breath escaping him as he seats fully himself inside her. Cecily is trembling, squirming.

“Do you need a moment?”

“S-so much,” Cecily whispers. Aemond realises then that she must still be sensitive from her prior release. He continues to rub at her hip and at her pearl, gaze intense as she hiccups for breath beneath her. A dark part of Aemond wants to fuck her properly right now, make her take it and watch her unravel with sweet overstimulation. But he has no wish to hurt her. He stills his movements on her pearl, instead simply letting her adjust at her own pace. 

Cecily’s breathing quickens, then slows. There’s a few dreadfully slow moments before she speaks. “I can keep going,” she whispers.

A smile tugs at Aemond’s mouth. He anchors his hand on the mattress by her head, leaning over her as he pulls out almost tot the tip before rocking back into her. The drag of her slick walls against his cock has a trembling groan leaving him, matched by Cecily’s conflicted moan. Aemond supposes she’s still adjusting to the feeling of being fucked, deciding whether she likes it. Aemond, determined to convince her, drags his hand through her slick folds and plays once more with her sensitive pearl. 

He lowers his gaze to see the way her swollen cunt takes his length, watches himself carve a space in her almost-untouched sex. His. No one else will ever touch her, no one else ever has. The thought of it, of marking her as only his twists something strange and arousing inside him. He reaches suddenly for her hand, intertwining their fingers as he hunches over her. This way, he can see the ring on her finger. The ring he’d given her the day of their wedding. A golden rose inlaid with garnets and onyx, a screaming symbol that she’s his.

Only weeks ago, Aemond could not have imagined himself so aroused by the thought of Cecily being his. But now, he suspects it will be the thing that brings him to his end. Cecily is moaning in his ear now, any discomfort seeming to have given way to pleasure as she rolls her hips in time with Aemond’s languid thrusting. She has always been beautiful, he could not deny that even from the moment he first saw her, but now, in the candlelight with her hair loose and her eyes closed as her face twists in pleasure, Aemond doubts there’s a more beautiful woman in all the known world and beyond.

“Give me another one,” he demands, pinching gently at her pearl and making her gasp. He quickly soothes it, stroking his calloused fingers over the sensitive bud. “Please, Cecily.”

Cecily lets out a strangled sort of moan and Aemond feels it when she reaches a second climax, her cunt spasming around him, sucking him in, practically trying to milk him. Who is he to deny her? Aemond comes with a guttural sort of sound and a desperate forward thrust of his hips, spilling his seed as deep as he can get it. 

There’s a moment where the both of them are tangled together in their joint release, a blissful sort of thing that Aemond can only liken to being atop Vhagar in the air. Aemond tucks his face into Cecily’s neck, inhaling the scent. She does smell like roses. 

Their shared reverie is broken only by their quiet panting. Aemond lifts his head after a moment, pushing some hair back from her face. 

“Was I okay?” She asks, insecurity creeping into her tired tone. 

Aemond leans down and surprising himself by pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her petal soft lips. “You were perfect.”

part vi

[aflame4goinghome]

Bad Reputation

s.f.k. x reader

chapter two

Word Count: 7.4k

Chapter Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking (marijuana), flirting, a little bit of arguing, lots of sexual tension, slow burnnnn so no smut... yet ;)

A/N: Hi guys! Welcome to chapter two! I'm excited to continue this little story for you all. I hope you don't hate me too much for the slow burn ;) Things will really start to heat up once tour starts up, so stay tuned hehe. See ya soon

Listen to the playlist here :)

chapter one

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

You step off the stage after another successful gig and quickly retreat to the dressing room for a moment to freshen up before heading out for a few drinks. Unfortunately for you, tonight’s celebrations, along with every celebration from now on, will be quite different due to the required presence of a certain bassist. Jodie thought it would be a good idea for Sam to attend all your gigs, to make your relationship more believable as you started “launching” it to the public. 

You were reluctant at first, but at the end of the day, it didn’t feel like that big of a deal. You didn’t have to be glued to his side the entire night or anything, or at least you hoped not. Nonetheless, you knew he was waiting out there for you, and you knew that he had come alone, which made it even worse. At least if Danny or someone had come along, you’d have some sort of buffer, but no– it was just the two of you. Lucy wasn’t even on shift tonight either, having taken the weekend off to go home and visit her family. 

It’s only been just over a week since you agreed to this deal with Sam, and it was already exhausting you. You honestly haven’t even spoken to him since that day, since both of you have been swamped with rehearsals, but Jodie reached out and let you know that he’d be there. You were hoping that he had forgotten, but when you saw him in his usual corner booth during your set, you realized you had gotten your hopes up too high. 

“Whatever! I’m strong, and I’m confident, and I don’t care,” you say to yourself in the mirror as you touch up your makeup briefly. The pep talk wasn’t really working though. “What’s there to be afraid of, anyway? He’s just a guy!”

“I’m a man, for the record,” you hear a smug voice say from behind you. God-fucking-damnit. “A damn good-looking one, at that.”

“Samuel, what are you doing back here? I was coming out any second now, you couldn’t wait?” you say, scoffing to yourself as you put your makeup back in your bag and turn to him. 

You’re actually surprised to see that he dressed rather nicely tonight. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, paired with a red button-up with the sleeves rolled up. He had the top two buttons undone, but that was the most of it– not nearly as low-cut as Jake would do. 

“What, your boyfriend isn’t allowed to come see you after a show?” he asks sarcastically, leaning against the doorframe. 

“You’re not my boyfriend, Sam– not actually. Nobody’s watching us back here,” you scowl, slinging your tote over your shoulder and walking to the door. You walk right past him and b-line it toward the bar. 

“Seeing us come out together will help us look more like a couple, obviously,” he says smugly. “Come on, Y/N, I thought you had some wits about you.” You stop in your tracks and turn over your shoulder to glare at him. You take a deep breath before feeling calm enough to reply.

“Fine, whatever. Let’s just go,” you mutter, turning to walk toward the bar again. That was the closest that you could ever get to telling him he was right. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you suppose that it wouldn’t be bad for your image if you walked out together. 

“Seb, double rum and coke, please,” you say, trying to brush off your frustration by faking a smile. Sebastian nods and then his eyes drift behind you for a moment. You nearly forgot, honestly. “Oh, and uh– whatever he wants, I guess,” you add, nodding to the tall “man” behind you. 

“PBR,” Sam says behind you, and Seb turns to grab a can from the fridge and open it for him. He places both of your drinks on the counter with a sympathetic smile and then adds it to your tab. 

Without saying anything else, you just turn to retreat to the corner booth, sliding in first. As you situate yourself, you’re startled by Sam sliding in to sit next to you on the same side of the booth.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask accusingly. Sam rolls his eyes, taking a swig of his beer before turning his body toward you, his long legs stretched out underneath the table. 

“Sweetheart, no one is gonna believe we’re together if we sit as far away from each other as possible,” he answers bluntly. “You have to at least look like you like me and enjoy my presence.”

“It’s harder than you think,” you mumble under your breath, looking down at the drink in your hand atop the table. “But fine.”

“Second time I’m right tonight, y’know. Do I get a prize?” he says with a smirk. You find yourself stifling a laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s funny.

“Is the company of a talented pianist not enough?” you say, your lips turning upward slightly into a smile, subtle but still there. A chuckle leaves his mouth, which surprises you. You never expected him to laugh at your jokes before. 

“I suppose it is, you’re one lucky lady, Y/N,” he says smugly. Damnit. 

“Careful, Samuel. For a moment there, I almost thought you were complimenting me,” you warn with a smirk, taking a sip of your drink. Another laugh erupts from the man sitting next to you.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re just dying for that, aren’t you?” he says, his tone bordering on teasing. 

“For you to compliment me? Please. I don’t need you for that when I can easily find it elsewhere,” you bite back. 

“Well, I don’t see any takers,” he remarks, looking around the room sarcastically. “Seems like you’re stuck with just me. Good luck getting any attention now, with me around.” You don’t even grace him with a reply after that one, just taking a long sip of your drink before putting it down on the table and turning your attention to the next act on stage. 

He lets the silence stay, looking to the stage as well as his arm extends to sit behind you atop the back of the booth. As his arm moves behind you, you’re met with a quick waft of his cologne, smelling strongly of spearmint and pine. You’d be kidding yourself if you didn’t admit that the scent almost sent your eyes rolling in the back of your head, intoxicating you. But you quickly shake it off. 

“So… you guys will be going back on tour soon, yeah?” you ask, trying to fill the silence and save yourself from feeling awkward. He turns toward you, keeping his arm behind you as his fingers graze your bare shoulder. 

“Yeah! We’re heading back out in a few weeks, we’re still trying to get more studio time in so that we can finally start the masters on our next project,” he answers proudly. You knew he was passionate about the music, it was something you respected about him.

“That’s great. From what I heard in the studio the other day, you guys have something really amazing going on there. I really liked the blues roots in some of them, I caught it almost immediately,” you say with a soft smile. Maybe talking to him wasn’t as bad as you might’ve thought. 

“See, thank you! Josh hates those bits– says they’re sonically boring. I completely disagree, obviously,” he says, a smile growing across his face. Despite hating to admit it, the two of you had aligning interests when it came to music, that much was clear. 

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about! My favorite part was your transition from E major to C sharp minor, in that second song you guys played. It was so satisfying, that’s one of the best key changes in my opinion,” you say, starting to rant but catching yourself. You start to apologize for rambling but the smile on his face tells you that you don’t need to. 

“I’m glad you caught that, no one else ever pays attention to stuff like that. I swear sometimes it feels like I’m all alone there, their minds just don’t work the same as mine,” he says, his smile widening as his thumb rubs softly on your shoulder. 

“Well, I understand. It’s not exactly the same, but Lucy never gets it when I ramble on about music theory. As a writer, music is like a whole other language to her. I’ve never had anyone to really talk to about music before,” you admit with a shrug, looking over at him.

“Maybe we’ve found that in each other, then,” he says quietly, running his tongue along his bottom lip as your eyes watch carefully. You nod slowly, not sure what else to say. You’re not sure when you let yourself get so distracted, but you couldn’t help it. The proximity made your mind so foggy that you couldn’t think about much else. 

All of a sudden, your attention is pulled away from your phone buzzing on the table. You pick it up to read the text you just received, which you see is from Jodie. 

Jodie: Fans have already spotted you both out at the club! Some pics are already circling Twitter, look! 

She attached screenshots of some tweets that have already been posted, questioning who you are and what you’re doing with Sam. The pictures show the two of you sitting close together, Sam’s arm wrapped around you as the two of you are smiling and laughing.

OMG, who is that with Sam???

He has his arm around her, look!

God, I’m so jealous.

They’re sitting awfully close to be just friends!

You have to admit that the two of you did look good together. You managed to make it seem casual and natural, which was good. To have the fans already buzzing about it was a good sign. After you finish reading the tweets, you hand your phone to Sam so that he can take a look.

“I swear, our fans know no boundaries. Who just takes a picture of someone who’s out minding their own business? Pisses me off,” he scoffs, handing you your phone back as he shakes his head, looking around to see if he can catch anyone looking. 

“I know. But at least we have their attention, right? The seeds have certainly been planted. Now we just need to figure out some sort of hard launch,” you answer optimistically, hoping that he’s not too angry. He doesn’t seem to be, since his smile still hasn’t completely faded just yet. 

“We look kinda good together there, don’t you think?” you joke, pulling up the picture again. You hear him laugh next to you, shaking his head as he looks down at your phone over your shoulder. 

“Yeah, I guess we do,” he admits softly. You almost didn’t realize how close he had gotten, to the point where you could feel his warm breath against your ear. You try not to think about the it too much, with the fear of blush creeping over your cheeks. 

“Wanna really give them something to post about?” he whispers with a smirk, his voice against the shell of your ear sending shivers down your spine. Leave it to Sam to ruin the moment with relentless flirting once again. You turn your head to face him and realize that he’s much closer than you originally thought. Your nose brushes against his as your eyes lock. You clear your throat, trying to seem unaffected.

“As much as I’m sure you’d love that, I don’t think we need to rush all of that so soon,” you say softly, a twinge of sarcasm dripping from your voice. You watch as his smirk widens. 

“Fine, you can be boring,” he says smugly, leaning back against the seat. “But I at least want to give them something interesting to talk about. Who cares if we’re just sitting and talking? Everyone does that, we could at least do something a little creative.” It truly was a performance after all. You just hum as a reply, not wanting to perpetuate the argument any further. 

“Here,” he speaks again as his other hand moves to grasp your thigh, pulling your legs to rest slightly on his lap. His hand still lingers on your thigh, grasping firmly on your thigh right below the hem of your leather skirt. 

“What’re you doing?” you say, in almost a whisper. His boldness has taken you aback, and you hesitate to fight back in that moment. The feeling of his large, callused hand on your skin clouded your brain so much that you almost thought you might like it. 

“Giving them a show,” he smirks, turning to make sure people are looking before turning back to look at you. You couldn’t hide the flush of your cheeks now even if you wanted to. It didn’t take long for him to notice. “Am I getting you all hot and bothered, sweetheart? Is that it?” he asks with a smug grin, his hand moving an inch up your thigh as the other ghosts over your bare shoulder again. 

“Pshh– what? No. No. That’s ridiculous,” you answer, obviously flustered. 

“Just admit that you like it,” he says, leaning down to close more space between you. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Yeah, right. He’d never let you live it down if you even gave an inkling that you were enjoying this. You’d never give him that satisfaction. You clear your throat, inching away from him. 

“Wanna get another round?” you ask, trying to change the subject, but he doesn’t budge. 

“Answer my question,” he says assertively, his fingers playing with the hem of your skirt teasingly. You breathe out a deep breath, but keep your eyes on his. He’s searching them, waiting for any hint of you giving in, but finds nothing. 

“What would you do if my answer was yes? What then?” you ask, your voice breathy and quiet. His lips quirk slightly as he looks down at you. 

“You don’t have to play these games to get my attention, y’know. You already have it,” he whispers, his nose brushing past yours. That’s it, you can’t do this anymore. 

“Okay, I need a smoke. Let me out?” you ask, still backing away slowly with the hopes that he’d stand up and let you out of the booth. An annoyed sigh leaves his mouth as he complies, getting up from his seat. 

“I’m coming with you,” he says, clearly not asking. You just roll your eyes and nod, walking out to the front of the club. Leaning against the front of the building, you reach into your tote and pull out your lighter and the blunt that you had rolled earlier that day. Given the stress from the evening, you thanked your earlier self for thinking of it. 

Placing it between your lips, you quickly light it, taking a drag before lowering it to your side. You take a moment to look over at Sam, who’s looking down at you as he leans his side against the wall. Feeling like you were being slightly greedy, you decide to offer him a hit, which he gladly accepts. 

“Didn’t take you for the stoner type,” he says casually, taking another hit before passing it back to you. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sam,” you answer, raising an eyebrow at him as you take a long drag. You watch as his eyes flicker to your lips for a moment there. You knew what he was thinking. If you were crossed enough, you thought you honestly might let him. But not just yet.

“I’m starting to see that… I guess if I want to know anything about you, I’ll have to work for it, yeah?” he says with a shrug. That was exactly what you were going to say next– that he had to work for it. You hated that he could read you like that. Maybe you were more predictable than you thought. 

“I suppose so. You should stop while you’re ahead though, I won’t give in that easily,” you tease, taking another hit as you look up at him, trying to read his expression. The weed is already mixing perfectly with the liquor in your system. Your head felt lighter already. 

“I’m not afraid of you, sweetheart. And I don’t go down without a fight,” he says with a smirk, leaning toward you slightly. He towered over you, which felt slightly intimidating. You couldn’t really read him well, either, which made it even more difficult. 

“What do you wanna know?” you ask, taking a hit and blowing it out of the side of your mouth. 

“Where are you from?” he asks, taking the blunt in his fingers as you pass it. 

“Here,” you answer bluntly, watching his lips purse as he takes a drag. It was way hotter than you expected it to be. “Well, not here exactly. I grew up in a town like, thirty minutes away. But I’ve been coming to Nashville all my life.”

“I see,” he says, a small smile on his face. You didn’t ask him where he was from– you already knew the answer, and he knew that. “Did you always know that you wanted to play music?”

“Pretty much, yeah. I started playing piano at 6, joined the jazz band in middle school, and it all just kind of grew from there. My high school band director is the one who set me up with my first ever paid gig, when I was 17. After that, I knew this was what I needed to do.” You can tell that he’s trying to hide his smile, but it’s not working. He was impressed by you, and for some reason, you liked that. 

“I did jazz band too, amongst other things. It was honestly a great start on music theory, learning about chord progressions and improvisation and stuff like that,” he says with a shrug, passing your blunt back to you. 

“Yeah, I agree. You learn a lot of important stuff there,” you reply, taking a hit. It was nice to have someone to talk music with, even if it was Sam. He knew what he was talking about, and it felt like he understood you. That’s not an easy feat. 

“Have you ever been in love?’ he asks, looking down at you. You expected to find a smirk on his face, but there wasn’t one there. 

“That’s a loaded question,” you joke, taking another hit as you try to think of what the hell to even say to that. “I don’t think I have, to be honest. There were times when I thought I was, but looking back…” you trail off. “Have you?”

“No,” he shakes his head, taking the blunt from your fingers and taking a hit. “Nothing ever stuck. Not sure why.” Surely you had a couple of good guesses, but you wouldn’t dare to say any now. The topic was somewhat vulnerable, which you didn’t expect from him. Why did he want to know this about you? You’re gonna take a mental note to ask about it another day when you’re both much more sober.  

Some time passes, as the two of you share the blunt in silence. Near the end of it, you pass him the blunt and let him finish it off, watching him flick the butt onto the sidewalk and stomp it out. He doesn’t make a move to go inside, however, but instead moves closer to you. As you look up at him, your mind starts to spin as his head reaches for your face, cupping your cheek. His thumb smoothes over your cheekbone, the rough callus on it sending shockwaves throughout your body. You’re not sure why you don’t pull away, even when his face starts getting closer and closer to yours.

“Don’t run away this time,” he whispers, his nose brushing against yours as your eyes travel to his lips. They looked soft and full, and you started to wonder if they would feel warm against yours. You knew you probably wouldn’t have to wonder much longer. For some reason, you didn’t want to run away. No, you wanted to stay. Something inside you wanted to know if you’d feel something– anything. 

Your eyes lock with his as his other hand finds its place on your waist, tugging you toward him slightly. You search his eyes, seeing if you could read his mind. What was going through it? You knew he’d been persistent with you before, but why did this feel different somehow? You let your nose brush against his again, as you feel his breath hot against your lips.

“Sam!” you hear someone exclaim from behind you, causing you to jump from the brash noise. 

“We’ll finish this later,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. You suck in a deep breath then quickly pull away, leaving at least a foot between you two as a girl approaches you– seemingly a fan. Sam puts on a brave face, smiling softly as he talks to her. He was gracious and kind, despite being visibly frustrated. 

“Do you… want me to take your picture?” you ask softly, to which she nods feverishly. After snapping a few photos on her phone, you hand it back to her with a shy smile. 

“So, who’s this?” she asks, turning to Sam. God, she was nosy. All the fans were, clearly. What did she care? Why would she need to know who Sam was spending his time with? Your angry internal rant comes to a full stop as Sam wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into him.

“Actually, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” he says proudly, his grip soft but strong on my side. You offer her a soft smile as her face lights up, and you know this will be plastered all over the internet by tomorrow. You suppose that was the whole point, though. This was bound to happen eventually, you just didn’t expect it to be on your first night out. You thought you’d have more time to prepare. 

Luckily for you both, this girl was way too drunk to bother asking too many other questions. Soon enough, she says her goodbyes and swiftly leaves. You breathe out a sigh of relief, laying your back against the wall once more. 

“Fuck, that was exhausting. How do you do that all the time?’ I ask jokingly, rubbing my temples. He lets out a soft laugh, which makes your lips turn upward into a smile almost immediately. 

“It’s not always that bad. Usually, they refrain from personal questions like that… sorry. I know I kinda put you on the spot there,” he offers genuinely, which you accept. 

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know it would happen. I just wish I was more prepared– I mean, we don’t even have our backstory together or anything! We haven’t discussed any of the details at all,” you say, slightly exasperated. Another laugh leaves his lips. You think to yourself that you quite liked being the person who makes him laugh.

“Right, well I guess we’ll just have to figure that out then. We’ll need to be prepared, now that everyone is going to know,” he says. “How about we meet up for coffee on Monday and set all the details straight? That sound good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod with a small smile. “I can do that.”

“Great, I’ll text you the details tomorrow then,” he says, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He sees the time and his eyes shoot open, not realizing how late it's gotten. “Shit, it got late on us. Can I call you a cab?” he asks, looking up from his phone to look at you.

“Oh, no that’s not necessary. I only live around the corner, I’ll walk,” you insist, though you’re surprised he cares that much. It was a side of him that you had yet to see.

“Then I’ll walk you home,” he says, not even letting you answer before starting to walk off. How he knew what direction it was in, you weren’t sure. You suppose he’s seen you leave that way before and leave it at that. 

Soon enough, you’re both stopped in front of your apartment building. It seems like you’re both unsure of how to say goodbye, considering the nature of your “relationship” was such a gray area. You knew he was about to kiss you earlier, and you knew that you were going to let him, but you’ve sobered up slightly now. It wasn’t a good idea.

“Goodnight, Sam,” you say softly, just choosing to back away without a proper goodbye in favor of avoiding any more awkwardness between the two of you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he says, offering you a soft smile as he shoots you a wink. You watch as he turns to leave and walks back toward the bar to catch his Uber home. As he turns the corner, you quickly turn around and retreat inside, hurrying to your apartment before finally entering your bedroom. You lean your back against the door and sink to the floor, your mind slightly boggled by the entire evening. 

You have to admit that you ended up enjoying his company. The teasing was still excessive and he was arrogant, but there were times when this different guy shone through the cracks. You wanted to know that guy.

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

As you’re sitting on your balcony on Sunday afternoon, enjoying the sunny weather with an iced coffee and a book in hand, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You slide a bookmark onto the page and shut the book, setting it down on your table next to your coffee before reaching into your back pocket to pull out your phone. 

Sam: We still on for tomorrow?

You hum to yourself, checking your calendar quickly to make sure you don’t have anything else going on. You thought that he might have forgotten about your plans to meet up tomorrow, since it was already well into the afternoon and you hadn’t heard from him. But you suppose he isn’t one to rise early, as Danny told you last week. You typically weren’t either, but today was an exception. 

You: Yeah, whenever works best for you. We could meet at the coffee shop across the street from Seb’s?

That place was your usual haunt, the baristas all knew your name by now. It was helpful for hangovers, so you always came in the morning after a night out and it soon became a habit. You knew Sam didn’t live in Midtown, but maybe he wouldn’t mind coming down. 

Sam: Sounds good, meet at 2 pm? I’ve got a short meeting with the guys in the morning.

You: Yeah, that’s good. See ya then.

He doesn’t respond from there, so you just leave it at that. You never took him for much of a texter, so you didn’t read too much into it. You slide your phone back into your pocket and open your book back up, picking up where you left off. 

Just as you were getting back in the groove of the story, you heard your apartment door close behind you. You turn around to see Lucy coming in from her weekend with her parents. She spots you outside and walks over, sliding the glass door open. 

“Hi, love,” she says, coming outside and sitting on the chair opposite you. 

“Hey, Luce. How was your weekend?” you ask, still keeping your eyes on your book. 

“It was good! Tommy had his graduation ceremony this weekend, so there was a big party,” she answers with a smile. Tommy is her younger brother, who’s just graduated high school. You never knew him well, since their age gap was so big, but he was a sweet kid. 

“That sounds nice!” you say, offering her a soft smile. 

“How was yours? Anything interesting happen?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at you. She knows something.

“What did you see?” you ask bluntly, getting right to the point. A chuckle leaves her lips as she smiles at you.

“Oh, nothing. Just saw a few pictures of you and a certain rockstar cuddled up at Seb’s last night, plastered all over their update accounts on Instagram,” she says with a smug smile.

“Why on Earth do you follow their update accounts, you weirdo!” you say, barely getting the sentence out before you both erupt into laughter. 

“When you told me you’d be pretending to date him, I went and followed some of them! I knew you were bound to make it on there eventually and I wanted to see my best friend become famous!” she exclaims, pulling her phone out to show you the posts. There were photos of you both in your booth and standing outside the club. You did look rather close. 

“I am not becoming famous. It’s just a couple of photos,” you say curtly. “And he might have told a fan I was his girlfriend,” you mumble at the end, hoping she didn’t hear.

“He what?” she yells, and your hand shoots to cover her mouth with a giggle.

“Shhh, shut up, the neighbors already think we’re crazy,” you laugh, taking your hand away after a moment. “It’s not a big deal. We knew he’d have to make it official eventually. We’re meeting up tomorrow to get our story together and stuff, so that we know what to tell the fans in case we get asked anything on the spot.”

“Wow, you guys are moving fast,” she teases. She had no idea. You were tempted to tell her about the kiss you almost shared the night before, but inevitably you decide not to. Talking about it will just complicate things even more.

“Whatever. He’s actually not that bad at times– but don’t tell him I said that,” you say with a small smile across your lips. “We just have more in common than I expected.”

“I’ve been telling you that for months, Y/N,” she says sarcastically, getting up from her chair. “I’m gonna go rot in bed for a while, talk to you later.”

“Okay, have fun,” you say, your smile widening as you wave her off and then open your book back up again. 

You really couldn’t stay concentrated on reading today, it seems. You try your best to refocus, and you eventually do, reading until the sun starts to go down. Soon enough, you retreat to bed, getting an early rest before your coffee “date” with Sam tomorrow. That should be… interesting, to say the least. 

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

As you try and get ready to go the next afternoon, you’re completely stuck on what to wear. What does someone wear to a coffee date with their fake boyfriend to discuss the terms of their fake relationship? God, even phrasing that question made your head spin. You tried asking Lucy for advice but she was no help, just resorting to light teasing and not giving any actual suggestions.

“Why do you care what you wear? It’s not like he’s your actual boyfriend,” she said with a smug smile. You didn’t grace her with a reply, opting just to shut the door in her face and turn back to your closet. 

You sigh to yourself before sifting through your clothes, pulling out a white linen button-up shirt. You decide to just go with a black tank top, with the white shirt on top, left unbuttoned. The weather was quite warm with the summer heat really starting to settle in. You throw on a pair of jean shorts, slip on your low-top white vans, and then throw your things into your tote bag before heading out the door. It was only a few minutes before 2 at this point, but you didn’t want to arrive too early. You assumed he’d be late himself, anyway. 

As you turn the corner and cross the street, you see him sitting at a small table out front. Damn, guess you were wrong. Again.

“Sam,” you greet quietly as he stands up from the table. 

“Nice of you to finally show up, Y/N. Was starting to think you stood me up,” he says with a smirk, opening the door for you. 

“Shut up, I’m two minutes late,” you answer with a scoff, getting in line to order a drink. He stands next to you, leaning against the counter. You decide to stand in silence until after you place your order since your bickering wasn’t really the best idea in public. You order a chai tea latte and Sam just gets an americano, and the two of you find a table in the corner while you wait. 

“So, let’s get started then, shall we?” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “Where’d we meet?” Your lips quirked upward into a smile.

“Okay, getting right to the point, I see,” I joke, folding my hands and placing them on the table. “Well, that one’s easy. We met at the club. We’ll just say that you came to some of my gigs and just liked me sooo much that you had to say hi,” I say, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all. You watch as a chuckle leaves his mouth, and there goes that feeling again. 

“Alright, sure,” he laughs as a barista comes to put our drinks on the table. “Thanks,” he says to them, taking a sip of his drink before turning back to you. “And we can say we started seeing each other… when? Maybe March?”

“Yeah, that sounds fine,” you shrug, taking a sip of your chai. “That won’t explain the girls you’ve had… relations with between then and now, though,” you add, looking up at him. He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. 

“If you’re jealous, just say that,” he smirks. “We can just say that we only became exclusive recently.” You quirk an eyebrow at him, but quickly decide it’s not worth the argument, opting to just scoff and change the subject. 

“What do we say when they ask why I’m not going on the tour with you guys?” you ask, adjusting nervously in your seat as a look washes over his face that you can’t quite interpret. 

“Are you not?” Sam asks, the tone in his voice sounding slightly accusatory. You’re not even quite sure how to reply, this wasn’t something you ever discussed.

“Wait, do you want me to?” you ask, straightening your posture. “I still have to work, you know. This is how I make a living, I can’t just ditch Seb for weeks on end.” He ponders your words for a moment, then leans forward a bit. 

“You don’t need all that. Jodie said she’d help set you up in your career, and she meant that,” he says sincerely. “She can pay you for the entire time we’re gone, if that’s the problem. I’m sure we can find something for you to do on the tour. And then when we come back, we can get you in the studio to record your album.”

It all almost felt too good to be true. Too easy. What was in it for them, truly? Sure, having a likable and successful girlfriend would be good for Sam’s image, but is that really all it is? Why does it feel like you’re getting way more out of this than they are? 

“I don’t know, Sam. I really don’t feel like I’ll belong there. What could I possibly do on tour besides act as your arm candy?” you say bitterly. 

“Y/N, you’re not just my arm candy. It isn’t like that,” he says dejectedly. His eyes scan your face but you don’t seem convinced. 

“You may be strikingly beautiful, but you’re much more than that to me, trust me,” he teases, coaxing a smile out of you. When he sees that his plan is working, he continues. “Maybe you could help me compose some piano fills for the shows or something.”

“You’d really let me do that?” you ask, your eyes lighting up slightly. A soft smile grows across his lips. 

“Sure. You won’t catch me admitting this ever again, so don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart… but you’re a talented musician. I’m sure we could cook something up together,” he says. 

You look over at him for a moment, trying to figure out if this is the same Sam that you used to argue with all those weeks ago. Obviously, it is, and he’s still keeping you on your toes, but something’s changed. You’re starting to think that this partnership may work out after all. 

“Okay. Alright, I’ll come,” you answer. “How long is it, anyway?”

“We’ll only be gone a month, and then we’ll have off until the end of the summer,” he assures you. It can’t be that bad, you suppose. 

“Okay, so we have that covered, I guess,” you say, taking another sip of your drink. “I guess that just leaves one more thing. We should set up some rules.”

“Rules? Seriously?” Sam scoffs, leaning back in his seat again. 

“Yes, seriously. We have to be on the same page or else this is gonna end up becoming a big mess,” you say, returning his annoyed look. 

“Fine. What rules are we talking about here?” he concedes.

“Well, first of all, do the rest of the guys know? Do they know it’s fake?” you ask.

“They think it’s real,” he shrugs. “Jodie thought it’d be better that way.”

“Okay, we’ll keep it that way then. But Lucy knows it’s fake,” you admit, and he gives you a disapproving look. “I tell her everything, it’s not my fault! But she’s the only one, even Seb thinks it’s real somehow.”

“Right, well. To the rest of the world, it’s real then. Anything else?” he asks, raising his eyebrow at you. 

“We should agree that this,” you start, pointing your finger between Sam and yourself, “is only in public. When we’re alone, it’s just me and you, none of this happy couple stuff.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell me twice,” he says with a smirk, “...unless that’s something you’ll have trouble with, sweetheart?” he teases. 

“Yeah, right. I just can’t seem to keep my hands off you, my bad,” you answer sarcastically. “Whatever, so that’s handled. Have anything you wanna add?” you ask, sipping from your mug.

“Yeah, what happens if one of us forms any sort of…” he trails off, pondering his words carefully. “...feelings.” Your eyebrows shoot up as you look over at him, almost spitting out your drink. You swallow it quickly and clear your throat. 

“Feelings?’ you laugh. “Not that that’s ever gonna be a problem, but… if it is, then I guess we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get there.”

“What, you’re not scared that you’ll fall in love with me?” he asks, leaning over the table slightly. You mirror his actions, your faces mere inches away. 

“Not in the slightest, Samuel,” you answer proudly, your eyes piercing into his. You weren’t going to back down, and neither was he. As you watch his eyes drift to your lips, you clear your throat, leaning back again. 

“Anything else?’ you ask, looking down at your mug in your hands as you avoid his gaze. 

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ loudly. You can just hear the smirk in his voice. You’re not giving in that easily, you know that the second you look up at him, your heart will jump into your throat. 

“Great, so that settles it,” you say, taking the last sip and then putting your empty mug down on the table. You watch as his hand extends out to yours, to shake it.

“Girlfriend?” he asks, smirking at you as you finally look up at him. You have to hold in a sigh as you offer your hand to him, shaking it.

“Girlfriend.” 

His eyes dart between your eyes and your lips again before he brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it lightly. It takes everything in you not to fold right then and there, frankly, but you’re stronger than that.

His lips were just as soft as you thought they’d be. Not that you’ve thought about them before, of course not. Nonetheless, they were soft, and so warm. They lingered far longer than you wanted them to, and your instincts caused you to pull your hand away, placing it back in your lap. At that, you abruptly stand up from your seat, grab your tote bag, and put it on your shoulder. 

“I have to– I’ve gotta go,” you say softly, and he quickly stands up.

“Okay, I’ll walk you home,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he follows you out the door. Again? That’s the second time just this week… You have to admit that it was thoughtful, but you don’t want to think too much of it. It’s just a nice gesture, nothing serious. He might be an arrogant asshole, but you guess he’s still a gentleman.

You walk beside each other on the sidewalk as you make your way down the street to your apartment. Every once in a while, his hand brushes yours as you walk, sending jolts throughout your body that you’re determined to ignore. You wondered why he asked you about the possibility of feelings being involved. Was that something he was worried about? Should you be worried about it? Surely not. Lucy seems to think you should be, if you told her about this she’d freak. But it’s not a big deal, right?

You stop in front of your building, the awkward opportunity of a goodbye leering over you both once more. You go back up toward your building in the same fashion as the other night, but a strong hand stops you before you get the chance to get too far. 

“Josh is having a party on Friday,” he says quickly, as if he was spitting it out. “I told him I'd bring you.” You stop and look up at him, his grip on your upper arm still remaining.

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll be there,” you answer with a soft smile. His eyes light up, like he was expecting you to put up a fight.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at 8?” he asks. You nod, as his eyes continue to burn into yours. God, what now? Before you have the chance to do something awkward, his other arm lands on your waist and he bends down, placing a kiss on your temple and then backing away toward the sidewalk, leaving you in silent shock. “See you then, sweetheart.”

“Uh– yeah, see you,” you mutter, your eyes trained on him as he turns the corner. What the fuck was that?

As you slam the door of your apartment, you rush off to your room with hopes of avoiding any interrogation from Lucy. It doesn’t work, however. 

“Y/N,” she opens your door with a smug look on her face, leaning against the door frame. “How was your date?” You scoff at her as you throw yourself onto your bed. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” you groan as she enters the room and climbs into bed next to you. 

She stays sitting up as you lay your head on the pillow, and her fingers comb through your curls as you debrief the events of your afternoon. Despite her occasional jokes and teasing, she seems to be really supportive of you going on tour with the band. After all, it will be a good start for the future of your music career. But at what cost? What will it be like to spend a month straight with Sam Kiszka and his band of brothers? You still had two weeks to prepare, but even that didn’t feel like enough. Your world was moving a mile a minute, and it was only just getting started. 

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

chapter three

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@highladyofasgard @gvfpal @childinthegardenn @myleftsock @peaceloveunitygvf @gretasfallingsky @gretavanfan @itsafullmoon @jordie-gvf

[noproofread]

Fake Boyfriend

got this spontaneous idea last night while watching one piece ofc

@fanaticsnail encouraged me to do it asap so i did :)

Zoro x gn!reader

reader is getting harassed and hit on by a creep and zoro swoops in for the rescue, mentions of alcohol and drinking bc it's a bar.

word count: 1,102

zoro smut fic here

masterlist here

You were sitting alone in front of the bar. Staring at your drink, nursing it. Admittingly, you could have been paying attention to your surroundings a little more, perhaps you would have seen the man staring at you from across the bar. But between the blaring music and the loud chatter of the other patrons, your only focus was your drink. It wasn’t like you to go to a bar alone. Usually, you would be with your crew or at least with a guy you found interesting. Today was different though, you had a rough day and fought with a member of your crew so you figured you’d drink your sorrows away. Remembering your day, you downed your drink, grimacing as the bitter taste of vodka slid down your tongue into your throat. It was that action that prompted the man who had been staring at you to take the open seat next to you. You ignored him, asking the bartender for another drink. You felt a light tap on your shoulder and you turned around to face the man that had occupied the seat next to you. His face flushed from the amount of alcohol he had to drink, he wobbled slightly on the seat.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing drinking all alone?” he slurred. The strong scent of liquor hit your nose and you rolled your eyes, trying your best to ignore him. “None of your business.” You replied, hoping your direct rejection would deter him. It failed. He kept uttering compliments, observations on how well you could hold your liquor, trying to get your attention by offering to buy you drinks. You refused his advances, ordering your own drinks in front of him. Usually you wouldn’t turn down a free drink, but you weren’t in the mood to entertain creepy drunk men. Growing restless, the man became more and more aggressive with his words. Not insulting you or threatening you, just calling you an “uptight bitch” and how he “liked brats that needed to be taught a lesson.” His comments grew increasingly sexual and more disgusting, you found it harder to simply ignore him but you didn’t want to start anything at the bar. After all, you were a wanted criminal, a pirate and you were supposed to lay low. You ordered another drink, chugging it before turning to the man. “Leave me alone for fuck’s sake. Can’t you take a hint? I’m not interested.” You told him through gritted teeth.

Maybe if you paid more attention to your surroundings you would have noticed the green-haired man watching the situation unfold in front of him. He watched as the man kept trying to hit on you, peppering in aggressive compliments as you continued to turn him down. He wasn’t one to insert himself into a situation that had nothing to do with him. Instead, he got up from his seat and walked closer to the bar. He was ordering another cup of sake when he heard you tell the man to leave you alone. He smiled to himself hearing you be so direct. He turned in the direction of you and the man just in time to watch him grab your arm tightly. “I’m not asking sweetheart. A little shit like you needs to be taught a lesson!” he yelled, pulling your arm closer to him causing you to nearly fall out of your stool. The situation did not concern the green-haired man but he always hated men like him. He asked for a second cup of sake. As soon as that cup of sake arrived, he grabbed both and made his way to you.

“Everything alright?” He asked you while looking at the man who had you in his grip. “Hey man, I’m just talking to this sweet thing. Don’t interrupt us.” He spat. The green-haired man turned to you and offered you a cup of sake “Sorry I’m late, I got a little lost on the way. Got you some sake though. Is this shithead bothering you?” His voice was stoic yet gentle. You looked at him and smiled, deciding to play along in case the creep would leave you alone. You yanked your arm away from the creep’s hand and grabbed the cup of sake being extended to you. “Took you long enough. He was bothering me but I’m sure he’s just leaving” You glared at the creep. Unfortunately he was too drunk to think clearly. Perhaps if he wasn’t so intoxicated he would have recognized the green-haired man as Roronoa Zoro of the Straw Hat Pirates. “I’m not going anywhere sweetheart. I have business with you.” He slurred, looking over at Zoro and laughing. “If you want trouble, you got it buddy.” He stood, wobbling a little before attempting to throw a punch which Zoro dodged easily. Zoro smirked, leaning over and briefly flashing the three swords at his side. “I’d get out of here if I were you.” he stated. He placed one hand on his swords as he spoke “Kind of pathetic to hit on someone who has a boyfriend” His voice was monotone and still intimidating,

The creep sucked his teeth, walking away as he muttered insults towards both of you. You looked up at the man that helped you and sighed. “Thank you. I tried ignoring him but he just wasn’t getting it.” He sat in the now open seat next to you, drinking his sake quickly. “How about you thank me by buying me a drink? After all, I did save your ass.” He said in that same stoic tone from before, yet there was humor in his words. You chuckled and ordered two cups of sake, handing one over to him. He took it from you, and smiled. “I’m Zoro by the way.” He said before taking a swig of the alcoholic drink. “I know. I’ve seen your wanted poster.” You laughed, taking a drink yourself. You found yourself forgetting about the reason you went out drinking alone in the first place. Focusing instead on Zoro’s company as you exchange stories and drinks. By the time the barkeep announces that they’re closing for the night, you realized how much time you’ve spent talking to Zoro. You get up, slightly tipsy. “I have to go back to my crew but it was nice meeting you Roronoa Zoro.” you have a small slur in your words, making Zoro chuckle a bit. “I’ll walk you to where you need to go, we can’t have that creep coming back for you.” He says as you both walk out of the bar.

[vynpng]

♡ - drunken nights pt.1 | pt.2 (coming soon...)

[ex!gojo x gn reader]

n | sfw. angsty. pathetic gojo (lit rally saurrrr bbg). mentions of alcohol. idk what else to add??? this is a fic so it's gonna be kinda long yall!!!

read under cut!!

Gojo wasn't a heavy drinker.

When the two of you were still together, he'd never drink. What reason would he have to drink? Besides the occasional celebratory shot of soju- Gojo would like to say he was a sober man- minus the times you would have to work him through his awful hangovers in the morning.

But that was then. In the past, before everything essentially went to shit. Before the two of you had split up and 'moved' on. After the break up, Gojo would find himself drinking more in order to drown out his sorrows, to quash down any memories of you- but god was it hard, when practically everything reminded him of you. Some days he would have to physically stop himself from calling you- lest he gets blocked.

The fact he hasn't yet puts some hope in his heart that maybe if he needed you, you'd pick up. But when he spent every waking hour needing you- the urge to dial your number got harder to resist every damn day.

It had been months since you had dumped him, six months to be exact, exactly half a year and even he had no idea how he was coping, how he still could go on with his day as if everything was normal. But at least, he thought to himself, he hadn't caved in. Hadn't done something stupid these dreadful months and hadn't ended up disturbing you after making it explicitly clear that you were over, that you didn't want anything to do with him. The very last thing he wanted was for you to hate him, to hold him in such low regard in your eyes that all that clawed up in your mind was dreadful memories.

So Gojo would keep his distance, in hopes he could keep the relationship amicable, even though you hadn't spoken since that damned day.

But of course, nobody was perfect- even Gojo.

He wasn't even sure how he got here, one minute he was at the bar- spilling all his heart-related woes to the poor bartender, consuming drink after drink, his mind becoming more clouded and his movements sluggish and the next thing he knew he was right in front of your door, standing in the rain, contemplating whether or not he should knock. And of course, the irrational stupid part of him won out as he knocked, heart catching in his throat as he waited.

What was he doing here? Fuck. He should turn back while he could, whilst you were reaching the door. Were you reaching the door, did you know it was him? So you wouldn't open up? The very idea made him bite his pink lips in trepidation, eyes skirting around as if trying to see if anyone could see the strongest sorcerer in such a state.

Before he could even think of knocking again, the door swung open- and it felt as if time itself had stopped.

There you were, heaven itself- staring at him as if he was a ghost, pupils wide and mouth slightly agape.

Then you quickly schooled your expression from shock to neutrality, crossing your arms across your chest, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Any hope he had had quickly died after being subject to your cold and apathetic gaze.

Lips trembling- either from the rain or nerves, he couldn't tell- white eyelashes fluttered delicately as he sniffed pathetically, waiting for the verdict.

Droplets of rain cascaded from snow strands, dripping onto his hoodie and making his face sheen with slick. A light blush dusted his cheeks, accounting for how wasted he was.

"Why the hell are you wet?"

"Huh?"

"...I thought rain didn't affect you."

Oh. Now that he was thinking about it, since when did he allow Infinity to let the rain in? Some lame attempt to gain pity points? Maybe if he got a cold, you'd let him stay, take care of him, like you used to.

"Gojo, what are you doing here? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Time? Did that mean if he had come in the middle of the afternoon you would've let him in? Shit, he should've gotten drunk near one! Blinking rapidly- Gojo attempted to think of something to say, but truth was he didn't know why he was here, whatever reason or excuse he could possibly have. He might say the wrong thing and you'd slam the door in his face, leaving his pathetic ass out in the rain. Although he wouldn't be entirely upset, especially considering he was able to see you again- in person, since he had opted to revisit all the videos he had of you saved in his camera roll since the break up.

"Didn't know where else to go..."

If he was anymore levelheaded, he'd probably cringe at how stupid he sounded- crawling back to his ex like an idiot, hoping that they'd let him back in their heart. Standing in the rain like some lovesick puppy.

You should've closed the door. Hell, you shouldn't have opened it in the first place. If you knew it was Gojo beyond the threshold, you would've barricaded yourself in- ignoring his entire existence. You detested the way Gojo could make any rational thoughts in your head go poof! Entirely dissipated. And even now, six months later- you couldn't help that warm and fuzzy feeling that pooled in your stomach whenever you saw him.

It did not help in the slightest that Gojo looked the way he did, face flushed- lips pulled into a small pout and eyelashes lowered as rain slid off them. If he wanted to give you a pathetic display so that you'd let him in, it was most definitely working.

"P-please, I'll leave...just..."

Seeing him struggle to form a proper sentence was the last straw. So, with a heavy, resigned sigh, you turned back around and walked deeper into the house.

Gojo stood there for a minute, tears pooling at his eyes as he thought that you'd left him, lips wobbling violently-as if he was barely reigning in a broken sob, this was an outward sign of rejection- before it had registered that you left the door open- you were letting him inside.

Before you could change your mind, he had quickly entered your home, locking the door behind him- heart hammering violently against his ribcage as he leaned against the door, still in a dazed sort of state.

He was in your house.

[hellofeanor]

Fanfiction Author Interview Game

Fanfic writer interview

Tagged by @niennawept. Thank you!

How many works do you have on AO3? Ten??? That sounds fake but okay.

What’s your total AO3 word count? 709,876

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Distance, Space and Time (technically a series but I'm counting it as one story here because it's late and nobody can stop me): very standard Tony/Loki canon divergence.

Ghosts in Amber: something I wrote because Crimson Peak made my so angry I had to fix it.

Window to the Soul: the only explanation I have for why this is in the top five is that it was the first thing I ever posted on AO3?

Hallmark Christmas Movie: exactly what it says on the box.

Counterpoint: everybody's favourite genre: a 17th century baroque music AU!

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to but unfortunately I am uhhhhhh bad at things?

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? Huh. This is a good question. Um. I don't know if I've ever written an angsty ending? Maybe Ghosts in Amber, which is technically a happy ending for the protagonists, but not necessarily due to happy circumstances?

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? For reasons that I hope are made obvious in the title, Hallmark Christmas Movie.

Do you write crossovers? I've considered it a few times, but never really got into the idea.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? LOL yes, one time somebody went through an entire fic of mine and left negative comments on almost every chapter. I have to admire their commitment to the bit. I don't have the time or inclination to bother leaving hate comments, and also I know how to use the back button when I come across something I don't like. The last comment was something along the lines of, "I don't know if I'll bother reading the sequel." MY DUDE, why did you bother reading past the first chapter of this one if you clearly dislike it so much??? Kids these days, SMH.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Sssssssssssometimes??? (I say, eyes darting nervously down to the task bar and the open document icon of my terrible Mirdania/Sauron WIP.)

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes, but in a totally bonkers way? Somebody took screenshots of one of my fics and then reposted it on tumblr as a series of low quality JPEGs??? I have no idea what that was all about. The internet is a strange and wonderful place.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yeah! One into Russian and Japanese, and more recently somebody asked if they could translate one into Chinese, but I haven't seen the finished product come up yet.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but that might be something fun to try in the future.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? I... don't know? Probably my two OCs, about whom I will never write anything. :)

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? Fuck. The Gods of All Things. I know exactly how I want it to end, but just can't bring myself to get back into the bloody MCU fandom.

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue and jokes.

What are your writing weaknesses? Actually writing at decent speed.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I'm not a huge fan, and will only do under specific circumstances, such as conveying that somebody in the scene (and by extension the reader) isn't meant to know what's being said.

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to? Elrond/Gil-galad. Sigh. I complain a lot about how this ship isn't nearly as popular as it should be, while sitting here doing absolutely nothing to further it.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Hallmark Christmas Movie. It's so dumb. I love it. However, due to minor swearing and allusions to sex-having, I really should have titled it Lifetime Christmas Movie.

Who else wants to participate? @elrohare? @littlethingwithfeathers? @lordgrimwing? @plotdesigner?

[deathlooksgoodonyou-if]

AAAAAAAHHH!!! Just found your If and I can already say that I can feel myself bitting at the bars of my cell, this is SO GOOD!

I'm already obsessed about so many different parts of this story and the demo hasn't even come out yet!! So I'm going to do what my little heart and messed up brain can and word vomit about my little fucked up MC!

So, you said they had a rough upbringing and that their situationship with Jules was also not healthy, so I did the sane thing and started projecting on them!

My little guy, my baby boy Kyrin, is absolutely not coping well and he mostly decides that any mean thoughts or emotions that surface are nothing important and immediately bottles them up for another day, month, year. They will never let anyone see under their mask because, well, why would anyone need to know? They like this version of him, so no matter how many things he has to say or thinks, they won't ever see the light of day.

And he does his best to seem like a well adjusted member of society, he even makes some friends (which to him is an epic win!!), and then he meets Jules.

And sadly, for everyone involved, it seems they match each other's freak.

Kyrin and Jules share something in common. Love is strange and scary for them, never having felt this strongly about anyone before, they have no idea how to handle it.

Kyrin, completely fumbling this whole new human experience, loves too hard and too bright. He wants Jules to like them, to spend time with them, to get any shred of attention from them as he can. And he doesn't even understand why.

Jules, of course also doesn't understand this love thing, and is in result scared by it.

The obvious happens.

It's when Jules begins dating another person that Kyrin's mask breaks. Years of anger, grief and a thousand other things finally breaking the camel's back.

Things get messy. Kyrin is angry. Jules is angry. They can't find a middle ground. Bridges are burnt.

And then Jules is murdered.

Kyrin is left alone, mask broken and a whole lot of emotions to sort through for the first time in a long time.

At this point, in the present, Kyrin is less of a wet cat and more of a feral stray kitten. Scared, angry and functioning entirely on his fight or flight mode.

With everything going on, he will absolutely choose to close himself off from others, feeling terrified of being so vulnerable and with so much in his plate that putting on his mask is near impossible at this point.

I have ideas of what I want his story to be, no pressure to add anything of this of course.

His main arc would be obviously getting his shit together and finally figuring himself out as a person but that's going to be pushed far back on the line of things to care about with the whole murderer on the lose and the incarnation of his grief, loss and self hate coming to haunt him.

For romance, it'll be a real hit or miss as the only one I can see him even willingly getting close is Mia and that is mostly because of the whole 'She will hurt you' part. After Jules passing, Kyrin absolutely doesn't believe they can or should be loved and that train of thought will only be reinforced by the new mean Jules in his head.

Of course, this is a big maybe because if that sanity stat does what is says, and by god I hope it does (little guy so fucked up that he is taking control of the narrative!!), then Kyrin will either kill someone or himself before the story ends. I want that stat as low as it can go!

Either way, this is going to be a really messy ride with an even messier ending and I can't wait for it!

kyrin is such a gorgeous, gorgeous name! He gives off major "I confuse instinct for desire. Isn't bite also touch?" vibes. 😭😭

I love it when people talk about their MCs in my asks. It helps me understand what y'all want and write them better. 🫶

[sarahs-secrets2]

You Don't Love Him (Phillip Graves x Reader) 18+࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

This could lowkey be a part 2 to "Somebody Else" but I didn't confine it to that. I have such an unhealthy obsession with writing Graves in this "is it cheating?? yeah it's cheating" kind of situation like literally tell me what to do pls commander I'll do whatever (don't ask how this reflects onto my mental state, it's easier to not get into it). If there's a typo it's because it's 5am, just lmk and I'll fix LOL

Based on Repeat After Me by The Weeknd

gn! (no use of Y/N), mentions of a boyfriend

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of alcohol, sexual tension, pet names, cheating, swearing, possessiveness??, lowkey toxic relationship, a tad corny (oops that's on me being a hopeless romantic), light smut??

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Your phone sat on the bar top with the contact “Phillip” staring back at you, begging for you to call it. Resting your head in one hand, and picking up the phone with the other you listened to the ring, feeling nauseous that this is what it had come to.

“Whaddya doin’ calling me”, he answered, you hadn't thought this far ahead, you were expecting the voicemail.

“Phillip…” your voice caught in your throat

“Doll,” he sounded exasperated, “if you wanna come over, just say that, we don't have to play a game” he sighed. “Are you still with that new boyfriend,” you forgot how fast the word traveled.

“I don’t know, it’s complicated”, you didn’t feel like getting into the details.

“How do ya not know, it's a pretty clear question”, Graves wanted to know if you were finally ready to leave your boyfriend for him yet, he had been waiting for you to come back. 

“My boyfriends’ a dick Graves, stop acting like this is new information”, the bartender dropped off your tab silently as you continued on the phone with Phillip. 

“I know, I know darling, just wanted to hear you say it”, he laughed to himself, “Where you at, I’ll get a cab to bring ya to my place”,

“I don't even know hold on”, you scanned your tab hoping to find the name of the bar somewhere printed, Mack's, you pulled out some cash and pushed the tab back towards the bartender, waving to signal him to keep the change. “Mack’s” you finally spoke.

“That place is a dump, the hell you doing over there?” Phillip hated how you were so careless at times, he needed to protect you. 

“I don't know Phillip, fuck, I just found it and needed to get drunk, sorry” as bad as you needed him, he still pissed you off.

“Cab’s on the way sit tight, you want me to sit on the phone with you while we wait?”, you were now waiting outside of the bar leaning up on the brick waiting for your ride. 

“Yeah, thank you”, maybe it was the cold air or the rough brick up against your back but you were sobering up and the whole situation felt embarrassing. Drunk calling your ex was not like you.

“No need to thank me, you know I’d do ‘bout anything for ya”, his voice was low, you missed him, that’s why you called him. Looking up from your feet you saw the cab finally pull up.

“Well, my ride’s here, see you soon Commander”,

“See you soon doll”,

Hopping out of the car finally feeling sober after water and some snacks the gracious driver had provided, you showed your appreciation through a cash tip. Approaching the door you felt dizzy, but no longer from the alcohol that had passed through your system, it was the idea of being in Phillip Graves' presence after so much time apart. Your hand went up to ring the doorbell but before you even got the chance, the door creaked open.

“Hey, there ya are, come in” Phillip had beaten you to the punch, as you stepped inside the house, as he shut the door behind you. “Been awhile since you been here”, laughing to himself, “Everything’s still where it was last, so make yourself at home”, he pulled you in for a side hug and placed a small kiss on your head. Peeling off your coat, and kicking off your shoes you looked around the place you used to call a second home. 

“I missed you”, you whispered, Phillip was halfway down the hall heading towards the living room, he turned around to look at you, 

“I know”, he shot a small smile at you, “Missed you too darlin’”, he outstretched a hand, waving for you to follow him towards the kitchen. “Need anythin? Water?”, Graves was going through his cabinets pulling out two glasses, getting you the water, regardless of whatever your answer was going to be. Sliding the glass over to you, you smiled back at him.

“Thank you, really, for the cab, for answering the phone, letting me come over, all of it”, you looked up at him shyly.

“Like I said, I’d do anything for you, I don't need the thank you”, he said, tipping his glass back, unlike yours he had whiskey. “Tell me about your boyfriend”, he eyed you over the glass he had picked up to take another sip out of. 

“I don't want to talk about him when I’m with you”, you lightly pushed your glass of water back and forth between your hands, avoiding Phillip’s eyes. 

“I didn’t ask, I said to tell me about him”, 

“He isn’t you, that's all you need to know Graves”, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

“Then break up with him” he had finished his drink, now pouring a second.

“I will, soon” you watched as the caramel-colored liquid splashed into the glass.

“Why’d you get with him anyways?” Graves slowly swirled the drink, walking closer to you.

“You want the real answer?” he nodded, “To spite you”, saying it out loud sounded dumb but at the time Phillip wasn't a great boyfriend, always busy running Shadow Company, he barely had time for you. You figured dating someone else would piss Graves off enough, and you were right.

“You sure do know how to piss me off”, Phillip laughed, shaking his head.

“I could say the same to you Commander”, you clink your glass against his, taking a sip of the water. Graves finished his drink, sliding it down the counter away from him now, walking up to you, and lifting you up onto the countertop. The marble was cold underneath your legs, on top of your thighs, Phillip’s hands rested as he stood between your legs. Your hands sat loosely around his neck as you took in the man infront of you.

“You love him?” he looked up at you, moving some hair behind your ear.

“I don’t, I can’t when I’m thinking of you”, his hand now cupping your face.

“You don't love him” he was whispering it to himself, “Repeat it for me,” speaking up now

“I don't love him Phillip” your hand moved to hold his face, slowly pulling him in as he leaned into you, lips parting to meet him as your hands moved down his chest pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. 

Graves’ hands slid down your back tugging you off the counter and into his arms, with your legs wrapping around his waist in response as he carried you towards the bedroom. As he walked down the hallway your lips made their way down to his neck.

Setting you down on the bed, Phillip pulled his shirt off over his head, your eyes lingered. “See somethin’ you like sweetheart?” tossing you a wink as he threw his shirt to the side. 

“I think so Commander” flashing a grin back in his direction, Graves was now in front of where you sat on the bed, his hands pulling lightly at the belt loops on your jeans. 

“I wanna unbutton these, just a little bit”, smirking at you, Phillip popped the button up and slowly started tugging the jeans down your legs. 

“See something you like?” you mocked his previous words back to him.

“Of course, I do darlin’”, as he started to place small kisses trailing up your leg. You closed your eyes, letting your head tilt back, enjoying the feeling of his lips on you.

A slight ring caused you to open your eyes, looking around the room. Your phone which had ended up on the floor was ringing. 

“You gonna get that?” Phillip whispered in between kisses.

“No,” laying your head back down. The ringing continued for a second time causing Graves to stand up and answer your phone. 

“We’re busy right now, I'll have 'em call ya back”, biting his lip, staring back at you as you watched him on your phone.

“Who the fuck is this?” a man's voice shouted through the phone, your boyfriend’s voice. You were fucked.

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Part 2!!

I'LL WRITE A PART TWO IF YALL WANT !!! I CUT THE ENDING SHORT I'M SORRY

[q18au8lt2op3idl]

A short fic

"Angel Dust &"

Episode 4 was great. I wrote this story with respect and with passion…! (Forgive my poor English translation.)

—

"Cut—--!"

—Oh, it should have been the call I've been waiting for, but I'm not happy at all.

Angel Dust thought vaguely.

The males above him got up and moved away. The too bright lights dimmed a little, and Valentino approached Angel, saying good job to the actors. Likewise, don't expect him to say, "Good job.”

"'Hmph, I'd say today's shoot was just about up to par, bitch rad actor. I hope you haven't forgotten that you still have some work to do."

"...... of course, Val."

The voice was scratchy and the speech was a little slurred. He's still on meds, but he thought 'I'll be more comfortable with that.'

"Then open up those loose crotches quickly."

Red eyes peeked out from behind those badass heart sunglasses. There is no way there is a bright red burning affection there, I know, but I can't look away, so Angel opens her legs as she is told, and out of the corner of her eye she sees his fluffy collar coat being tossed away.

The end of hours of work would be capped off in the arms of his master.

—I realize there is no love, no salvation, and yet I cannot escape its poison. I know that there is only my death by your poison.

"...... you're mine, you haven't forgotten, have you, scumbag?"

"...... yes, Valentino ......"

＊＊

The days clinging to Angel are still the same. The only difference is that the bar, which used to be a convenient bed accessory where he only went for a strong drink, has become a much more comfortable place than before.

"...... I don't know whether I want to be bored and discarded earlier or not,...... whether I hate it or love it, which is it really... ..."

　It is late at night in the Hasbin Hotel with the lights dimmed. Only the bar counter still glimmered with a warm light that enveloped Angel. Angel muttered as he plopped down on the counter.

"......hey, aren't you getting drunk too fast?　You're worn out again today, good job."

The owner of the low, eardrum-shaking voice quickly replaced the glass in front of Angel with a pointed nail. A moment ago, it would have contained Angel's favorite pink vodka. Now it must have been replaced with pink peach juice.

Angel opened one eye and saw Husk's fake-looking wings. Husk turned away and wiped his glass as if nothing had happened.

"Every day really sucks."

Then he pressed his cheek against the counter and mumbled.

"But when I see you, I'll probably think you're a little better."

"........... you drunken bastard."

Husk mutters after a pause.

—I'm not drunk, it's just an act you don't like, I'm fooling you.

Angel whispered to himself, covering his face with his arms to hide the smile on his lips.

He hasn't forgotten that night of drinking.

"We're BOTH losers."

"That's fine by me."

"A loser, but just maybe if we

Eat shit together, things will end up differently."

　

He wasn't even on drugs, but it was a time when he could genuinely say that he was a little high and having fun, not with false emotions.

After a few moments of reverie, Angel lifted his head with a start.

"Do you like me, by any chance?　Hey, I'm drunk......Hey, here's your chance, you can do whatever you want ......."

The reply was a cluck of the tongue.

Angel bowed his head again and got down on the counter.

ーI knew it, let's call this drunken nonsense.

"...... Yeah, you're still a drunk. You wake up and you don't remember anything. ...... You're still drunk enough to say that here. You're still not good enough."

Husk's loud sigh reaches Angel's ears.

"...... but well, you're doing your best. I don't hate that about you."

Husk stroked Angel's hair, enjoying the feel of it, and Angel almost jumped out of his skin, forgetting to pretend to be asleep.

－What is this mushy warmth in my chest, not because I hate that, but because I want to fuck, which is also different.

The party, Husk, gently draped a blanket over Angel's shoulders and began putting the glass away as if nothing had happened.

As he contemplated what to do next, Angel became really sleepy.

He thinks idly that it is not so bad, even though he will probably only be able to sleep for a little while anyway.

－Will there be a happy ending to the dream I am about to see? Surely there will be a happy ending? I don't think it's a waste of time to hope for that now.

Hey, Husk, I wonder if you will come to me in a dream with a happy ending.

That would be nice.