#and then dream will walk in and ask him whats going on then they both end up tryna figure out how it all works | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnamorollcrybaby · 2 days

Note

Couldddd you please write something with hiromi?? I'd appreciate itttt so muchh :)

At Law

Tags: Hiromi Higuruma x fem!Reader, modern!au, nsfw, mdni, academic rivals, enemies to lovers, hate fucking, unhinged!hiromi, depictions of violence including murder

Synopsis: Being the state’s district attorney was your dream job. After years of law school and hard work, you were finally appointed the job and allowed to represent the state in court. You singlehandedly decided which cases to prosecute and who to bring to justice. When your old academic rival, Hiromi, shows up as a defense attorney in court one evening, you know he’s going to give you a hard trial… and a hard fuck.

An: Anything for you nepobaby :)) Hope you enjoy this. I swear I'm going to make these shorter every time, but then, I start writing and literally can't stop.

You two have been chasing each other for the longest time.

It started in law school. You don't exactly remember how it happened, but slowly over time, you and Hiromi began playing your little academic race.

Both of you were brilliant, quick, and determined. Honestly, you two were like a professor's dream to have.

You found yourself studying longer, committing to all-nighters just to read over several codes of law and past cases in the court. All of it just to score a little bit higher than him on a test.

But dammit, he was faster than you when answering questions the professor proposes. His photographic memory serves him well as he's able to distinctly remember what code a law comes from and where the code is at in the Code of Federal Regulations.

Don't even get me started on how mock trials went. The professor would actually have to stop pairing you two against each other because it would become so toxic and brutal between the two.

As law school progressed, the workload just got worse. The school expected you to complete assignments, study for the bar, and take on unpaid internships. You were a slave for your degree.

Hiromi wasn't immune to those types of pressures either, and as much as he hated to admit it, study partners help retain information better. It would help effectively consume the source material in half the time. Unfortunately, the rest of his peers were just so beneath him...

Well, besides you.

All-nighters weren't lonely anymore. You and Hiromi would drink enough caffeine to kill an elephant and go through weeks worth of content in a night.

"You know... the release of endorphins can help concentration and reduce stress, thus helping students study." Hiromi said one early morning.

It was around four a.m, and you two were covering the petty crimes section. To say it was incredibly boring was an understatement. Students like you and Hiromi would never represent or prosecute clients in petty crimes. You two were destined for so much more.

"What are you suggesting, Hiro?" You ask before a small yawn escapes your mouth. You hadn't even looked up from your book.

"I'm suggesting that we help each other by taking a quick break." He responds as he shoves the book away from your lap. Your surprised eyes look up at his tired ones, and he cups your cheeks before he leans down to kiss you.

You would walk into class sore the next day. As soon as the adrenaline from one round wore off, you two were gunning for the next.

Your study sessions continued on and so did your competitiveness.

When you scored one point higher than him on the bar, he hate fucked you until morning.

Then, he made it his mission to surpass you everywhere else too. Recruiters and attorneys personally from different law firms were ringing Hiromi's phone constantly.

You genuinely believed that he would take the calls on speakerphone just to fucking spite you. You could hear the lawyers on the phone praise him so highly, practically begging for him to come practice at their firm.

Of course, you were getting some recruitment opportunities too, but it was still somehow harder for women to find jobs in the criminal justice field than it was for men. You also hadn't been selling yourself to these firms as much as he was because you had your mind set on working for the state. You wanted to be a prosecutor for the district attorney.

The icing on the cake was when you two were having one of your "study breaks" (aka Hiromi had you bent over your bed, and he was delivering the deepest, most toe curling backshots known to man), and he took a phone call from the district attorney's office.

His hand covered your mouth as he continued to thrust roughly into you while the man on the phone offered Hiromi a job.

"Hm? Oh, thank you for the opportunity." He graciously spoke over the phone as he was absolutely bullying your insides. Your stomach coiled from anger and arousal. You fucking hated him so much. "I'm weighing out all of my options now, but I'll have an answer for you by the end of the week, sir."

After more pleasantries, he hung up the phone and bent over to where he could whisper in your hear. "Hear that, little dove? I'm getting job opportunities from the state while you're under me getting ruined."

"You know, I'll probably be too busy from here on out to play this childish games with you." Thrust. "That'll be too bad, won't it?" Thrust. "Can't say I'll miss you though." Thrust. "Maybe this pretty cunt, but that'll probably be it." Thrust. "Better make this last one count, shouldn't we?" Thrust.

Oh, and he made good on his word. Your entire body ached after he made you finish for the nth time that evening. "I'll see you around, little dove." He whispered in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek and leaving your dorm.

He made good on his word about that too. He never returned to your dorm. Sure, you two were graduating in two days, but some small part of you thought he'd might come over for a celebration.

No, he left you behind. He left you behind. You lost.

The anger burned hot for a few months as you gathered barrings after law school, especially when you'd see his name in the papers.

Defense Attorney Higuruma gets a non-guilty verdict for alleged drug trafficker!

Higuruma sways jury in closing argument, providing the most gut-wrenching speech!

Higuruma, Higuruma, Higuruma.

He was a fucking sensation in the criminal justice field, and his name left a sour taste in your mouth.

The anger only started to subside once you landed your dream job after a long internship. You were finally a prosecutor in a major circuit court in the crimes division.

Hiromi's name finally fled from your brain as you started to flood the newspapers.

Prosecutor helps put away notorious serial killer for life.

Cartel drug lord behind bars after district attorney helps deliver a guilty verdict for over 32 charges.

You finally felt like you hadn't been left behind. You were living the life you wanted to live ever since you were little. Did you imagine you'd be married by now? Yeah, sure. You just... hadn't met the right one yet.

Dating was hard while maintaining a professional career. You had to be extremely choosey for one. It would be scandalous to see a prosecutor dating someone with a criminal record.

And the men were sweet, don't get me wrong. They'd take you on nice dates, write you pitiful love letters, and treat you like a princess... They were all so collectively boring, especially in bed.

You'd tell them! You'd give them incredibly detailed instruction to be rough and mean to you, but they'd always laugh and make some excuse for not wanting to hurt you. Ugh.

Maybe you were ruined by Hiromi... because the only thing that got you off nowadays was the thought of him whispering hateful words into your ear while pounding himself into you with little concern or remorse.

Slowly, the gifts would start appearing.

A bouquet of white roses sitting on your desk. Do you miss me, LD?

You thought it was a simple mistake or a sick prank from one of the criminals you help lock away. You would quietly dispose of the gifts until the slowly became more alarming.

Miss your sweet sounds, LD. An audio recording of you moaning on a tape recorder played.

Who are you trying to look nice for, LD? None of those men could treat you like I did. Pictures of you going out on a date.

I'll take care of them for you. Don't worry your pretty little head, LD. A dead dove.

This was enough to get a harassment and stalking charge, but you didn't want to concern the local police. For one, you knew how lousy the police were when it came to crimes like this from working alongside them. They were honestly an embarrassment. For two, you didn't want this getting out to the public because then copy cats would start up.

You tried investigating on your own, but you came up to a dead end every time. The way this person called you LD made your head spin. That's not even your initials, but the gifts were certainly intended for you.

The only refuge for you was when you were in a court room. You felt safe and protected. A stalker of this degree wouldn't be ballsy enough to confront you in a courtroom while you're surrounded by police and bailiffs constantly.

Your refuge was short-lived by catching a glimpse of a familiar face in court one evening.

He looked as handsome as he did in law school. Hiromi's tired eyes met yours, and he almost immediately cracked a smile as he approached you during recess.

"Well look at you, dove." He smiled as he looked down at you. Hiromi's dark hair laid messily on the top of his head, and he was wearing a full business suit that framed his body nicely. "I see the district attorney's office settled for the second best option after I turned them down. Good for them."

He was still as arrogant and competitive as ever, making your heart flutter like it did back in law school. "Very funny, Hiro." You roll your eyes as you stand to look up at him.

"It's all harmless jokes. I promise. I'm proud of you, really." He assures as his eyes wander your body for just a moment.

You're not use to his praise. Normally, you're not the type to enjoy it, but hearing those words made you clench around nothing as your stomach swirled with butterflies.

"Thanks... I've heard good things about you as well.." You murmur quietly, suddenly losing all your nerve. "So, are you representing someone?"

"I am. I didn't just come here to watch you for fun. Though, I would've had I known you were such a big shot." He nudges your arm gently, causing you to laugh softly. "I'm representing a young man charged with murder. I'm sure you heard about it. Big news all over the television."

"Who was the victim?" You ask as you flip through your case files. If this was a first setting, surely you wouldn't go to trial today, but the thought of going to trial against Hiromi made your heart pound with excitement. Not many lawyers gave you too much trouble during court, but Hiromi... he would be a good match.

"They can't identify the victim. Male, John Doe, early twenties. That's all the information the cops have." He explains, and you start skimming through the case file quickly. It's astonishing that the police made an arrest when there was hardly a body to work from.

"Huh." You muse quietly as you look through the crime scene photos and pictures of the defendant's hands covered in soot from a fire. The victim had been burned.

"I'll be making a motion to dismiss this case based on a lack of substantial evidence linking my defendant to the body. Just a heads up." He then winks at you and walks away from your bar as the judge comes back and sits on the bench.

It seems as though you and Hiromi will have one last back and forth like old times.

When his case gets called before the judge, Hiromi takes the pleasure in speaking first. His client is handcuffed, sitting down next to him. The defendant was young, maybe nineteen. The evidence supporting his conviction was weak, but it was still there. Convincing a jury to convict him will be tough, and that's if the judge doesn't dismiss the charges outright.

After a long, drawn out argument between you and Hiromi about the proponderance of evidence, the judge decides to not dismiss the case.

"In that case, your honor, we would like to request a hearing today." Hiromi speaks with such confidence as he stands before the judge.

"Your honor, the state hasn't had adequate time to prepare for a hearing, and this is first setting. We'd like to request a reset date to prepare our defense." You immediately follow up as you also stand up.

"Your honor, my client has been incarcerated for over twenty-five days for a charge that has flimsy evidence at best. He has a right to a speedy trial." Hiromi rebuttals.

"Enough. We'll have a trial today whether the state is ready to proceed or not." The judge decides. Wonderful.

The trial is as painful as you imagined it to be. The evidence is flimsy, and Hiromi is practically bullying the witnesses on the stand, and when it's your turn for redirect, he practically bullies you with objection after objection.

"And what did the police-"

"Objection hearsay." Hiromi stands from his chair and eyes you with that cold stare of his.

"Your honor, I haven't even finished my question without the defense counsel butting in." You argue to the judge.

"Overruled. Counsel, let her finish." The judge warns.

Your head is practically throbbing by the end of it. The jury deliberates for two hours before coming back with the sentence. You tried your hardest and made good work with what evidence you had.

"On the charge of first-degree murder, we the jury find the defendant... not guilty."

Dammit. Hiromi won once again.

"On the charge of abuse of a corpse, we the jury find the defendant... guilty. On the charge of tampering with physical evidence, we the jury find the defendant... guilty. On the charge of arson, we the jury find the defendant... guilty."

He didn't win.

"On these charges, I will impose a sentence of twenty-five years in the Fuchu Prison with the possibility of parole after ten years." The judge sentences before whacking his gavel down.

You let out an exhausting sigh as you slowly gather your things after court adjourns. Today was likely the hardest day in your career, and you can't help but think about that young nineteen-year-old who won't see freedom until he's twenty-nine.

Hiromi approaches you after the courtroom is completely empty.

"You seem tired, dove." He muses as he loosens his tie from around his neck. He'd never admit it, but you absolutely gave him a run for his money.

"It's not everyday someone gives me that much trouble in court." You softly laugh as you look up at him. You feel your cheeks warm as you realize how close he is to you.

"Yeah? Did it bring back old memories?" He steps closer as his hand slowly reaches up to cup your cheek.

"Hm? Of me winning our mock trials?" You ask with a cheeky grin, and his grip tightens a bit.

"I distinctly remember our record being 15-13 with me having 15 wins." He replies as he leans down to you. He remembers the score you two kept from back in law school?

"You must be still sore about me outscoring you on the bar if you kept up with our scores from mock trials."

"Mmm, quite the contrary actually, you've always been my favorite opponent, even if you piss me off." He replies as he leans down towards you and presses his lips against yours.

The kiss was full of everything you could ever imagine: heat, lust, a hint of resentment towards each other. Before you know it, you're pressed against the table as Hiromi's hands roam your body like he's in a frenzy.

"Hiro.." You moan as he kisses down your neck roughly biting on your flesh. "My office.." You whine, trying to get him to ease up on you just long enough so you two could get out of the courtroom.

"And if I say no, little dove?" He whispers in your ear as his hand slips underneath your dress with such ease. "You'd let me take you right here, wouldn't you?"

"Hiro~" You whine in a breathy tone as his fingers trace around your clit like they did so long ago.

"That's not an answer, little dove." He demands as he applies more pressure. "I asked if you'd let me fuck you on this bar until you forgot your own name."

"Yes-!" You gasp as his fingers skillfully play with your most sensitive area.

"That's what i figured. You were always such a slut back then too. Somethings never change, hm?" He muses as he goes back to sucking and kissing on your neck. His fingers tease near your entrance, but they slowly trail back up to your clit.

"You're lucky I respect you enough." He growls lowly before he removes his hand. "Lead the way to your office."

As soon as you two are behind closed doors in your modest office, clothes are being thrown onto the floor, moans and small whispers of sweet nothings were exchanged. You could quite literally feel your heartbeat fluttering deep inside your cunt.

He gently nudges you to lay down on the leather couch you had in your office for the late nights you spent reviewing evidence. Your skin connects with the soft leather as he gets between your legs. "I wonder if you still taste the same, little dove."

His tongue gently laps at you, and he immediately hums with satisfaction. "Somehow sweeter, actually." He answers his own question as flattens his tongue and licks you from entrance to clit, savoring your fluids of arousal on his tongue.

Your hands find his hair, and you gently tug on it as he helps himself to your wetness. He takes his time, lapping at you slowly while gently suckling on the small bundle of nerves. Sometimes you swear he's spelling his name into your cunt with his tongue before he shoves his tongue directly inside you, drinking your nectar straight from the source.

"H-hiro~!" You whimper as you try to shuffle your hips away. The stimulation was too much to handle.

"Don't try to run from me, little dove." He grunts as he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you right back down onto his mouth.

His nose bumps into your clit as you subconsciously ride his face, searching for release. "Yeeahh, there we gooo. There's my little dove.. bein' such a slut." He coos as he buries his face deeper into your core.

His entire face is damp from your delicious juices. He's such a messy eater, getting it all over his chin and nose. His tired eyes flutter up to look at you as you're on the crux of your orgasm.

"Cum on my face, little dove. Let me have you." He instructs before lapping at your cunt like a starved man.

Your voice goes high pitched and breathy as you grab onto his hair tightly, forcing him in even more before you finish all over his mouth. He gratefully continues to run his tongue along your folds until your legs are trembling on his shoulders.

You softly pant as you relax into the couch. You hadn't had an orgasm like that in so long. You had almost forgotten how they feel.

Hiromi looks up at you with a confident smirk and an intoxicated gaze. "Seems like you missed me, little dove."

"Please, I only missed when you're too preoccupied to run your mouth." You retort with a grin.

"Is that so?" He questions as he pulls down his boxers, and his length springs up from the constraints of the fabric. You tug your bottom lip between your teeth as you're reminded of how big he is.

As if on muscle memory, you turn to get in doggy position because that was his and your position of choice back in college, but he grabs your thighs and prevents you from moving.

"Nuh uh. You're gonna look at me when I take you this time." He grins as he positions himself between your thighs. He fists his length a few times before slowly dragging his fat tip up and down your sopping wet folds, savoring the feeling with a small groan. "I wanna see the tears in your pretty eyes, little dove."

You're about to argue and protest about the tears part, but he's quick to shut you up by forcing his length into you all at once. Hiromi's not only long, but he's very girthy, stretching you so deliciously. White hot pain courses through you as your nails dig into the couch.

"Ah-! F-fuck!" You curse as you try to get use to his size.

"Mmm~ you're tight, dove. How long has it been for you, hm? Surely you've fucked someone since college, unless you've been hopelessly waiting for me." He grins as his hips are slow. He allows you the space to almost get use to him before he shoves into you aggressively, making you see stars.

"Ngh... p-probably like.. uh.. oh god, six months?" You answer as you stutter over your words. Your last hookup had ghosted you after you slept with him. Though, it didn't really bother you. He wasn't good in bed at all, and he called you crazy for asking him to be mean to you during the deed.

Hiromi simply smirks down at you, proud of himself for how fast he can make you a mess underneath him.

"Oh, you poor thing... hah.. No one can take care of this pussy like I can, hm?" He taunts as his hands grab ahold of your hips. His eyes are fixated on where you two are connects. He loves watching his length sink inside you.

Your warm wet entrance only serves to suck him in further, causing him to groan and continue his deep, ruthless pacing.

"N-no..." You're not even able to deny it to him and play hard to get. No one comes close to making you feel as good as he does.

His hips snap forward harshly, fucking you deeper into the black leather of the couch beneath you. Your entire body jolts with each rough thrust.

"Only I'm good for you, isn't that right little dove? You're mine, aren't you?" He asks as his hand reaches up and wraps around your throat, gently applying pressure. His eyes are now staring deeply into yours, waiting for an answer.

"Fuck, Hiro.." You whine, unable to commit to saying you're his. He applies a bit more pressure with his thumb and fingertips.

"I asked you a question." He grits as he slams back into you at a dizzying rate. "Are you mine?"

"Oh~ fuck.. I-" You can barely get a word out as he's ruthlessly abusing your little cunt. This was the roughness you had begged all those other guys for. "Yes-! God, fuck, yes." You cry as you feel your stomach clenching with the burning passion of another orgasm.

"I'm gonna let you in on a little secret because you're mine now, dove." He mumbles lowly as he leans closer towards you. His hips keep up with his rhythm as his face is close to your ear. "That guy you sent to prison today was innocent of all counts."

Your hands reach up and hold onto his back muscles as he's rutting deep inside of you, reaching new places with his new position.

"What-? Hiro... I don't.."

"You sent an innocent man to prison, little dove. Doesn't that bother you? You're sick just like me." He continues on, making you feel all confused.

"How... ah~ how do you know he's innocent?" You ask as your eyebrows furrow. Your hands search his back, and your legs wrap around him as if you're hugging him.

"Because I did it." He growls into your ear. "That pathetic excuse for a man wasn't good enough for you, LD."

Chills immediately shoot through your body from him calling you by those damn initials. LD. You cling to him for a moment, unsure of what to even feel or say. His hips continue to rut inside of you.

"What's the matter, little dove?"

LD. Little dove. You squeeze your eyes shut as you finally piece everything together. Your last hookup didn't disappear. Your stalker, Hiromi, took care of him just like he promised he would.

For some sick reason, your stomach continues to clench as he's rocking back and forth. Your eyes meet his.

"Hiro... that's so.." You can't get the words out before you're finishing all over his cock with a high-pitched squeal.

Hiromi grins wildly as he watches you come undone from your orgasm. "My little dove is just as sick as I am, isn't she?" He coos before he leans back up.

His hips starts to drill into you mercilessly, not giving you a chance to catch your breath or even think. "Oh, fuck!" He curses as he's chasing his high deep inside you. “Mmnph~ gonna cum inside you and really make you mine.” He coos as his hips start moving sloppily.

You know it’s so wrong and taboo, but you couldn’t help but feel your arousal start building again. He just confessed to you about a serious crime, yet your pussy was still soaked, making the most delicious plap! plap! plap! noises as he pounded into you.

“Fuuuuck~” He groans as you feel his thick length twitching inside of you as he spills deep into your womb.

For a moment, you’re completely speechless. Hiromi softly pants as he presses small kisses into your collarbones. “‘m sorry. I had to do it, dove. I couldn’t let him get close to you.” He murmurs quietly. “Only I get to hear your sweet sounds. No one knows you better than me.”

Taking a deep breath, you realize that if this ever gets brought to light, you and Hiromi are going down for life. You gently nuzzle your face into his neck. “Hiro, you’re insane.”

“I know that, I do.” His voice is so sweet, cooing to you. “But we can get away with it, even if we’re miraculously caught.” He presses a sweet kiss to your temple.

Well, a year later, and the two renowned lawyers are married. At least you didn’t marry someone with a criminal record ;)

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #drabble #jjk suggestive #jjk higuruma #higuruma x reader #higuruma hiromi #hiromi jjk #hiromi x reader #hiromi smut #higuruma smut #jjk x reader #smut drabble #smut oneshot #smut

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toadtoru · 2 days

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sunday we make pancakes

part of alba's fluff week

pairing: satoru gojo x gn! reader contents: tooth-rotting fluff, you wear his shirt, if you can't cook then just pretend for me okay! wordcount: 550

You wake to the smell of something burning.

Slowly, you get out of bed, only bothering to rummage through your shared closet to put on one of Satoru’s shirts. You wrap your duvet around you, shuffling into the kitchen to see what’s going on.

Satoru stands, wearing only his boxers, dealing with the stove. It seems the pan is what is causing the smell, as you creep up on him and see the burned attempt at a pancake.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be scrambled like that,” you say, and Satoru hums, having heard your bare feet padding against the floor. He turns his head to look at you, smiling at the view that greets him.

You’re bleary-eyed, and your hair is tousled. You look like a dream, he thinks.

You place your duvet on a kitchen chair and walk up to him, swatting his hand away when it comes down in an attempt to squeeze your ass. You grab the spatula from him, putting the smoking pan away and taking out a new one.

“You’re cleaning that later,” you say, and Satoru grins, kissing the crown of your head.

“I really tried,” he says, and you glance up at him. You take the bowl with the dough and inspect it.

“The dough looks good,” you muse, getting on your tiptoes to give his lips a peck.

“I just think you’re using too much heat and too little butter,” you say, turning on the heat on the new pan and adding a generous amount of butter.

Ever since you and Satoru moved in together—he moved into your apartment, claiming that his own was too big and empty—it’s been your mission to try and teach Satoru how to cook.

You were appalled at first when you realized he only ever ate takeout and heatable meals, till you realized that he didn’t do it because he was lazy, but more so because it’s never really occurred to him that cooking for himself was an option.

Luckily for you, Satoru is a quick learner. And he likes cooking for you, likes surprising you with dishes you haven’t even taught him yet. He wants to cook for you till you’re both old and wrinkly; make sure you never go hungry.

Pancakes, however, he hasn’t mastered yet.

There’s a tiny pout on his lips. You giggle, pinching his cheek and shaking your head.

“You’ll get it next time, baby,” you say, and Satoru makes a face at you before beginning to set the table.

You flip the pancake, humming along to the tune of the music that’s playing on the speaker. Once Satoru is done, he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. His chest is warm against you as you continue on with your task at hand.

“How do you make it look so easy?” he asks, and you snort.

“It’s really not that hard.”

"Yes, it is!”

He tightens his grip around you for a second, and you pat his arm.

“I love you, Toru,” you say. “Thank you for the pancakes.”

Satoru kisses your neck, trailing kisses all the way to your jaw. The action makes you giggle.

“I love you too. More than you could ever know.”

thank you for reading!

event masterlist | main masterlist | dividers by enchanthings

#alba writes #gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gn reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader fluff #gojo fluff #satoru gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x gn reader #jjk drabble #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #x reader

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artyandink · 3 days

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whiskey, baby

SUMMARY: Dean’s no longer a demon, and in order to deal with the horrors of all that he’s said and done he retreated into his own shell. Drowning himself in whiskey and his own problems because that’s all there’s left to do. Then there’s you, his demon self’s esteemed fuck buddy, who comes up with a two step plan to feeling good, only for a little while. Step 1? Let you take the reins. Step 2? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

TW: MOC!Dean, angst, demon trauma, post demon!Dean, Reader’s not a stone cold bitch and actually worries about Dean in this but in her own weird way, Dean doesn’t hate her for an odd reason, smut

STW: switch!Dean, riding, oral (m + f receiving), temperature + whiskey play, lipstick play (does it count?), marking, switch!reader, thigh riding (brief), pussydrunk!Dean, fingering, face sitting, ass slapping, thigh slapping, slight overstimulation, ring kink implied, major praise kink, dirty talk, damage of clothes, vocal Dean, threat of exhibitionism

A/N: Yes, this is a sequel to lipstick, baby, and you guys can make the comparison between Dean as a demon during the smutty parts and Dean post demon and more aware. Hope you enjoy!

NOW PLAYING: RIVER - BISHOP BRIGGS

Dean felt kinda empty, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Being a demon didn’t suit him at all, and now that it was over he was left to deal with the reality of it all. The killing, punching people’s lights out, hurting Sammy, hurting in general— he hated it with every fibre of his fucking being.

“Fuck.” Dean growled under his breath, staring at himself in the mirror and finding he just couldn’t damn do it, looking away after barely five seconds because holy hell, he wanted to smash the mirror in just to please the Mark throbbing on the skin of his forearm. “Shut up, why don’t you, you… I don’t even know what you are.” He hissed at the Mark, but it didn’t shut up or stop pulsing.

The bunker door being banged on drew his attention away from his own flaws - thank God, if the bastard even existed - and prompted Dean to walk out of his bathroom, grunting an affirmation that yes, he was coming to whoever was behind the door.

When he wrenched it open with an expression that looked like the human equivalent of a ticked off chihuahua, he saw… you. Oh, fuck, oh, shit, you. The woman that he as a demon had incredible sexual escapades that may or may not have been the star of his dreams for weeks on end after the whole demon thing got cured. Pouring the whiskey on your body, you riding him till you both were spent— it felt almost lucid.

“You.” Dean murmured hoarsely, his throat feeling dry upon the sight of you and your gorgeous, sexy self. Today you were in denim shorts and fishnet tights - of course you were in something that made his senses go wild - with the same red plaid that was buttoned up this time, tucked in and the sleeves rolled to your elbows.

He kind of felt a little out of place. Out of place in his own home— that’s the kind of effect you had.

“Gee, how enthusiastic.” You drawled, leaning against the doorframe, brown paper bag clutched in one hand. “I really thought you’d be more inclined to see me, Dean, I’m partially offended.” You gave him a cheeky smirk, then grasped what was in the bag, showing him the neck of a bottle of Jack.

Oh. That changes things.

Dean’s lip twitched up at the sight, warming up to you like he would when drinking the good stuff. Then again, he knew that deep in that roughed up heart of his, he had a soft spot for you in particular. “That’s my girl.” He took the bottle, examining it with a chuckle as he let you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“So, Dean, how’ve you been?” You asked, following behind him, your boots clicking on the tile of the bunker’s floor. You looked around, pouting in approval at what you saw. Place was damn impressive. But you were also perceptive to Dean. The way he clutched that bottle like a vice, the slight tightness in his gait, the set of his brow. All subtle, but you’d had sex with this man enough times to know when something bothers him.

What? You were perceptive during sex too, you’re not only in it for the physical stuff. You’re not a monster.

However, Dean just shrugged, making a grumble of an ‘eh’, ambling with you towards his bedroom. “As good as a man can be, sweetheart. You?” Bullshit.

“I mean, how’ve you really been?” The question stopped him dead in his tracks, and he swallowed, eyes furtively glancing to you in a way that screamed ‘oh, shit’. But he didn’t say anything, just prompted him to trudge up to his bedroom, you following, rolling your eyes.

Dean Winchester was the sexiest man alive, but… my god, was he irritating sometimes.

“Three fingers, sweetheart?” Dean asked you as you stepped over the threshold to his bedroom, the guns and random trinkets he’d collected adorning the place as usual. His bed was messy, pillow and blanket askew, which he tried to sort out but only ended up messing it up further.

You smirked, winking as you closed the door behind you, kicking off your boots and moving to sit beside him on the bed, cross legged while he was propped on his hand, legs outstretched. “You know I can take it, handsome, don’t be shy.”

Dean couldn’t stop the visual from popping up in his head. Damn demon him for being so attracted to you. Then again, he couldn’t really say anything.

He poured you three fingers of whiskey in a glass and handed it to you with a soft grunt under his breath, his eyes flicking over you for the umpteenth time before pouring his own. “Here y’ go.”

“Cheers.” You smiled, clinking your glass with his before sipping some of it. “I know you better than you think, y’ know that? You’re struggling, even a blind man can see that one.”

Dean just grunted again, shaking his head. “M’ fine, darlin’. Don’t sweat it.”

“Don’t sweat it? Damn, you really are struggling.” You snorted, taking another sip of your whiskey. “C’mere, babe.”

Dean scooted closer, clearly not anticipating how your lips would ghost his jaw before pressing an open mouthed kiss to it, humming and sucking on the skin, making his breath hitch and eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “Darlin’—”

“Shh.” You continued kissing down his stubble, drawing a quiet moan from him, not protesting as you plucked the whiskey from his hands and set it on the bedside table, guiding his hand to your hair.

Fuck. This is what he gets, for not having a woman’s touch in a while.

“Mm, baby.” Dean couldn’t help but groan, especially as your hands pulled off his flannel — wait, when did you unbutton that thing? — and tossed it aside, his back hitting the mattress, eyes hazy and hands flying to your soft thighs as you straddled him.

Not like he was roofied, he just felt so drunk. Not on whiskey, but on you, your lips, your gorgeous body.

Now he saw why his demon self liked you so much.

He exposed his neck to you, which earned a hum of approval from you, your hand cupping the side of it as your thumb brushed his pulse. “Attaboy.” You whispered, one hand smoothing back his hair (the whimper that left him was almost embarrassing). “Lemme take your mind off things.”

You returned the favour from the first time, grabbing the whiskey glass and pouring the contents on his chest, the cold compared with your warm body making Dean shiver.

His belt clattered to the floor.

Jeans went after.

And your tongue was on his chest.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen something filthier in his life, it rivalled the likes of Casa Erotica— your tongue flattening against the divots and ridges of his muscle as you collected the burn of the whiskey on your tongue, moving down and down, kissing his v-line, nuzzling his thighs.

“Don’t you stop, sweetheart.” Dean pleaded, voice strangled, hips bucking as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and freeing his cock, which was already needy for you.

Damn, the effect you had on him was ethereal.

You chuckled, licking from his base to his tip while your thumb spread his precome, his hips bucking into your hand with a needy whine. “Not gonna stop, don’t you worry.”

“Gonna taste you,” He panted, his skin glowing already with a thin layer of sweat as his hand twisted in your hair, “when this is done. Mark my words, pretty girl, gonna eat you dumb— son of a bitch.”

“Looking forward to it.” You murmured before you took him into your mouth, working him fast while grinding into the bed.

The sight of him with his head tossed back, eyes rolled and freckled cheeks flushed like that was incredibly hot, ok? Don’t blame a woman.

You pulled off him to suck at his tip, which had him fisting the sheets, eyebrows furrowed in bliss. “So good, handsome. Taste so good.” You murmured, which earned you a sinful whimper.

Praise kink. Noted.

Your signature scarlet lipstick smeared on him — good — and left your mark, sucking and licking until Dean came, spilling into your mouth, but you’re a trooper, so you swallowed the whole thing.

Before you could register, however, you were being yanked up the bed and Dean’s hands were undoing your shorts, shoving them down — ripping your panties — and taking your fishnets to your knees, hauling you onto his face and barely letting you register before his tongue fucked into your soaking pussy, your eyes rolling back like his did, moaning in sync as one hand shot to the headboard and the other his hair.

His hands were so fucking reverent, gliding up your thighs, kneading them, one moving to deliver a light smack and grope to your ass, moaning when you began to grind down onto his tongue because you just couldn’t help it.

And then his hand slid up your back, around to your front, unbuttoning your plaid so his fingers could pay extra attention to your nipples (you would obviously show up to his house braless, y’all out there’d understand) as one long, thick finger thrusted up into your pussy, ring pressing against your g-spot in a way that had his name tearing from your throat.

How was normal Dean better than demon Dean? Or Deanmon. Whatever, either way, he was fucking you right.

“What if Sammy comes back, huh?” Dean growled into your cunt, licking every inch of it while he pushed a second finger into you, then a third, stretching you out and sending vibrations and electricity through your body. “Gonna give him a show, sweetheart? Show him how much you fucking need me?”

He ripped an orgasm from you, drinking it up like he was parched before flipping you over, getting your plaid off and entering you in one clean stroke while his mouth enveloped your nipple, sucking and nibbling.

“Shit, Dean!” You cried out, the first coherent sentence you could make since you rode his face and even that meant don’t you dare stop. And if any other man threatened you with exhibitionism you’d probably slap him and leave.

But this was Dean Winchester, so you’d make a thousand exceptions as long as he fucked your legs out.

He marked your neck, pounding into you like he just couldn’t help it, entwining your hands and pinning them above your head. “F-Fuck, baby girl. So tight— shit. Could fuck this pretty pussy forever.” He rolled over, putting you on top, and you took the cue to ride him, moans in tandem as Dean reached down to rub your clit. “Ride me, baby, c’mon. Give it to me, need it all. Please, need all’a you.”

Well, how could you say no?

“So good,” You panted, which earned a whimpering moan from Dean. “Gonna give it all to you, promise.” You clenching around him and his cock’s ride brushing your g-spot and all of it reaching places you didn’t know you had sent you over the edge, and before you’d realised it, he’d come before you with a strangled grunt of your name, hands moving to your hips to help you through your high despite being in it himself.

Once you’d come down from your high, and he his, you pulled off him, collapsing on the bed next to him, both of you flushed red, panting and so damn satisfied.

“C’mere.” Dean rasped, holding a hand out to you, and you were confused. The hell is he doing? “C’mere, baby.” He looked positively wrecked — you most likely did too — but that didn’t distract you.

“Why?” You tilted your head, pushing sweaty strands out from your face.

“To cuddle, why else?” Wow, he was a secure man, saying it outright like that. “I wanna hold you, sweetheart.”

He didn’t hold you as a demon. Nobody had.

So you scooted up to him, laying your head on his chest and allowing his arm to rest around your waist, other one acting as a pillow underneath his head.

Dean felt upset that demon him hadn’t taken the courtesy to hold this gorgeous woman, but now’s not the time to address that.

“Thank you, gorgeous,” He kissed your hair, “I needed that.”

𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

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glitterjay · 18 hours

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— AND LIFE STARTED SOUNDING LIKE A PIANO | LHS

﹒ꕀ﹑je te laisserai des mots

GENRE fluff, college au SYNOPSIS heeseung's life seemed to be a lot darker and more depressing than usual. after his previous girlfriend broke up with him, all he did was sit around and do nothing. if he could describe what was going on inside him, he would probably use the sound of crashing waves in the middle of the night to represent the disaster within him. but who would have thought he'd find comfort in a girl who was trying to learn how to play the piano? WARNINGS not proofread

it had become routine for you to spend time in the music room that housed a piano. it had always been your dream to learn how to play, and now that you had one within reach, you couldn't let the opportunity slip by.

no one was ever in that room unless there was a class going on, and no one really bothered to go in when they heard the instruments being used. it was perfect for a single girl to learn at her own pace.

heeseung, though, had lost any interest in instruments and singing. knowing he’d spend hours in front of that same piano last semester, writing or learning songs for his now ex-girlfriend made him sigh in frustration. sometimes relationships just don’t work, and he understood that. but damn did it hurt once it was over.

it was the weekend, which meant you could spend even more time trying to learn, "lights are on." It was a simple yet beautiful melody that could get you used to using both hands on the keyboard.

heeseung was just passing by at the time you started playing. wearing a simple, loose white t-shirt accompanied by gray sweatpants and slippers. if he was honest, he really didn't feel like going to sunghoon's dorm, but he knew he had to get out of his own at some point.

the melody had caught his attention for a second, and he shook it off. just as soon as he was about to turn the corner, he heard you smash all the keys at once—a sign of frustration he knew a little too well.

his body had stayed still for some reason, still listening to your attempts at getting the chords right. after the breakup, heeseung felt like all he could hear was static noise. sometimes it even felt like waves crashing over his ears, preventing any other type of sound from being heard.

but as soon as he heard the melody of the piano coming from the room, his point of view had changed a little. it was a nice sound that didn't make him feel like he was drowning.

once again, you hit all the keys at once, releasing a very loud sigh right afterward. heeseung walked back to the open door that was allowing him to hear everything. sunghoon and his friends could wait after all.

he stood there for quite a few minutes until you noticed his figure. it was then that you offered him a smile and a small wave. heeseung smiled back without even thinking about it and nodded in response.

"you play the piano?" he asked. simple and obvious question, but a great conversation starter.

"would you believe me if i say no?"

"no."

"then, i guess i do know how to play the piano."

he smiled and pointed at your hands resting on the keys. "press any of those," he said. you found his request quite strange, but you pressed one of the notes nonetheless. "see, you do know."

and without even noticing it, heeseung had spent the next couple of weeks helping you master the song you were learning. he would joke about why you didn’t pick an easier song like “married life,” and you’d simply tell him that you wanted to go above and beyond.

when he knew he'd be too busy to be with you, he would go to the music room at night and leave notes for you to follow the next day.

to you, it was a great way of interacting with new people outside your friend group, and it was nice to finally have someone with the same passion as you. on the other hand, heeseung felt like his life was starting to come back to him. It started to sound like the beautiful melody of the most expensive piano.

happy semi c comeback :]

#— ✿ c's work!#enhypen #engene #enhypen fluff #enhypen heeseung #kpop #kpop fluff #enhypen heeseung fluff #heeseung fluff #lee heeseung #heeseung #lee heeseung fluff #soft hours

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aangelinakii · 21 hours

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PUPPY DOG EYES.

— what's this feeling?

summary : jason and you are best friends, that's it! nothing romantic about it! so why does it feel so wrong when someone else asks you out?

note : this is another installment in the "cats and dogs series" !! i got a bunch of things in my inbox about this so i decided to do another story loosely based off the requests i was getting, so here it is ! i tried to stick with the dogs theme 💀 so i hope you noticed that without me saying anything

there's nothing wrong with the guy chatting you up at the bar, jason has to tell himself as he watches from afar. you'd left the pool table to take over this round of drinks and were taking longer than expected.

his grip tightened on the pool cue, as a lump of.. something formed in his throat and a squirm haunted his belly.

but jason was pulled from his daze as something hard bumped into his shoulder, and he looked away immediately, unable to disguise the grunt he'd let out in surprise.

"you good, man?" his friend roy asked, playful grin on his lips. "it's your go."

heart thumping in his chest, jason cast one last glance your way, watching briefly as you laughed, the sound muted from here over the old billy joel music playing overhead. he let out one breath and turned back to the fuzzy green table.

"what the hell?" although the words seemed severe, a small smile had appeared on jason's lips. whilst he'd been distracted, roy had potted most of his balls, with only two left until he'd have a go at the eight-ball. jason still had five.

roy laughed from where he walked around to the other side of the table. "while you were busy in dream land watching your "best friend" with those puppy dog eyes, i was busy making moves. that's why you gotta keep your head in the game." he made an effort to emphasise the best friend part.

it seemed everybody but the two of you had realised your secret, unearthed feelings for each other. even when everybody made jokes about it, both of you stayed to the "just best friends" pipeline. words didn't phase either of you.

but maybe a guy flirting with you at a bar was the thing to do it.

no, jason told himself. he's just looking out for you. doesn't want any man to take advantage of you after you've had a few drinks. that's a normal way to feel, isn't it? he'd feel that way about anyone.

except maybe tim drake; anything could happen to that guy, and jason wouldn't give a single fuck.

with one final glance over, jason would take his go, and hopefully get in the lead. but when he saw you point in his direction, and the droop of the man's face when he followed your gesture, he couldn't help but feel some strange concoction of pride and self-consciousness bubbling in his belly.

he looked away after that, took his go, potting in a ball immediately, which was picking up his moral. as he was moving around the table to angle for his next pot, you swirled around behind him, tray of new drinks in your hands.

"you alright?" jason's voice came, sending a glance as you placed the trays on the small circular table to the side of the pool game, the undertone of his words husky.

you hummed in return, perching yourself at the side of the green table, not showing any signs of the conversation you'd just had with that mystery man, and something in jason felt himself growing anxious.

he didn't want to push it, come off weird, so he lined up his next shot.

"who was that guy?" roy hummed, throwing jason off completely, just as he hit the end of his cue against the white shotball. way for keeping quiet, roy.

jason took a step back to watch the white ball bounce off the green sides a few times, but fail to connect with any of his balls, and sighed.

roy, taken by this, grinned. "okay! two goes for me! get your head in the game, todd."

but he couldn't find it in himself to quip back, only sent a playful smile his way. he was too anxious waiting for your reply.

you took a step away from the pool table to reach for your drink, and jason found himself rounding to your side, too, big hand taking hold of his amber pint.

"just a guy, i guess," you hummed, voice muffling at the end as you brought the glass to your lips. "thought i was cute." you gave a chuckle, placing down your drink back on the tray. "but i said i was already seeing someone."

as he lifted the drink to his lips, jason eyed you carefully. was this something he knew about, or was it just an excuse? he knew people that had to say that sometimes, that they had a boyfriend when they didn't, just to get someone off their back.

"i used you as my boyfriend," you added, turning to him, just in time for jason to pull the glass from his lips, tongue darting out along his lower lip to blot away some beer residue. "hope that's okay?"

to this, roy was none the wiser, already taking his second turn, but missing the pot, so he was groaning. he'd probably just asked you to make conversation upon your return, but was evidently much more interested in the game at hand.

"yeah, of course that's fine," jason hummed, voice clearer now that he'd rehydrated, but still owning that hearty, deep tone.

he took a step up to the pool table, thumbing the pool cue in his grip, which looked like a toothpick next to him, and glanced back. "he didn't bother you bad, though, did he?" the question was asked with an airy concern.

and you just shook your head, smiling back.

aren't you glad you have such a great friend?

#aangelinakii #dc #dc comics #dc imagines #dc reactions #dc headcanons #dc universe #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd reactions #jason todd imagines #jason todd headcanons

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its-all-stardust · 2 days

Text

Sugar || 10

Masterlist || Part Nine

Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Series Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Steven says immediately after his admission. He doesn’t even give you time to react.

“I’d rather be your boyfriend.”

He stands and starts pacing in front of the couch, carefully stepping around the cushions and pillows scattered on the floor, left there after vacuuming the crumbs from the chairs.

“I haven’t even told you what happened, and as soon as I do, you’re never going to want to speak to me again,” he continues to ramble, scenarios playing out in his head—none of them ending happily for him, you’re sure.

All the while, you’re still caught up in what he said to you.

“I’d rather be your boyfriend.”

That’s what you want, isn’t it? And yet, you feel strange.

The words repeat in your head, threatening to overshadow this past weekend and Steven’s alarmed state.

“You know what? I didn’t mean it. Sorry to inconvenience you. I’ll just see myself to the loony bin now.” He starts to walk away, heading for the door.

He’s actually going to leave.

Your hand shoots out, grabbing his before he can get far. “Steven, wait.”

He stops, his hand twitching in yours, unsure what to do.

“Let’s just…try this again,” you say, tugging him back down onto the couch. He didn’t actually want to leave, it seems. He just doesn’t know what to do, overwhelmed by whatever happened and the unplanned admission.

“I’d rather be your boyfriend.”

You push the words away. Even if Steven genuinely meant them, coming on the heels of a blackout that has him more scared than before renders them almost meaningless.

“I told you everything I know. Now it’s your turn,” you say, and Steven tenses even more.

“I-I don’t know if I—”

“You came here because you needed help. Whatever it is, I’m here for you. No matter what, okay?”

Steven stares at you, nervous.

“What’s the first thing you remember?” you ask softly, squeezing Steven’s hand.

“Are we just…skipping over the embarrassing thing I said?” he asks, trying to tease, but his body is still tense, and his smile is more of a grimace.

You smile at him, trying to think over the heavy thudding in your chest.

“We can talk about that too if you want. After you tell me what you know.” You rest your other hand on top of his, cradling it between both of yours.

Steven looks away, his face flushed.

Then he takes a shaky breath and tells you everything.

He tells you about the strange dream that possibly wasn’t a dream at all. He mentions waking up in a strange town and the odd man who sent people chasing after him. Steven says he doesn’t remember how he got away and that some of the details are fuzzy.

Throughout the retelling, you get the sense that he’s holding something back, but you have no idea what it could be, not with how open he’s currently being.

“What was so strange about the man?” you asked.

“He was…weird, ya know? Talked like a cult leader or something,” he answered, a slight tremor in his voice.

“Why were they chasing you?”

“They thought I had something. Some artifact? Definitely don’t have anything like that, though.”

Steven couldn’t even tell you where he was.

It was an outrageous story, to be sure. You’re once again tempted to put some sort of tracker on him in case this happens again. Maybe you can ask…

“It couldn’t have been real,” Steven concludes at the end of this tale. “It had to have been a dream, right?” He looks at you, desperate, though for what answers you don’t know.

But you’ve never been in the habit of lying to Steven, and you won’t start now.

“Did it feel like a dream?” you ask. You feel confident it wasn’t, but Steven needs to accept it himself before the two of you can move on to finding a solution.

“No,” he answers quietly, sounding defeated and perhaps a little afraid. You pull Steven into you, wrapping your arms around him.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise. I’ll look for doctors or psychiatrists again. Something.” You hold Steven for a moment longer, relishing his presence, and he yours, when something occurs to you. “That strange man,” you begin slowly, making sure you have Steven’s attention. “Do you think he’ll come after you?”

After what Steven told you, if this man sent people to chase after him on the assumption that he took something, there’s no telling what lengths he would go to.

Steven tenses under your hands before pulling away from you.

“He wouldn’t. Couldn’t,” he says, though you don’t know if he’s trying to convince you or himself. “He doesn’t even know who I am. And if I didn’t even know where I was, there was no way he could follow me. And I don’t even have the bloody scarab he wanted! He’s got no reason to find me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything. Whatever the artifact is, this scarab Steven mentioned, if it’s valuable enough, some black market dealers will go to any length to ensure their payday.

Instead of saying anything to Steven, you smile and try to appear relieved.

“Let’s not worry about that, about him, okay?”

You don’t doubt that Steven’s telling you the truth about his blackouts, but you can’t help but wonder how someone like him could get involved in business like that.

Skipping the background check was a bad idea.

You immediately scold yourself for the thought.

You know Steven. You trust him. Whatever happened had to have been some sort of mistake.

It had to.

You and Steven didn’t talk about what he said. With everything he told you, you figured it best to wait for that conversation.

Instead, you make sure he eats something and, remembering his schedule, get him ready for work tomorrow.

When you ask if he wants to stay the night with you, he practically jumps at the chance. Then he hesitates, suddenly looking nervous.

There are a few things still left unsaid.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. I promise,” you tell him with a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Alright,” Steven says softly, staring at you with tenderness filling his gaze.

In the morning, Steven isn’t beside you.

Not again.

You check the sheets, searching for his warmth, but find none. It’s almost become a routine at this point.

“Steven?” you call out, heartsick. He’s not in the en suite; the door is left open, and the lights are turned off.

You don’t want to leave your bed, afraid of what you might find. Or rather, what you might not.

But then—

“Downstairs,” called quietly back up to you.

The sound that escapes you would have made your face heat with embarrassment if you weren’t so relieved to hear Steven’s voice. You rush out of bed, not caring about your appearance. He’s seen you like this before anyway so what did it matter?

Steven is in the kitchen, sitting at the table, surrounded by the remnants of his making breakfast.

“Still warm,” he says, pushing a plate toward you. “Just finished up a few minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” you ask, sitting across from him. Why did he make you wake up without him?

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You wait, but he seems to rethink whatever was about to come out and remains silent.

Turning to the plate in front of you, letting Steven think, despite how nervous his silence makes you, you look down at the plate he prepared for you. It’s simple. Pancakes topped with the bananas you had browning on the counter. You top them off with the syrup he’d left on the table and dig in.

“I don’t think we should get involved,” Steven blurts, the words coming out in a rush that leaves you choking on your food.

“W-what?” you manage between coughs.

Steven stands and starts pacing in a loop around the table. “I know what I said last night, but you… After this weekend, you shouldn’t want to even be around me.”

“Steven—” you try to interrupt.

“Something’s definitely wrong with me, and who knows where I’ll end up next or what’ll happen or if there will be some other shady man with a bad haircut—”

“Baby, stop,” you say softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm, bringing him to a stop.

Steven stares at you, holding his breath.

“Baby, we’re already involved,” you tell him. You’ve been involved since he agreed to meet you to go over the terms of your arrangement. And not once since that meeting have you ever thought about ending things between you. You’ve only grown more attached.

Steven shakes his head but doesn’t pull away from you. “We shouldn’t be,” he argues weakly.

“I want to be.”

His breath catches, and his eyes darken.

You know what to say next, but the words catch in your throat. You’ve been fighting your feelings for so long now. It’s like your mind is trying to stop you from going any further. You’ve protected yourself from any solid romantic feelings for years, causing you to balk at their rising.

This could end badly, a dark, scared part of you argues. He could hurt you. Break your heart.

You’ve always listened to that voice. It’s worked out well so far. That’s what you’ve always thought, at least.

But you don’t want to listen to it anymore.

“I want to be your girlfriend,” you admit, breathless, like your body couldn’t find the air until you said the words.

The words trigger something in Steven, all the fight visibly leaving him.

And before you realize what’s happening, Steven’s lips are on yours, crashing into you with a fervor you haven’t seen before.

You kiss him back just as fiercely.

“You don’t mean that,” Steven sighs, his lips brushing yours.

“I do,” you pant, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him back into you.

You want him even closer, but the angle is all wrong—him towering above you while you’re still in your chair. For now, though, it works, and you don’t want to let him go for a moment, even if it would be to somewhere more comfortable.

Eventually, you and Steven calm down. The kisses turn soft, lingering, instead of the gnashing of teeth and tongues it started as.

“Don’t go to work today,” you say softly, pulling away to look Steven in the eye. You don’t know if you can ask that of him, if you should, but you don’t care.

You want Steven with you. Forget everything else.

His face flushes as he looks down at you. “Okay,” he agrees immediately. “Do you…have something in mind?”

You take Steven in, pupils blown wide, blending into the brown, kiss-swollen lips, his mouth open, panting slightly. You can’t help but smirk a little, guessing his thoughts.

“We need to talk,” you say, standing and stepping away. You need to clear your head, and distance is likely the only thing that will help.

“Talk?” Steven asks, confused.

“If you want to do this, if you want to be more than my baby, things will be different. We’ll need to talk about it first before anything else,” you explain.

Steven frowned. “How different?”

You give him a gentle smile and take his hand, squeezing it. “Just different. Good different.”

You leave him to clean up the kitchen and call in sick to the museum as you return to your bedroom to make yourself more presentable. Giddiness fills you, knowing Steven still wants you after running out of bed and with syrup on your face.

When you go back downstairs, Steven is in the living room, having replaced all the cushions and pillows you had strewn across the floor. He’s staring over the back of the couch at the stairs, waiting for you. He gives you a tentative smile that you easily return.

He reaches for your hand as you round the end of the couch, pulling you down beside him, so close you’d be in his lap if you shifted your legs just a fraction closer.

“Romantic relationships are harder,” you start, needing to say it, to remind yourself, but also to make sure Steven realizes it. You’re giving him an out should he decide he needs one. Much like when you went into detail about your expectations of him as a baby, you want him to know that he doesn’t have to agree to this.

“Are you sure you want to be involved in that way? There’s no going back,” you warn, because there won’t be.

Once this line is crossed, there’s no taking it back for you. You know yourself too well. If this doesn’t work out with Steven, if being your boyfriend—and potentially anything else in the future—is too much, he could never go back to being just your sugar baby.

You will either have all of Steven or none of him.

Steven squeezes your hand, the flush returning to his face.

“I’ve sort of…already told people you were my girlfriend.” He ducks his head in embarrassment but doesn’t try to hide from you. “So, yeah. Very sure I’m sure.”

“You what?” you ask, a little stunned. “Who did you tell?”

“People at work,” Steven starts, sounding apologetic. “Donna was going on about how I couldn’t get a date. So I told her, actually, I’m dating an amazing woman, thank you very much, and she’s too good to be around the likes of you.”

“Did you really say that to her?” you laugh.

“Well, not that last bit. Didn’t actually want to get fired. I wasn’t sure if I should have tried to explain that you pay me, so it just kind of slipped out.”

“You should have told me. I would have put Donna in her place.”

Steven smiles affectionately at you. “I know you would have. But it was alright in the end. She didn’t have much to say after I showed her the pictures of us in Germany.”

You laugh again. “Good!” You loved that trip. You can’t wait to run away with him again. Then, you ask, “Did you tell your mom I was your girlfriend?”

He shakes his head. “But I talk about you enough. I’m sure she suspects.”

“Maybe we can call her again,” you suggest, remembering the one call—or rather, voicemail—you sat in on, how Steven was so excited to have you talk to his mother.

A tenderness filsl Steven’s eyes. “I’d like that.”

You take a moment to envision what all this could mean. What your future with Steven could look like.

It excites you.

“So first things first,” you say, finally ready to go into how things would change once he’s no longer Steven Grant, sugar baby, but Steven Grant, boyfriend. “Obviously, you can keep whatever I’ve given you so far, but I won’t be paying you anymore. That includes your bills.”

“I was never doing this for the money anyway,” Steven assures you, and that surprises you a little. The two of you have never spoken about why he agreed to be a sugar baby even though he’d never done it, never even had it on his radar.

Then again, it wasn’t typically a question you asked any of your babies. The answer was always the same: they did it for the money. Either they wanted it or desperately needed it. People don’t become sugar babies because they want to soothe the loneliness of the wealthy elite.

“Why were you doing it then?” you ask quietly, unable to guess the answer and unsure if you want to know but need to ask anyway.

Steven flushes again. “Well, when a woman like you said she wanted to take me to dinner, I wasn’t inclined to say no.” He gives a flustered, delighted laugh, remembering the day you asked him out. “And then we got to talking, and I liked you. Really liked you. And you liked me, which was shocking, I must say.”

He runs his thumb across your knuckles, taking a moment before continuing. “When you asked me to be your sugar baby, I figured if that was the only chance I was going to get at being around you, then I was going to take it.”

You’re both pleased and stunned by his admission. To know he was interested in you since the beginning—and not for your money, but just you—makes this feel like a dream. Surely, you are still asleep and will wake up to an empty bed, Steven gone.

But you know you’re awake. Steven thinking the only way to be with you was by being your baby wouldn’t break your heart so much if you weren’t. It hurts because you know it’s true.

Had Steven refused your offer and said he’d rather date you and act like a normal couple, you would have dropped him then and there, never tempted to see him again. It wouldn’t have mattered what you saw in him in those early days, how much you saw yourself in him; you would never have broken your self-imposed rule against traditional dating and relationships. It’s only now, months and overflowing—overwhelming—feelings later, that you’re finally willing to give it, give Steven, a chance.

And now, sitting here with him, you don’t know what to say. A breathless “Oh” is the only thing able to escape your lips because the knowledge that he has only ever seen you leaves you dumbstruck.

Steven must somehow know what you’re feeling, though, because he squeezes your hand, still clutched in his. Then his free hand reaches up and lays on your cheek, thumb lightly stroking it. His eyes don’t waver from yours as he leans in.

This kiss is different from the one in the kitchen. There’s none of the urgency or desperation. It’s soft, gentle, almost chaste, like Steven is trying to tell you something without words.

You guess at what it could be but are afraid to let the thought settle. Things are just beginning with you and Steven. There’s no rush to do anything. If he wants to tell you whatever he’s trying to through touch, you’ll happily wait until he can find the words.

And then, so unexpectedly you can’t help letting out a surprised sound, Steven gently pushes you down onto the couch. He braces himself on his forearms, keeping most of his weight off you. When his lips move along your jaw, you let out a gasp.

“We haven’t finished going over everything,” you say, clutching Steven’s shirt—not to push him away but to keep him close.

Steven lifts his head and grins down at you. “I think i can figure out how to be your boyfriend. Or do you have a list for that, too?” he teases, and your face warms ever so slightly.

“I might,” you mumble. Though now, you’re not sure you need to give it to him.

“You can tell me about it later, then, yeah?” Steven chuckles.

“Yeah,” you agree as you slide one hand up into his curls, pushing his head down so you can kiss him again.

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anjelicawrites · 1 day

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Could you PLEASEEEEEEE write Osferth X professor!reader with religious kink and corruption if not that’s okay ily

Hi nonnie! Your lovely ask evolved into a full fledged fanfic! I hope you'll enjoy it!!!

Warning: religious kink, corruption, self-harm, whipping, description of self-inflicted wounds, a dash of obsession, p in v sex, sex in a church, overstimulation.

You can't sleep.

The pouring rain should lull you into slumber, yet you have been tossing and turning in bed ever since you closed your eyes; you know why you're so restless, and have been for months, desperate to ignore the root of your issues, until even your dreams aren't a safe refuge anymore.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

With a huff you leave the warmth of your bed and throw your dressing gown over your night gown. You ignore the Loeb volume on your desk, deciding to head out, your mind is nowhere near translating archaic Greek.

When you were hired by the Catholic University you still work at, you were a bit anxious at having to live on campus, in the small apartment your employer rent you at a ridiculously low price, compared to the city. You were afraid that you wouldn't be able to have friends over and to have to live like the monks and priest working and studying here, and not like a layperson. You heart had soared when you saw that the building was dedicated to the laypeople personnel of the University, although still connected to the maze of ancient corridors and tunnels that formed the veining of the University town.

It comes handy now that you want to go to the small Chapel built at furthest corner of the north border of the grounds.

You're not a religious person. You don't consider yourself to be an atheist, simply someone open to a spirituality that encompasses all organized religions. When you go to the Chapel, your goal is to help your mind slow down and focus, not because you want to pray.

Tonight, more than any other time in your life, you need to reach that part of your inner self that's calm, collected. And not in the throes of a passion that's forbidden, not only one sided.

You walk as close as possible to the ancient walls, the storm is so violent that the rain is pouring through the columns of the portico, wetting the part of the flooring that's the closest to the inner garden.

Trembling, the cold being so biting not even your flannel nightgown, nor the thick dressing gown protect you fully from it, you reach the side entrance of the Chapel, the one that opens to the right side of the altar.

You stand, rooted under the old lintel, like a salt statue, like Lot's wife during the fall of Sodom, your eyes drawn to the kneeling figure of the man that's haunting your dreams.

The lights are off, only the votive candles on both sides of the nave barely illuminate the, otherwise, pitch black Chapel.

In the darkness you can't see what he's doing, only when lightning explodes outside, you realize he's not praying, no, he's whipping himself, blood pouring down his long back and splattering on the stone floor when he lifts the scourge to hurt himself again.

Over the squelching sound of leather against flesh, over the rain pattering the stained-glass windows, you now hear his voice, broken by moans of pain, reciting prayers after prayers, begging his God to forgive him.

You don't know for how long you stood there, watching him hurting himself, the horror and the surprise rooting your feet to the ground, choking your voice.

"Osferth!"

He looks like he's a the end of his tether, his torso falling forward inch by inch with each lashing he's giving himself.

Your eyes, having adjusted to the dim lights of the candles, now see the rivulets of sweat traveling down the naked skin of his front, mixing with the blood pouring from his open wounds, ending where he's bunched the upper part of his cassock around his slim waist.

He can't focus his sight on the blurry image emerging from the shadows, sweat and tears blind him, so is the hunger clenching his stomach painfully: he's been starving himself to punish both his traitorous mind and body, now he feels so weak he can barely keep himself upright, the pain of his torn flesh stabbing him with every breath he takes.

His strength abandons him, he almost faints with his head against your shoulder. When he feels the soft material of your dressing gown, he starts crying, inconsolable, like a lost child.

For the longest moment he doesn't recognize you, the white of your nightgown and azure of the dressing gown deceive his tired mind: all he sees his the statue of the Virgin Mary advancing towards him, her arms open for a sinner like himself, her smile serene as she looks at him with a Mother's love.

He only realizes his mistake when your soft palm caresses his cheek.

It's not the Heavenly Mother who's come to his rescue, you were simply standing in front of the statue.

You don't know what to do, you're afraid of hugging him, only to hurt his mangled back. You didn't expect the object of your dreams and sinful desires to be in the Chapel with the sole goal of obtaining forgiveness, for what sins? You're the one who has been having those all too real dreams, where he would come to your office, and not to clarify any doubts one of your lessons might have left him with.

What sins has this pure soul committed, that warranted such harsh punishment?

Your hands shake violently when you put one on his side, and the other in the sweaty mess of his hair. You're unsure of what you've walked upon and want to calm his desperate wailing, scared he might truly faint, or worse.

Gently you caress his hair while you call his name, slowly helping him back into himself, ordering him to breathe slowly, following the even movements of your chest. Whatever this is, it is your duty as his professor to help him solve his issues: you can't abandon him.

Against yours, his body still shakes with torment and affliction, yet he manages to lift his head to look at you with the saddest eyes you've ever seen.

"I can't live like this anymore." He says with a broken voice. "I can't."

His hands, the very hands you fantasized about in the wee hours of the night, grab your shoulders with desperation, forcing a wail out of your lips.

This is the moment when you understand that you haven't been alone in your impure thoughts.

You never wanted to, consciously, tempt him, yet you would always open as many buttons of your blouse as you could, when you knew you'd be teaching his class. You would wear the tightest slack the dress regulations of the University allowed you to and you would get in Osferth's personal space more than you would any other student, whenever he stayed after class to ask you questions.

You wanted him, though.

From the moment the monk had walked in your advanced Classic literature course, you had felt the know of desire tighten in your belly. You had wailed his name with your hand between your legs, only to force yourself to ignore your actions as soon as you reached your orgasm. You had tried to gauge the shape of his lean body, under the bulky cassock he would always wear, only to chastise yourself afterwards.

As bad as you knew your desires were, you never truly tried to stop them, you simply hid them under the rug, in the vain hope they would die there. And never stopped tempting him.

Even with the bleeding man in your arms, a part of yourself hopes he would reciprocate. Even with the proof of the pain you've cause him, you can't help yourself but needing him like you need air.

"Shh, Osferth. Shh." You murmur, your forehead against his. "Shh. All is well. Shh."

His lets his head slide down the curve of your shoulder, where he can smell you, until his heart stops beating madly in his chest.

With your head still stroking his hair and tonsure, you tell him you need to get the first aid kit in the small room behind the altar.

In your arms, Osferth wails in distress again, until you promise him you'll come back in five minutes, you simply need the time to grab the box standing under the defibrillator.

You help Osferth lay on his front on the soft fleece of your dressing gown, then you rush to the office, almost falling in your haste.

When you come back you can't see him breathing. Scared you kneel by his side and pull his unresponsive body on your folded legs, your haste movements jostle his body painfully, causing Osferth to wail in your embrace.

Even though the Chapel is rarely used, the University had to install a first aid response point, due to the fact that the University grounds are enormous: if someone were to need first aid help, the closest, used, building, would still be too far away.

As you grab the heavy box, you thank the regulations of the University: you're not sure Osferth is any shape to walk anywhere. On top of that, the storm is still raging outside; with those open wounds on his back, he wouldn't be able to wear anything to shield himself from the biting cold.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You tell him, your voice high pitched. "I'm so sorry, Osferth!"

What are you sorry for? Your desires? Having elicit his own fantasies? The raw wounds marring his skin? For causing even more torment just now?

With a groan Osferth turns his head, open eye focused on the shadows hiding your beautiful face.

"Don't leave me, please!" He begs, feeling fresh tears welling in his eyes. "Don't abandon me!"

The way you two are positioned puts the statue of the Virgin Mary in his line of sight, since you're partially covering it with your torso. You wonder if he's talking to you, or to Her.

"You need to lay on the gown again. Your wounds need to be disinfected." You murmur. "I'm not going anywhere."

With what little strength he has left, Osferth moves his body off your legs and on the soft fleece. On purpose he turns his head, knowing fully that he can't face you, and the Holy Mother behind you.

Even on Sacred ground, even after praying desperately, starving himself and flogging his traitorous body, all his thoughts towards you are sinful: he doesn't see the fear and affliction in your eyes, your worry for his health, all he can focus are your breasts and the nipples poking against the material of your nightgown. Your touch, albeit gentle, inflames his loins anew, as if the pain each breath brings him doesn't exist. He doesn't truly hear your words, he only knows he wants to kiss you until your taste is all he can feel.

His wounds look horrific: there isn't an inch of his back that's not torn, raw skin; he has managed to strip the outer layer, and kept going until he had bled.

He winches when you start cleaning his back, begging him for forgiveness with every pass of the sterile gauze, until you can start applying layers and layers of antiseptic cream and plaster, covering the wide expanse of his ruined back.

Once you're done, you can't make yourself lift your hands from the dressing; even under those circumstances, you want to feel him.

"Why did you do this to yourself?"

You know the answer: the same malady plaguing your mind has invaded his yet, in the dazed state you're in, you want to hear the confession spilling from his lips.

Heartbeats as long as centuries pass, before Osferth finds the strength, and the courage, to lift his abused body to kneel in front of you. Only then he looks at you with haunted eyes.

"Because I am a sinner. Every breathe I take, every thought coursing through my brain makes me one. I think about you during every waking hour. You come in my dreams, taking my willpower away from me. I no longer want to live for my vocation, I want to live for you."

"When I pray, it's you I see behind my closed eyes." He barks, forcing your body closer to his. "I can't study, I can't focus on anything but the lust I feel. I keep wondering about your taste, the texture of your skin. How you'd sound under me. Even when I was punishing my flesh, all I could think about was you."

His voice raises with every words he says, until he's feverishly screaming in the silent Chapel.

Before you can answer, his hands grab your shoulders again in a painfully tight grip that surprises you.

On instinct you put your hands on his naked chest, unsure if you want to push him away or drag him closer to you.

"Osferth..."

His warmth liquefies your strength and stuns any good purpose you might have.

"I can't live like this anymore." His voice has taken a begging note, his hands shake your body. "I can't free myself if you don't tell me you don't want me. Please, I can't..."

Osferth bends his head again, overwhelmed with tears and shame.

You weren't acting as yourself, you will repeat in front of the mirror in the morning, you didn't know what you were doing, you'll lie to yourself, waiting for night, and him, to come.

All his life he had desired the safe haven of the monastery. To leave the world behind and follow his Calling.

Or so he thought.

With you so close, supple skin and enticing smell, he doesn't know what it's right and what is wrong anymore, what he truly wants for his life.

Possessed his hands strip the flannel off your body, until he frees your breasts, his hands cupping the warm skin as he sighs in the kiss.

You are absolutely aware of your actions. Of cupping Osferth's tear streaked cheek with your hand, until you could stare in his eyes.

When you slant your lips on his, you know you have opened the gates for a flood neither of you will ever be able to control.

You link your hands behind his nape, pulling him over you, the dressing gown your only protection against the unforgiving stones of the nave.

His kiss is hurried and inexperienced, so are his hands on your body, pinching, touching, caressing every inch of skin he can find.

When his fingers meet the wetness between your legs, he stares at you, surprised.

"Osferth, please!" You beg, lifting your hips to bunch the flannel around your waist. "I need you."

He's on you again, kissing and biting, scratching as if possessed.

Hungry you help him remove the cassock and boxer briefs, until he's naked, and hard.

You don't know if this is his first time, it doesn't matter when he breaches you with a shout, and keeps pushing and pushing, deaf to the sounds of pain and pleasure that spill from your lips: all he can focus now is your warmth, and the way your muscles pull him in, mercilessly, until his hips are flush against yours.

"I... I... Oh God!" He screams when your hand curls around his massive erection to stroke the fluids weeping from his head, all over his hardness.

"Now, Osferth! Now!"

Only then he stops moving and pulls his torso up to look at you.

In the half - light he can see the blessed out expression on your face and the way your breasts heave with every breathe you take. You're so beautiful this can't be sin.

Hastily you plant your feet on the ground and grab his buttocks, pushing upwards against his body, fucking yourself on his cock until he lets his weight be carried by his forearams.

You scream when he pounds recklessly inside of you.

He fucks you like an animal, no finesse, no technique, his cock rams against your walls, opens you up with squelching sounds when your wetness starts dripping from your hole.

You can't match his hunger and let him sweep you away, your legs curling around his trim waist, nails puncturing the meat of his ass.

Blindly he fucks against your G spot until you arch and come under him.

He doesn't stop.

The tighter you curl around him, the faster he goes. He brutalizes your insides, he bites the soft skin of your neck to snuff his own moans of pleasure, the pain of his back forgotten.

On instinct he pulls out and turns you around, only to enter you again, marveling at how deeper he can reach now.

He's possessed by lust you, under him, can only grab the fleece and scream your orgasm, unable to even beg for mercy.

You're a trembling mess under him, your combined honeys drip from your hole and have formed a white ring around his base; inside of you, he's still hard.

Relentless he fucks your hole, your muscles pull and curl around him, his balls, impossibly full, slap against your naked skin. He grinds against your cervix when you whine in pain and tightens his hold on your hips when you come around him.

He can't stop.

His erection is pure torture. His brain is screaming that he needs to come, he stubbornly tries to push his own end away: he doesn't want the coupling to stop, he doesn't want to leave the sanctity of your wet cunt, even now that you're begging and crying, he can't stop, not when you come again and curl impossibly tight around him.

Desperate for a sliver of control, he pulls out and turns you on your back.

You're so beautiful with your teary eyes and weeping pussy, the skin of your breasts marked by the stones under your entwined bodies: you are the image of lust and desire, with your lips bitten raw and your splayed legs.

Unconsciously his cock strains for your hole, for its warmth and hunger; he chokes on his own saliva when he sees the way your cunt clenches, still needy for him.

You're so sore, oh God so sore! No one had ever given you such a pounding, you're sure you'll not be able to walk tomorrow.

You don't deny him when he enters you again, moaning, his head whipping back to expose the cords of his neck, your hole so wet he bottoms out easily.

Mesmerized he stares at the junction of your bodies: how will he be able to live without this? Without your warmth?

He lays on you, his weight partially carried by his forearms, his pubic bone delicious against your pearl.

Your words unleash his lust again. Like a man possessed he fucks you, barely leaving your hole, grinding against your body, reveling in the way you moan and whine, your hole clenching tighter and tighter, the pressure mounting at the base of his spine until he comes, copious in your pussy and you follow him, blinded by the strength of your orgasm.

"Osferth, I can't..."

"Please!"

"Come with me, Osferth! Please!"

He's still laying on you as his cock softens in your hole. He almost purrs when he feels your hand caress the solid muscles of his arse; no, this isn't sinning, not when it's you.

Dazed you two help one another with your clothes, his hands and yours tremble, your eyes don't meet. That's why you notice the cilice sitting on the first pew.

With shaking fingers you take it in your hands, finally staring at him.

His hands are so big, yet careful to remove the vile instrument from your grasp.

"Were you going to wear this?" Your voice shakes with pity and fear.

"Not anymore."

"Do you regret..." Your hands gesture to the floor. "This? The Dean can have my resignation letter first thing in the morning."

Before you can start to fear his response, he grabs your arms again, shaking you.

"No! Never!" He shows the cilice right in front of your face. "Wearing this for the rest of my life would hurt less than not being with you again! Flogging myself until no skin remains would hurt less! I don't want this to be a once only!"

The vehemence of his words, the desperation you can see in his eyes, they both surprise you, so is the fact that he is confessing all of this on Sacred Ground: you thought his calling was the only thing that mattered to him, that he would deem your coupling a mistake.

Despite the weariness he feels in his body and the pain now biting his back, he stands to his full height, grabbing your hands with his own to help you on your feet.

"I can't fathom not having you inside of me again and again, Osferth."

"I'll never leave you."

Outside the storms still rages, as if the Heavens are screaming at the sins you two are committing by promising absolute faith to one another in front of the Altar, a blasphemous matrimony.

"I am yours, and you are mine." He says with a firm voice. "That is the only important thing."

"Yes." You cup his cheek. "I'm yours and yours only."

It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but you two and the bond now binding your souls.

No one will ever separate you two.

No one.

Osferth taglist: @fan-goddess

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose @thought--bubble

#answered #osferth x reader #osferth x y/n #osferth

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beefrobeefcal · 13 hours

Text

Dreamers part 2 feat. Frankie Morales

Summary: Old wives tales talked of soul mates being connected through dreams, but this notion no longer held weight in today’s day and age, what with apps for dating and pills to make sleep heavy and devoid of images. So you didn’t think anything of your beach dreams, even when they got stronger and the emotions you felt so intensely stayed with you for hours after you woke. They were just dreams... right?

My contribution to @burntheedges Roll-a-Trope fic challenge. I got Frankie + Soulmates.

Frankie Morales x f!reader 'Kit' | Rating: 18+ MDNI | Word Count: 3,834

Content Warnings: surreal and bad feeling dreams, talk of prison, ending of a marriage, betrayal, traveling, maladaptive day dreaming, smutty and sexy dreams

Author's Notes: Thank you to @burntheedges for this prompt. I never had the pull towards soulmate fics but this experience has changed my mind!

Thank you to @noxturnalpascal for picking up my typos and handing them back to me in gentle love, and @strang3lov3 for their magic powers and brainstorming abilities and to @bitchesuntitled for their eyes and love. Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

You stood in front of the mirror in the guest room, looking over your outfit. You weren’t happy with Benny, but especially Mandy because she was the one who promised you that she wouldn’t try to set you up with any of their friends. You felt bad for taking over Benny’s computer room, but when you heard him whine to Mandy about how he missed her and wanted alone time, you couldn’t help but feel gutted that you were in the way and being a burden.

Mandy knocked on your door softly and opened it, catching your eyes in the mirror. “Hey! You look nice!” She kept her voice sweet.

“Yeah…”, you muttered, looking down at yourself. You’d borrowed a dress from her since you didn’t really have any good summer wear for a date night, given you didn’t expect or want to be going on dates.

Mandy’s face fell and she walked into the room, standing behind you. She fixed the back of your hair and said quietly. “I swear, Kit, this is not a date. He’s a nice guy who just wanted to see a movie and no one else was available-”

“And Benny wants me out of the house.”, you interjected. You once again locked eyes with Mandy in the mirror, and she could see that you weren’t happy about this.

“Kit-”

“You can just be honest and say this isn’t working out!”

“No, Kit-”

“I didn’t come down here to interrupt you and your boyfriend or make things weird enough that you have to convince some guy to get me out of the house.”

Mandy stared at you, hurt and remorse written all over her face and she backed up. She took a deep breath and looked down, pursing her lips together.

Benny bounded in the room, not picking up on the tense atmosphere and excitedly asked, “Hey! You excited for your big date, Kit?”

Both you and Mandy faced him and stared. It took every ounce of your strength to hold back the verbal tirade you wanted to levy at them both, but instead you nodded and tried to offer a smile, keeping your mouth closed.

Mandy shook her head subtly at Benny and widened her eyes at him, silently telling him to shut the fuck up!. Benny looked between you both and before he could ask what was going on, you interjected, “Yeah, I'll be out of your hair soon, Benny. Don’t worry.”

You pushed past them both and headed to wait for your ‘date’ outside.

Frankie drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his truck and he pulled into the parking lot of Benny’s apartment complex.

Benny had said you’d be wearing a ‘purple sundress or something’, and when he saw the back of a woman standing under the awning in front of the complex, he assumed it was you. He got out of his truck and was greeted immediately with the sounds of Benny and Mandy fighting, coming from their open windows and sliding door.

You stood under an awning, trying to stay out of the direct sunlight that you were still trying to get used to, absolutely devastated and guilt-ridden for causing the very loud scene unfolding upstairs. You didn’t hear the truck and you didn’t hear the person siding up to you.

“Well they seem to be off to a good start for the night.”

You just about jumped out of your skin and the unexpected voice coming from beside you. Turning to look, you just about choked on your breath.

When his eyes met yours, it seemed he almost had the same reaction. You both were finally putting faces to some unknown part of your own subconscious selves. It was like electricity being exchanged at lightning speeds between you. Those curls, that voice, that smile, that smell…

You had no idea how long you stood and stared at one another in your bubble where time seemed to be standing still. It was the loud crash followed by an elated squeal from Mandy above that brought you out of it.

You both blinked and looked away from one another as the telltale sounds of makeup sex started to echo out of the apartment’s windows.

You and Frankie went to the movie - it was a pretty bad, poorly made action film - and neither of you wanted to acknowledge what had happened before. You were both in need of time to process what you’d felt and neither of you were really ready for it.

After the movie, you sat silently in his truck as he drove you back to the apartment complex, and you were nervously pulling at a loose thread along the hem of your dress. Frankie saw it out of the corner of his eye, then cleared his throat.

“So-uh… thanks-thank you for seeing the movie with me.” Frankie mentally kicked himself for how stupid it sounded coming out.

“Thank you for taking me.” You felt like an idiot trying to talk to him. “It was- the movie was-”

“Bad. It was bad.”, Frankie smiled.

You let out a small but genuine laugh. “Yeah, it was pretty bad.”

A silence fell over the truck again, save for the sounds of the engine plugging along the road.

You didn’t know what to say to keep the conversation going, and you did want to keep it going. The anger and worries that plagued your mind before this seemed to have taken a backseat to the feeling that you want this man in your life.

You also weren’t sure you were ready to show your face at Mandy’s apartment just yet, unsure of the reception you would receive. But you said nothing and sighed as Frankie turned the truck into the parking lot and parked.

He sighed then said softly, “I don’t wanna come off as a creep and Benny said that you’re not really looking for anything… but I figure that - ummm - everyone could use a friend and-”

Turning to you, he paused and your eyes connected again. His eyes searched yours in a daze and his lips were parted like he was trying to find the words he was trying to say. Your mind swirled and you nodded dumbly back at him, the same dazed glint in your eyes.

“We can be friends…”, you murmured, and Frankie nodded.

You skittered getting out of the car, feeling like your body was filled with stockpiled electricity that had nowhere to go. No sooner had you shut the truck door before Frankie pulled out, tires screeching and peeled out of the parking lot.

You had no idea what was going on and you stood staring at the stairs up to Mandy’s apartment door. There were no lights on and you breathed a shaky sigh of relief as you went up and into the dark apartment.

“Oh fuck… yes…”

Frankie’s eyes darted back and forth under his lids, his breathing short and shallow.

You looked so good on your knees between his parted thighs, lips pulled tight around his cock. Your eyes were wide and wet, tears on your face and choked whines and gagging sounds seeped out around his girth.

“That’s it… fuckin’ gag on it… good girl, good girl…”

The flat sheet clung to his sweat coated body as he writhed in his sleep.

“You love this, don’t you?... chokin’ on my cock?... yeah, ahogarte, hermosa… eso es todo…” [choke on it, beautiful… that’s it]

He cupped your face, brows tented as you kept your eyes on his. He breathed out harder and faster, feeling your throat constrict around the tip, sending him over the edge…

Frankie’s eyes shot open as he came. As he caught his breath, he lifted up the sheet, seeing how it stuck to his thigh and he flopped back and huffed. He hadn’t jizzed in his sleep since he was in middle school.

“What the fuck was that?”

Your toes curled as his tongue found the right spot.

“Fra- oh baby, right there!”

You were on your side, gripping the pillow under your head. Your knee came up and you moved semi onto your front.

His lips opened and he mouthed your pussy, his tongue roughly prodding your clit. His big hands held you firmly to his face, not allowing you free reign to escape or grind down.

“Please- don’t stop! Right there! Oh fuck-yes, right there!”

Your hips rolled and you opened your mouth, panting softly.

Two of his fingers pushed into you and you keened. He started at a steady pace, but quickly began to go harder and faster. Your eyes found his, dark and blown out, brows furrowed in lust and determination.

“Fra-oh god! Please-I’m cl-...I’m close! I’m-oh god!”

You woke yourself up with a moan, the final ripples of your orgasm washing over you. Shakily, you pushed yourself onto your back, feeling the aching bloom of a passed climax, and you rubbed your face.

“What the fuck was that?”

Frankie couldn’t go back to sleep, not with the mess he’d made. He’d been awake since he'd stripped his bedding and loaded it into the washing machine. He ruminated over his dream as he sipped his black coffee, quietly consoling himself by affirming that it was a dream - yeah, he knew it was a dream; it was definitely a dream. It was a very realistic and mind melting dream, but that’s it… right?

He swore though, as he sat and sipped, that he could still feel the tingle in his dick that your teeth grazing his skin left behind. And the way your throat would tighten as you gagged. He didn’t even think he was into that kind of thing. Sure, he’d watched porn and seen the girls do that, and sure, he’d gotten blow jobs where that happened, but it had never been anything that caused quite that reaction before.

A smaller part of him felt bad: Benny hadn’t gone into details about you, just telling him that you’d just gone through a divorce and your ex was a piece of work. Frankie wasn’t sure if that meant that the guy was just a dick or abusive or what, but he’d just met you and he felt inexplicably drawn to you and was dreaming that you gave him the blow job of his life.

He groaned. The sun hadn’t even risen yet and just the thought of what you did in that dream was making him hard again. He threw back the rest of his coffee and got up to pour himself another cup.

You didn’t go back to sleep after waking from your dream. You couldn’t get the way Frankie’s eyes burned as he ate your pussy out of your mind. You laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling and fidgeting your hands.

You’d yet to hear any movement from Mandy or Benny and the sun wasn’t out yet. You wondered if Frankie would really feel that good with is mouth on you, fucking you with his tongue, and you felt a twinge of guilt. In an effort to convince you to go to the movie with him, Mandy had given you a brief overview on Frankie; how he’d been in a long term relationship that ended when he was told she was pregnant and it wasn’t his. How he’d spiraled into drugs and alcohol and lost his pilot’s license, but he’d just gotten it back after working really hard. All the information she gave you left you wondering what Frankie was told about you.

But what really got you about what Mandy said was how much she thought of him, how bad she felt for him when his relationship fell apart, how hard it was to watch him struggle but also how proud she was of him for fighting so hard to get his life back on track. The way she spoke about him was now igniting something in you, in tandem with his words, “...everyone could use a friend.”

Why was that making you horny?

You got up and went into the bathroom to have a cold shower.

The next week went by in a haze for Frankie. He went to work, flew the helicopters, came home, ate, jerked off in the shower and slept. Repeat. The only thing he had any clarity was his dreams - with you on the sidewalk of a busy city street in the rain at night. It was the same thing every night - just as before - but now it was your face filling the foggy, blurred void of the woman who kissed the back of his hand reassuringly.

Frankie had pulled away from the group that week, not answering phone calls and only replying to texts with Busy. Santi had enough and showed up, unannounced, at his front door.

“Hermano, you look like shit. What is the matter with you?”, Santi pleaded as he sat heavily on Frankie’s couch. “It’s like you’re falling back into bad habits… what happened? Carrie call you or something?”

Frankie bristled at the mention of Carrie, his ex. “No. Fuck… no nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

Frankie sighed and dropped his head into his hands, palms pressing into his eyes. “It’s the dreams.”

He didn’t see the grin take over Santi’s concerned face as relief spread out over it, and he didn’t see his friend sit back on the sofa with his hand on his chest. Frankie only looked up when he heard Santi let out a laugh.

“The dreams!”, Santi exclaimed in a breathy laugh. “Oh thank fuck! I thought you were on coke again.” He suddenly sat up and put a hand on Frankie’s knee. “You’re not on coke again, right?”

“No! And why are you laughing? How is this funny?”

Santi shook his head and waved off Frankie’s question with a smile. “Tell me about your dreams, gilipollas.”

You avoided spending much time at the apartment unless it was in your room. The dreams were back at the beach, and now for sure the man who held you from behind and whispered things in what you assumed was Spanish into your ear was Frankie. You felt awkward and in the way and you didn’t want to lose another person in your life and you had started looking for your own apartment to try and salvage what you had with Mandy. You didn’t even know if she or Benny were angry or mad at you, but you couldn't bring yourself to find out without having a back up plan.

Your solitude was broken finally on Thursday night when there was a knock at the door and upon calling out Come In, Benny opened and poked his head into your room.

“Hey… was wondering if we could talk.”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

You adjusted yourself to being seated on your bed and Benny pulled out the desk chair and sat backwards on it, resting his arms on the backrest.

You watched as he cleared his throat and seemed to look anywhere but you.

“So, I wanted to-uh… I wanted to say sorry to you.”, he said softly, picking at his cuticles. “Mandy hasn’t told me much but from what she’s said, you’ve been through the ringer and having an asshole like me shove his-”

You interjected with a sigh. “You’re not an asshole, Benny.”

“Fine, but I was acting like one. I threw a bitchfit because I had blueballs.”, he said point blank and you couldn’t help but give him a small smile and huffed chuckle.

“See? You laughed, I was being an asshole.”

You looked down at your hands and nodded, pursing your lips. You looked up with a resigned shrug. “I get it though. You’ve had Mandy all to yourself for what, two years? And then I come along and threw a mopey wrench into the mix and took away your computer room.”

Benny’s shoulders dropped and he shook his head. “I’m the youngest out of five kids. Three sisters and a brother. I’m used to getting my way and not having to share. So just let me be sorry, okay?”

“Fine.”, you acquiesced as you crossed your arms. “You can be sorry and I’ll be apologetic. Yes?”

Benny smiled and shot his hand out and you took it, giving him a firm handshake.

“But you won’t have to share for long. I found an apartment.”

Benny’s face fell. “Mandy’s gonna have my balls.”

“So wait - the girl in your dreams became Mandy’s friend? Or did you finally realize it was her all along?”, Santi asked seriously, his eyes narrowed and his finger moving through the air as if drawing a connection between two points.

Frankie groaned and fell back against the back of the couch. “Does it matter?? What’s the difference?”

“There’s a massive difference, Frank!”, Santi laughed, being somewhat astounded at Frankie’s lack of comprehension. “In one way, you got the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing going, but in the other, this girl is your soulmate.”

“Fuck off with the soulmater bullshit!”

Santi shook his head with a tight smile. “Uh-uh, pendejo! You’re up shit creek without a paddle and I am your fucking life line! You’re stuck with me on this journey! Unless you want me to tell my abuela about that dream you had that was so good it made you cum like a-”

“Okay! Okay, just - fuck… not that. Never speak of that again!”

Santi nodded, pleased with himself. “Okay then. So I guess the next step is to put yourself at the mercy of fate.”

Frankie looked at Santi, completely over his superstitious bullshit. “What the fuck does that even mean. Pope?!”

The end of month came quicker than you anticipated and Mandy cried as she helped you load up Benny’s car with your bags.

“You know you don’t have to leave right? Benny promised to be better and I won’t force you on any more dates.”

You turned to her, trying to suppress a grin and nodded. “I know I don’t have to but you’ve already done so much for me. Getting me a job and giving me a place to live for the last few weeks… I can’t accept any more. Plus I’m like less than a five minute drive away. Same complex as Santi. I’m not far!”

She nodded and wiped a tear away. “I know, but-”

Benny interrupted with a deep, beleaguered sigh. “Ladies. Please. Can we get a move on?”

Within less than an hour, you had all your bags unloaded and Benny had set up the bed for you from the guest room, noting that they didn’t need the bed anymore because that room was going right back to being his gamer sanctuary.

You’d already ordered furniture that was going to be delivered the next day. After the pizza was eaten and the internet tech had come and gone, Mandy and Benny bid you good night and you were alone. For the first time since you left the house you and Tony lived in empty, you were truly alone.

Frankie was up early, reading the news on his phone and drinking a coffee when he got a message from Benny in the group chat.

Benny: Hey anyone around to help kit put furniture together? Busted my back putting my gamer sanctuary back in place last night. Laid up in bed

Before he could answer, another message popped up.

Santi: im super busy. frankie is available. send catfish.

Frankie sucked in a breath and froze. Fucking Pope. He sighed and replied.

Frankie: Sure. What time should I head over?

It was midmorning and you were contemplating murder. You had pieces of a dresser, an entertainment unit, a bookshelft and two bedside tables all over the living room floor and the instructions didn’t make sense.

Your doorbell ringing snapped you out of your rage for a moment and when you opened the door, you were met by Frankie, awkwardly smiling and holding a box of donuts and two coffees in a cardboard tray.

“Hey. Heard you need help with furniture.”

Two hours later, your couches had been delivered and Frankie had made sense of every single piece of furniture.

“Where do you want it?”, he huffed as he backed the top half of the dresser down your hallway as you carried the bottom.

“Uh… as soon as you go in, just to the left of the doorway.”

He nodded and guided you and the dresser into your room. He puffed a few breaths out and had his hands on his hips, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander up and down your body. The denim shorts you were wearing clung to your ass and the way they pulled just so between your thighs made him feel light headed. The tank top hugged your tits perfectly and your neck looked so good with the slight sheen of sweat over it.

As he watched you move about the room, figuring out what to put on and in the dresser, he heard rain. Heavy rain. And traffic. The smell of engine exhaust and wet pavement surrounded him along with the ambient sounds of a city on a rainy night…

As you flitted back and forth from a suitcase to the dresser loading it up, you had no idea Frankie was watching. If you had turned and looked at him, you would have seen his eyes boring into you and unfocused. You smiled to yourself, feeling accomplished when you got a whiff of Frankie’s scent. Deodorant, clean laundry and a bit of sweat and you paused with your back still turned to him.

You heard the ocean coming closer and your feet seemed to sink into the carpet like it was sand, warming between your toes. A sea breeze blew gently through your hair, and you could hear gulls in the distance…

Frankie heard you calling his name, and his head swiveled around, taking in his surroundings. A street corner in a busy city. You were on the other side, beckoning him to come closer with a smile, your motions slowed and surreal. He tried calling out to you, telling you to stay there, but no sound came out of him. You started to back into a shadow with a smile, still welcoming him, but the cars didn’t stop and no matter what he did, waving at you to stop and trying to scream for you, you disappeared into the darkness.

You stood on the beach side and time seemed to stand still. You heard your name and you looked towards where the sound came from and Frankie was calling out, a smile on his face, telling you to come to him. You tried to lift your feet to walk and they wouldn’t move; the sand was sucking you down, pulling you into it and the tide was coming in. Frankie laughed and waved you towards him and all you could do was scream as the sand pulled you right down into the abyss.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

#roll-a-trope #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal fanfiction #soul mates au #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #🥩

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jwsverse · 1 day

Text

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 timestamp 23:40

pairing ⁝ park sunghoon x f!reader

synopsis ⁝ a simple deal that was meant to benefit you leads to a heartbreak that you'll never forget.

genre ⁝ angst, fluff if you squint, fake dating typa thing, heeseung is second lead

word count ⁝ 0.7k

author's note ⁝ icl guys i really liked writing this and i lowk am proud of it... pls do give some feedback! negative positive ANYTHINGGG i love hearing people's thoughts about my writing and i love improving!!!

the first time the deal was brought up, you had given in easily. to you, fake dating park sunghoon meant boosting up your popularity and allowing your actual crush, aka lee heeseung, to notice you.

sunghoon only had one reason to be “dating” you, and that was to get his ex off of his back. of course, you didn't really believe him — you thought he wanted to make her jealous, but he always disagreed. he'd try to push the attention back onto you, like how you needed him if you wanted to work out with heeseung and how no one would notice you if sunghoon wasn't there.

he was right. because the moment the two of you walked into school the next morning, hand in hand, it seemed like your name was spurt out everywhere you went. in a span of a week, your followers on social media jumped way too high for it to be real, and people started slipping love notes into your locker.

it was nice, you admit, to have the attention of other people and to have them wanting you. it was nice when lee heeseung finally took noticed of you at sunghoon's frat party and proceeded to chat with you for a good half an hour. it was nice when he somehow found your instagram and followed you first. it was really nice when he invited you to his basketball game a few weeks later with that charming smile of his and you had decided to go with sunghoon (because he said it'd be weird if he let his supposedly girlfriend go to a game alone). it was really, really nice when you caught him staring at you and sunghoon making out at another party for show (so he could make his ex jealous, you think).

heeseung made your heart skip beats, made your stomach flutter with a whole damn zoo, made your mind go haywire every time he gave you that damn gorgeous smile.

it was horrible, however, when you found yourself enjoying your kiss with sunghoon, rather than the moment of jealousy heeseung seemed to possess when you spoke to him after the kiss. it was annoying when you started to look for sunghoon around school and attending his ice hockey games instead of heeseung's.

it was a fucking pity, when heeseung had decided to ask you out after one of your classes, and you found yourself saying, “can i think about it?” when throughout freshmen year, this was the moment you have dreamed of. instead, when you got home, you found yourself thinking, “what would sunghoon think? would he care?”

thoughts of sunghoon consumed your entire mind and being and you ended up ignoring both heeseung's and sunghoon's text due to how overwhelmed you felt.

you only got your answer 2 hours before class on monday, when sunghoon stood outside your dorm room with your favorite tea because he knew you hated coffee. he had an almost blank expression, but the corner of his lips were slightly tipped upwards.

as compared to heeseung who always made you nervous, sunghoon brought you peace. he never made your hands shake and your breath hitch, but rather you could be comfortable with him — always easily holding onto his arm and laughing with all your might. you could think straight and say whatever you wanted to say, you could say the first thing that came to mind, rather than second guess your words.

heeseung was a crush, sunghoon... he was home.

you had accepted sunghoon's cup of tea and easily slipped your palm into his, fingers intertwining like puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together. the both of you walked to school amidst the chilly autumn, hand in hand and words laced with playfulness.

you had never felt so happy.

when the both of you walked into school and the same people whisper about how the both of you were still together, your home crumbled.

because whilst you had assumed sunghoon was leaning into your to peck your cheek affectionately, which he did, he had also leaned into your ear to whisper with a gracious chuckle you had grown to love.

“we're really good at pretending to be in love, don't you think?”

it was heartbreaking, really, when sunghoon had reminded you so cruelly, that he didn't love you the way you loved him.

#k labels #𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ shelf #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen x you #enhypen x y/n #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #park sunghoon x you #park sunghoon x y/n #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon fics #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fics

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unpredictable-probabilities · 2 days

Text

The Dangers of Dreaming || Chapter 1: Guarded

Summary:

It's Hob's first day at his new job in Endless Media, and he struggles to find footing in being acquainted with the aloof Morpheus Endless.

Meanwhile, important people in the company are at odds with Morpheus, and someone is unhappy enough to have taken drastic measures.

Note:

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 3,701

Square/Prompt: A1 - HItman | @dreamlingbingo

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Corporate, Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59305672/chapters/151250908

———

“Hello,” Hob greeted the only other person in the conference room he just entered.

“Oh hi! Are you the new bodyguard?” the young man asked, gesturing to Hob's uniform that's identical to his.

“That’s me,” Hob nodded, taking a seat at the table as he was instructed to by the security guard who led him here.

“Matthew Raven,” the dark-haired lad held out a hand and grinned. “Been a guard here since last year, but it’s only now I’ve been assigned as Sir Morpheus’ personal bodyguard. It's my first day, too.”

Hob shook his hand. “Hob Gadling, from White Horse Securities. I'm supposed to report to Mervyn Gardner?”

“Yeah he's with Sir Morpheus right now, but he's giving us a briefing later.”

“Ah, okay,” Hob nodded and leaned back in his swivel chair, looking around at the polished walls and floor-to-ceiling windows. “So what's Sir Morpheus like? Is he friendly?”

Matthew's smile faltered for a second. “Um…”

The doors opened and a man with sandy hair walked in, followed by someone wearing a crisp black suit which contrasted sharply with his fair skin.

“Robert Gadling?” the sandy-haired man asked him.

“Just Hob, sir,” Hob nodded and smiled in greeting.

“It's him, Sir Mervyn,” Matthew confirmed.

“Right, then. Both of you, let's go,” the man—Mervyn—gestured at them to stand up.

“I thought there was gonna be a briefing?” Matthew asked, straightening in his seat.

“Later. Boss was just called to a meeting. Come on,” he waved with more impatience.

Matthew scrambled to his feet and Hob followed.

They walked down the corridor past different offices, with Matthew and Hob in front of Morpheus Endless, and Mervyn behind him.

Hob almost told Mervyn that he didn't know the way to wherever the meeting was supposed to be, but he realised that their arrangement was deliberate; he and Matthew were the new guards, and they wouldn't be trusted to walk behind Morpheus where he wouldn't see them if they decided to harm him. So Hob remained quiet and just followed Matthew since he seemed to know where to go.

He expected to wait outside, but Mervyn motioned for him and Matthew to follow Morpheus into a bigger conference room than the one they’d been in.

A few men and women were already seated at the table, at the head of which was a man who Hob recognized from the news and advertisements, Vasilis Endless, Morpheus�� father. To his left was an elderly man who had a perpetual scowl on his face that only got sharper when Morpheus sat at his father’s right.

Other bodyguards were present too, presumably working for Vasilis and the frowning man, based on their proximity to them even as the guards stood by the far wall. No doubt they also signed NDAs like Hob did and were prohibited to speak of anything they hear in meetings like this one.

Hob took his place between Mervyn and Matthew by the wall behind Morpheus, and they all remained silent as a few more people piled in and the discussions began.

Hob had never been to a corporate meeting before, and there were more passive-aggressive remarks and less productivity than he expected from people in crisp suits. The whole thing probably only lasted an hour, but it certainly felt longer, and by the end of it Morpheus was in a bad mood as they made their way to his office.

Hob still walked in front of him beside Matthew, but he didn’t need to see his face to sense the tension in their little group. Mervyn seemed more serious, which Hob didn’t think was even possible, and Matthew had lost all of his enthusiastic energy from earlier.

Matthew opened the door to Morpheus’ office, and Mervyn motioned for Matthew and Hob to follow when Morpheus reached his desk. Mervyn closed the door behind him, and the three of them stood silently by the wall, with Mervyn nearest the door.

Morpheus had just sat down with a barely audible sigh when a knock sounded.

Morpheus glanced up at the door with a glare, then a voice spoke from outside.

“Morpheus?” said a muffled female voice. “Are you in there?”

Morpheus visibly relaxed, the crease on his forehead disappearing. “Lucienne. Come in.” He gestured for Mervyn to open the door.

A woman in a white shirt and purple vest walked in, nodding and smiling to Merv.

“Your guards are in here, I see,” she said lightly to Morpheus as she sat in the chair in front of his desk.

“Mother insisted,” Morpheus muttered with distaste. “You’re aware that if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have guards at all.”

“It’s just a precaution, especially after what happened…” she trailed off when Morpheus gave her a sharp look. “Okay,” she raised her hands in surrender. “I just came here to tell you that we should form the writing team soon for that movie you’re working on. I compiled a list of our most promising writers for the genre you want,” she placed a folder on the desk.

Morpheus took a breath. “They moved up the deadline by a year. I pushed back at the meeting earlier, but the board wouldn’t listen.”

“What?” Lucienne said in surprise. “But that means we only have two years to make it! Do they know how hard it is to animate a two-hour film?”

“Roderick insisted,” Morpheus said the name with venom. “He said that there are rumours of other studios releasing similar genres in three years, and we have to get ahead of them to maximise the profits. You know that miser only thinks with his purse. Father, as usual, let the board decide.”

Lucienne shook her head in disappointment. “Well, it’s a good thing that you got appointed Vice President instead of Roderick. You have the authority to implement some changes if it’s really necessary.”

Morpheus only hummed in response.

Lucienne sighed. “How can I help? How’s the story going?”

“The draft is almost finished,” Morpheus brought out a tablet and looked at the screen, scrolling until he reached a certain part of what he was reading. “I only need to figure out how to wrap up the princess’ arc.”

“And the two suitors?”

“They become good friends with each other and the princess.”

“And what did the producers think?” Lucienne asked carefully.

Morpheus wrinkled his nose. “They want the princess to marry one of the suitors at the end, which would defeat the entire purpose of her arc.”

“That's not surprising,” Lucienne said with resignation. “According to our data, our target market prefers grand weddings by the end.”

“That's because that's all they've known,” Morpheus said. “I'm trying to show representation—” his eyes darted to his guards for only a second, but Hob caught it. He let out a breath. “The story doesn't need a wedding. They only want a wedding scene because of the profits. As if the company would fall into destitution if we show the slightest variation in our stories,” he muttered.

“Whatever you decide on, I'm sure it would be in the story’s best interest. And if you ever need any help, you know you can always ask me,” Lucienne gently reminded him.

“Thank you, Lucienne.” The corners of Morpheus’ mouth lifted in what might have been a smile.

Lucienne reached out to Morpheus' hand on the desk and gave it a comforting pat before standing up. “I'll get back to work now. Call me if you need me.”

“Of course,” Morpheus nodded.

Lucienne walked over the door which Mervyn opened for her, and she gave another polite nod to all three of them before exiting.

Morpheus leaned back in his chair and looked at his tablet with a frown.

Hob cleared his throat. “Sir Morpheus, if I may suggest something?”

Blue eyes looked directly at him, and for a second Hob felt pinned to the spot under that gaze.

Mervyn and Matthew were looking at him too with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Maybe guards didn't usually speak to Morpheus. Oh well, he couldn't take back his words now.

“About what?” Morpheus asked.

“Your story,” Hob gestured to the tablet. “I'd seen plenty of films from Endless Media, and as a longtime viewer, maybe I can offer some perspective,” he gave a friendly smile. He knew that it wasn't part of his job description to be friends with Morpheus, but it would certainly make his job easier if they were.

Morpheus leaned forward on his table and looked at him curiously. “Very well. What do you have in mind?”

“You said you wanted to show representation, right?”

Morpheus' shoulders tensed at that, and Hob quickly continued to explain his idea.

“You said the two suitors become friends by the end, so you can show them growing closer as the story progresses. That way, the young boys in the audience would see that it's okay to have close relationships with other boys. And you can write it vaguely enough that it's still believable when one of them marries the princess by the end. You still get to write the representation, and the producers would get the ending they want,” Hob said.

A crease formed between Morpheus’ eyebrows, and he took a breath before speaking. “Robert, is it? Let me clarify. Are you suggesting I write queerbaiting in my story?”

“Well, I…” Hob looked at his companions. Mervyn's face had its usual frown, though there might be a disappointed downturn on his mouth now. Matthew was looking away from him as if hoping to avoid association. “I wouldn't exactly call it that,” he looked at Morpheus again. Hob had expected that he would find it a convenient solution, media companies did that sort of thing all the time.

Morpheus closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking at him again. “Get out,” he said curtly. “All of you. You can guard me just as well from outside the door.”

Hob scrambled for an apology. “Sir, I was just trying to help—”

“Now. Robert Gadling.” Morpheus' blue eyes were icy cold, and the tone of his voice left no room for argument.

“Yes, sir,” Mervyn opened the door and stepped aside, waiting for Matthew and Hob to exit first.

Matthew walked out the doorway, his head hung low in shame as if he was the one who had made a mistake.

Hob glanced one more time at Morpheus, but the stony expression in the gaze that met him made any further explanations die in his throat.

He simply nodded in apology and followed Matthew outside.

—

The man sitting at the table outside a café stared thoughtfully at the building across the street, sunlight reflecting off his dark sunglasses and blond hair. His ice cream cone was beginning to melt.

Multiple guards were posted at every door, and each door had a metal detector and a police dog sniffing at anyone who walked by. Endless Media’s level of security was just what he would have expected from a multimillion-dollar company; no doubt that there were CCTV cameras inside that covered every inch of the place, including the sidewalk outside. He wouldn't be able to get within three feet of the building without being seen.

His phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at it and saw the contact name R on the screen.

He switched his ice cream cone to his other hand and picked up his phone.

“Hey, Rody,” he answered, casually glancing around to make sure that there still weren't any people nearby.

“Are you outside? I've got your money, just give me a few minutes. There was a sudden meeting and I have to wait for everyone to return to their offices before I leave the building.”

“I told you, you could have just transferred the money to my account,” the man leaned back in his chair and swung a leg over his knee. “That kind of stress is bad for men your age.”

“I can't risk such a large amount being traced back to me!” Roderick hissed. “You're sure I'll get my money's worth?”

“It hurts that you doubt me.” The man licked the ice cream that was beginning to drip down the cone. “Don’t worry, your pretty Vice President will be dead before our agreed deadline.”

Even through the phone, the man could sense Roderick Burgess' irritated glare. “Don't start. That brat’s just lucky he's the son of the owner. I deserve the Vice President position.”

“Sure you do, Rody,” the man drawled.

“Don't call me that,” Roderick snapped. “They increased the security around him now, three guards instead of the standard two. I imagine I'm paying you enough for that not to be a problem.”

“No problem here, Ricky. I already got rid of one bodyguard, didn't I? I can get rid of the rest.”

—

“Sorry,” Hob said sheepishly, standing outside the door with Mervyn to his right and Matthew to his left. “He just looked so upset and I wanted to help.”

“Kissing up to Sir Morpheus isn't gonna work,” Mervyn said gruffly. “Don't make your life harder.”

“He isn't like most of the board members,” Matthew added. “The others would have liked your suggestion, but not him.”

Hob fell quiet and thought back to the meeting. “They did seem to disagree with him a lot. They favoured that Burgess bloke more.”

Matthew nodded. “The argument was much worse two weeks ago, even us security guards who were out in the hall heard the yelling. Some of the board members wanted Sir Roderick to be Vice President after Sir Morpheus’ older brother left the position, but Sir Morpheus threatened to resign too if that happened. From what it sounded like, the investors insisted that Sir Morpheus be the VP instead.”

“Of course they did,” Mervyn grumbled. “He's the most creative mind on the team. If he did leave, whatever company he goes to would have a huge advantage over this one.” There was unmistakable pride in his voice, and Hob felt even more curious about Morpheus. “I bet he woulda done it too. Resigned. Sir Morpheus doesn't make empty threats.”

“He demanded to be Vice President in exchange for him not resigning?” Hob asked.

“I don't think so,” Matthew frowned thoughtfully. “He just didn't want Sir Roderick to have that job.”

“Yeah, I doubt he wanted that for himself,” Mervyn added.

“What do you mean?” Hob furrowed his eyebrows.

“You saw him in there,” Mervyn jerked his head towards the door. “Did that look like a man who got his dream job?”

Hob glanced at the door, remembering how Morpheus seemed to be in a bad mood the entire day, only worsened by the meeting and Hob’s poorly thought-out suggestion.

“I think it's good that he's the Vice President now,” Matthew said. “If anyone can improve things around here, he can. I've heard he's the one who cares the most about the work they do here. Him and Miss Lucienne.”

Mervyn made a grunt that could have been a noise of agreement or acknowledgement, still staring straight ahead.

They fell into silence after that, with Matthew beginning to shift restlessly on his feet as the minutes ticked by.

Then the door opened and Matthew startled, straightening his posture.

“We're going to Fiddler's Green,” Morpheus told Mervyn as he closed the door behind him. He began walking down the hallway without another glance at them.

“Parking lot,” Mervyn told Matthew as he gestured for them to start walking.

They all took their positions around Morpheus, and Matthew led them to the parking lot.

—

Mervyn drove the car smoothly through the light traffic. Hob was sitting beside him in the passenger seat, while Matthew was seated beside Morpheus in the back.

Morpheus had told Mervyn to turn off the radio, and the only sound was the scratching of his pencil on the sketchpad that he began working on as soon as they got in the car.

Hob took that time to memorise the roads they passed by on their way from the office. If he ever got promoted and trusted to drive for Morpheus, he should be familiar with the directions to places nearby.

“The castle looks too intimidating for the princess’ family,” Matthew suddenly said.

Hob looked in the rearview mirror and saw that Matthew was leaning towards Morpheus and looking down at the sketchpad.

Morpheus glanced at Matthew, and the young man jumped backwards in his seat.

“S-Sorry, sir!” Matthew paled. “I was just thinking out loud. Forget I said anything!”

Morpheus looked down at his sketch and back at Matthew. “Too intimidating? What exactly do you mean?” he asked curiously, his voice even.

Matthew stared at him uncertainly, but when Morpheus just quietly waited for him to continue, Matthew cleared his throat and spoke. “I was stationed outside Miss Lucienne’s office last week, and I heard you tell her that the royal family is seen as benevolent, and that the princess had a cheerful personality. The castle in the sketch looks too dark and gloomy. Sir,” he hurriedly added.

Morpheus looked down at his sketch with a thoughtful frown, the silence stretching long enough for Matthew to nervously start speaking again.

“Sorry sir, I didn't mean to meddle,” he fidgeted in his seat.

Morpheus shook his head. “No, you're quite right. I used various references for this castle, and I suppose I leaned in too much on the darker colours. As someone who writes stories to be presented to the public, it is my responsibility to be open to constructive criticism and suggestions. Even if some suggestions turn out to be rather distasteful,” he said pointedly, the turning of the sketchpad's page seeming loud in the silence of the car.

Hob shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry about earlier, Sir Morpheus.” He turned in his seat to face him. “I really meant no offence. It won't happen again.”

Morpheus gave a resigned sigh before gracefully waving a hand in dismissal. “It's no matter. I’m used to heterosexual people proposing such ignorant ideas. It is more rampant in the industry than you would imagine.”

“Oh, that's… too bad,” Hob said, unsure of what to say. “I'm not, though. Heterosexual, I mean.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow.

Hob shrugged. “Yeah. Been into blokes and ladies alike since I was a lad. It would have been nice to see representation while I was growing up. So I admire you for what you're trying to do, sir,” he said sincerely.

Morpheus looked mildly surprised. “You… admire me?”

“I do,” Hob smiled. “You fought tooth and nail in that meeting, and you're not compromising the story you really want to tell.”

Morpheus frowned thoughtfully, and he slowly nodded. “As you say, I also wish I had seen more representation growing up. So I am trying to do that now for others. I believe I can accurately write a developing romantic relationship between two men for the film, even if I may not be in a similar situation at present.”

“Oh, you're… um, unattached,” Hob said in mild surprise. The man was remarkably handsome, after all. “Nothing wrong with that. That's… good. I'm not with anyone either.”

Morpheus blinked, looking at him quizzically. “Robert. Just to be clear. I know I'm not technically your boss since you don't report to me and I'm not paying you, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm not really looking for any—”

“No, no,” Hob’s face was suddenly burning and he could feel his eyes widen in panic. “I'm not… asking.” Dear god, how did he keep fumbling in conversation with this man? “I just meant, it's all… good.”

Matthew was looking out the window but Hob could see that he was trying very hard to hold in his laughter. Mervyn actually let out a snicker, the usual frown on his face replaced by an expression of amusement as he kept his eyes on the road.

Morpheus stared at him and nodded. “Alright. Good. Um… thank you.”

Hob nodded and quickly turned back around to face the windshield, his ears still warm. He realised his hands had been clenched on the seatbelt strap over his shoulder, and he made a conscious effort to let go.

He could see in the side mirror that Matthew had his lips pursed in his continued efforts to hide a smile, and Mervyn wasn't even bothering to hide his. Hob had been wondering if the gruff man ever smiled; well he had his answer now, at such an embarrassing cost.

Hob heard the soft scratching of Morpheus' pencil against paper once more, and he was quite happy to let it be the only sound in the car from now on.

He gave his head a little shake to clear it. He was here for work. Nothing else.

—

“What’s wrong, Ricky? You haven't touched your pie.” The blond man took a bite of chocolate cake from his fork. His client had chosen a table inside the café, the old man was too paranoid to be seen outside.

“You’re supposed to be a businessman,” Roderick said quietly and with more than a little irritation. “My colleagues would never call me that.”

The blond man grinned. “Maybe they should. You look like a Ricky,” he pointed at the old man with his fork.

Roderick's face looked like he just ate a lemon. “The amount we agreed on is in there,” he nodded to the briefcase sitting on the other chair. “Why can't you handle the job? With such a hefty downpayment I would have expected the services of The Corinthian himself.”

“I already told you my eye got injured last time.” That bodyguard got him good before he shot her into a coma. “Why do you think I'm wearing these sunglasses indoors? It's like you don't even care about my health, Ricky,” he said with hurt in his voice.

Roderick glared so much that his eyes started twitching.

“Don't stress yourself out,” the blond man said, spearing another piece of cake with his fork and leaning back in his chair. “The Immortal is already in position. He can kill your VP just as dead as I can.”

———

Note:

Part of their conversation in the car--where Hob mentions that he's single like Morpheus, and Morpheus thinks Hob is trying to ask him out--is based on a similar dialogue exchange between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes from the first episode of BBC's Sherlock.

Thank you so much to @patchyegg87 for helping me brainstorm this fic, and for coming up with the titles for the story and the first chapter!

I hope you liked it! I'd love to see your thoughts in the comments <3

———

(Dreamling Bingo Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

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jjkamochoso · 12 hours

Text

Flufftober Day 1: Lost Pet Meet Cute

@flufftober

Angst, Fluff

Gen Narumi x gn!reader

Warnings: slight cussing

When you got the alert on your phone notifying you of a kaiju attack happening, your heart dropped when you realized it was taking place near your apartment. You had no way to get there from your work; it was way too far to walk and no public transportation was reckless enough to bring people anywhere near an active attack. Why were you so desperate to reach your residence anyway?

Your dog was at home.

You were overcome with anxiety as you tried to reach your neighbors by cell phone to ask them to evacuate with your best friend, but no one had answered you. Tears welled in your eyes as you waited for the kaiju to be neutralized so you could go back home and assess the damage. Checking every news website every 30 seconds for updates, you finally read that the JAKDF's First Division had taken down the threat and were allowing people back in the area to salvage anything they could before clean up began. You boarded a packed bus with others in your same position, all almost too nervous to see what was left in the aftermath. When the bus stopped at the drop off point, collective gasps were heard throughout. Your entire neighborhood had been destroyed. Buildings had just barely stopped smoking, if they were still standing, but most of it was pure rubble. Your apartment complex was completely gone; you weren't sure where it stood in the first place. You were so shocked at the sight that your seat mate had to nudge you out of your stupor before you both got left behind on the bus. You shakily stood and made your way outside; the odds of your dog surviving something like this were little to none. The wreckage mocked you as you began your futile search for any signs of life below the mangled concrete. You didn't even bother calling her name--you didn't want to disturb the dead. Up ahead, you heard a voice talking and you went to check out what was going on. You figured you'd do more good helping your fellow humans than grieving at the moment. As you got closer, you noticed the person was a member of the Defense Force! You hurried, eager to help with whatever they needed; it was only fair of you to try and return the favor after they saved countless lives less than an hour ago. You took note of the black, spiky hair the person was sporting and your breath hitched in your throat when you made the connection to who you were approaching.

"Um, excuse me? Captain Narumi?" you called out, causing him to jump.

"Ah! You scared the shit outta me," he replied, starting to turn around.

"I'm so sorry!" you responded, embarrassed at how you were making a total fool of yourself. "I was seeing if you needed help with anything. I live-well, used to live, here, and I--" You stopped. Narumi had faced you and you were taken aback by both his handsome face and the dog he was holding in his arms.

"Shredder?" you asked, your voice wavering. The dog jumped out of his arms and up into yours, licking your face. You triple checked the collar and tags to make sure you weren't dreaming, but indeed, you were holding your beloved pet. You snuggled into her fur, not caring that you were almost sobbing in front of one of Japan's strongest soldiers. You tore yourself from your reunion to thank the man who had saved your dog, and you were surprised for the umpteenth time that day when you saw Narumi discreetly wiping at his eyes. Was he... crying with you?

It's good to know that under their tough exteriors, these guys do have hearts.

"You named that Shredder?" he grumbled, pointing an accusatory finger at the happy go lucky Maltese in your arms.

You let out a laugh for the first time that day. "Isn't she just the most ferocious thing you've ever seen?"

"Lemme guess. I have to find another dog of yours named Cupcake that weighs 200 pounds," he teased with a small grin, making you laugh again. It was strange to be so happy in a place filled with all that destruction, but Narumi was really making you feel at ease.

"No, seriously, you don't have any more pets for me to save, right?"

"That's right. She's all I got," you told him. "Thank you. For everything you've done today. We all owe you and your team any sort of favor you could think of for saving us and many of our family members. Human and otherwise."

Narumi let out a humorless chuckle, gently petting Shredder on the head. "We're just doing our job."

You studied the way his two toned hair reflected the sun and highlighted his face in a way that could only be described as angelic. His sharp features were softened by the sweet look he had as he practically cooed at your dog and you liked being treated to this front row seat of the revered Gen Narumi acting so... normal. You didn't realize you were staring until his eyes met your own, you both looking away shyly as blushes crept onto your faces. He cleared his throat, his attention on the broken road beneath his feet.

"It's kinda dangerous over here so if your dog was the only thing you were looking for right now, you should probably head back and wait for next directions," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, you're right," you agreed, nodding. He nodded back in the silence.

"Um, it was nice to meet you..." he trailed off.

"Y/n," you replied.

"I'm Gen."

"I know."

"Oh. Right," he chuckled awkwardly. "Okay, well, I'll see you around? Sometime?"

"I'd love that," you told him, and you bid each other goodbye. Before he got too far away, though, you were struck with a sudden thought.

"Wait! I don't have a house!" you yelled. Gen turned around, obviously confused by your announcement.

"I won't live here for awhile," you clarified, "so I don't know if you'll see me around this area by chance for a long time. I also, uh, don't have a kitchen, so... would you like to go to dinner with me? Tonight?"

His eyes widened ever so slightly. "Like a date?"

"Yes? Maybe? Only if that's okay with you?"

It seemed as if your sudden confidence left you high and dry and you nervously cuddled Shredder as you awaited Gen's answer.

"I know a great ramen place not too far from here that wasn't destroyed. They allow dogs, too," he finally responded, and your heart skipped a few beats from his kind demeanor and consideration for Shredder. After exchanging contact information, Gen had to get back to work, but he kept a close eye on you to make sure you made it safely to the designated safe zone for evacuees.

You may have lost all of your belongings, but that day, you gained something better:

Gen Narumi's heart.

#flufftober2024 #day 1 #kaiju no. 8 #gen narumi x reader #gen narumi x you #gen narumi x reader fluff #gen narumi x y/n #gen narumi fluff #gen narumi #kaiju no 8 x reader #gen narumi x gn!reader #flufftober

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queen-of-deans-booty · 2 days

Text

Angel Heart: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: The one person who knows where your children are is Castiel. The one person who matters to him is Claire. You get to find out the answer to the question: who does Castiel love more? Your kids or Claire?

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

You and Cas split up from Sam to take the barn. You're not afraid of what could be in there, not when you're very powerful so you walk on in without so much as a care. You walk to the back and see Amelia lying on a dirty old mattress. There are at least a dozen other people lying on different cots in the back room. All of them asleep in their own beds.

"Is that your wife?" you ask.

"Amelia!" Cas runs over to her while you stay where you are. She moans in pain but she doesn't open her eyes. "Oh, Amelia."

She finally opens her eyes and she becomes rageful and emotional because she thinks Cas is her husband. She tries hitting him but Cas holds her down easily.

"I looked everywhere for you!"

"It's okay."

"I tried to find you! You took my husband!"

Cas pulls her in and she loses the fight against him. She slumps against his chest and starts crying.

"Shh. Shh. It's okay. It's okay." Once Amelia has calmed down, Cas puts two fingers on her head to heal her but it doesn't work. He hovers his hand over her arms that's littered with cuts but they don't heal either. He doesn't bother asking you to heal her because he knows you won't. "Sorry. I'm usually able to heal any wound."

"I was dreaming. This whole time, I was dreaming of finding Jimmy, of putting my family back together. You're not him anymore. I can tell," she sighs.

"No."

"Where's Jimmy?"

"Your husband is in Heaven. Amelia, I promised to protect your family, and I failed."

"Not if Claire's alive. She's all that matters."

"Claire is alive. She's grown up to be a very strong-willed young woman."

"Oh, that's my girl," she smiles. "I just ... I shouldn't have ever left her. I thought if I could find Jimmy, I would make everything right. I should've never left her."

You walk to the window and peer out of it, spotting Dean and Claire with guns drawn. This is perfect, actually. Cas checks on the other women inside the room while Amelia stares at her bed with tears.

"How long have I been like this?"

"Two years."

You hear footsteps and walk out into the main room, and Dean aims his gun at you. He relaxes once he sees it's you and you look at Claire. You don't say a word when she goes inside the room, and she stops when she sees her mom.

"Claire? I'm so sorry." Claire runs to her mother and they embrace emotionally. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"You and Sam didn't answer your phones. Where is he?"

"The house."

"Let's go find him. Claire." She turns to him. "Stay here, okay? Do not move."

"Okay," she sniffles. "Thank you. Thank you, both."

You leave with the two men and enter the house. Dean has his gun drawn, Cas has his angel blade and you don't have a care in the world. You're not afraid of some angels. While they want to be quiet, you walk right into the kitchen and see a chair overturned with handcuffs. Looks like Sam was trapped and now he's not. A board creaks from behind you and you turn to see Sam swinging something at you. You grab it before it can hit you and toss it on the ground.

"Careful where you swing that thing."

"What the hell happened?" Dean asks.

"Listen, Holloway is a Grigori."

"Yeah, we know."

"Grigori? No, they were some of the first angels on Earth. It was an elite unit that went bad, but they're extinct. They were destroyed," Cas says.

"Some survived, and they've been hunting humans, making them create Heavens in their minds and feeding off them."

"Where is this abomination?"

"I don't know. I looked everywhere. He must've left."

"You sure leaving Claire all by her lonesome was a good idea?" you grin.

All three men immediately run out of the room and you follow behind them leisurely. By the time you enter the barn, Claire and Amelia are on the ground with Amelia bleeding from a stab wound in her gut. Holloway goes to stab her again but Cas interferes and tackles him to the ground. They fight but Cas doesn't exactly win this one. Sam pulls Holloway off Cas and turns him so that Dean can deliver a punch to his face. Holloway kicks Dean in the chest and headbutts Sam from behind. It's clear none of these men are going to win this fight so you casually walk over to him, and he turns with a glare on his face. He brings the sword down on you but you grab the blade before it can penetrate you. Red magic pours from your body and your eyes shine red.

"I don't think so."

"No, you can't be real. The Scarlet Witch is just a rumor."

"I'm flattered you've been talking about me," you grin. "Too bad you won't live to tell anyone else." You yank the blade away from him and toss it to the ground before grabbing his throat. You force him to his knees and he stares at you with such fear that it gives you joy. "You are no match for me but it sure was cute to watch you try."

You put your fingers on his forehead before touching yours and immediately, his power begins seeping out of him. You breathe it in until there is nothing left, and you crush his throat in your hands. He falls to the ground, dead, and you look at the brothers with hooded eyes and a smirk.

"You're welcome."

"Mom?" Claire gasps. Amelia is lying on the ground with blood coming out of her mouth but she isn't moving. "Mommy, please stay with me. Mom? Mom! Mom, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Mom, please."

Now my patience has run out.

"Okay, I'm going to ask one more time." Everyone but Claire looks at you. "Cas, where are my kids? I know you know where they are." Sam and Dean look at each other with fear but Cas won't back down so easily. Still, no one answers you. "No one wants to answer me? Fine." You grab Claire by her hair and yank her up to her feet. You pin her to your front and wrap your hand around her throat. The other arm is wrapped over her chest and gripping the opposite shoulder. All three men immediately move toward you but you flash your eyes red. "Take one more step and I'll snap her neck."

"Castiel," she whimpers but you tighten your grip on her throat.

"Where. Are. My. Kids."

"I don't know."

"I don't believe you. I have been looking for them for the past two weeks, and they have not shown up on any camera across the country. They are children. They go outside and play. Tell me how they are able to do that and not get picked up by a single camera. I know you had something to do with that."

"Please, just let her go and we'll talk," Cas begs.

"I gave you the chance to tell me and you lied. Now I'm forcing your hand. Tell me who is more important to you. Your wannabe fake daughter or my kids?"

"Don't tell her," Dean says. "I don't care what she does but don't tell her where they are."

"It's kind of hard to talk without a mouth, Dean, isn't it?" Immediately, Dean's mouth is gone and he panics as he touches his face. Sam watches with wide eyes, too scared to say anything. "Tick-tock, Castiel. I'm waiting."

"Please, don't do this."

"Please don't do this? That doesn't sound like a location to me."

"Castiel, please," Claire whimpers.

You pull her in tighter and put your mouth next to her ear.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Mommy and Daddy are waiting for you in Heaven. Or is it Hell? I'm not sure where they ended up." You look at Cas. "You have three seconds to tell me or she's dead. Three."

"Please, Y/N, don't do this. Let her go and we'll talk."

"That's not a location. Two."

Castiel looks at Sam and Dean with sad and guilty eyes. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out of it. He doesn't know what to do. Guess I'll have to make the decision for him.

"One." You immediately snap Claire's neck and she falls to the ground, dead. Castiel yells out in anger and lunges for you but you blast him and the brothers backward. "I told you what would happen. Consider this a lesson learned."

You walk out of the barn and Cas crawls over to Claire with tears in his eyes. Dean sucks in a breath and realizes his mouth is back. Cas holds Claire's body in his and rocks her, sobbing loudly. Suddenly, she gasps awake and jerks in his arms, and all three men look at her with wide eyes. You killed her. She was dead.

"How is she alive?" Sam asks.

"I don't know."

Cas doesn't question it. Claire is back and that's all that matters. He sobs and pulls her into a hug while she looks around with frantic eyes.

"She killed me. She fucking killed me."

Claire has to get far away from all of this and there is only one person who will take her in without question. Jody Mills might have her hands full with Joanna, Maryann, Noah, Zeus, Colonel, and Alex but she is eager for another kid to come to her in time of need. Plus, it'll be nice to have another girl Alex's age for her to hang with. She'll know your kids are with Jody but as already talked to Jody about keeping it a secret from everyone else.

"Someone has to do something about Y/N. She killed me," Claire says to Sam.

"We're working on it," Sam sighs.

"So, what? Are you sending me to some sort of halfway house for wayward girls?"

"No. Not at all. Jody Mills is good people, and she'll give you a place to crash until you get back on your feet. It's not forever, right?"

Sam looks over his shoulder at Dean and Cas who is talking off to the side.

"What are you gonna do about Claire?" Dean asks.

"It's not up to me."

Sam walks away from her and Dean walks away from Cas, switching places with his brother. Dean takes a present out of his car and hands it to her.

"I felt bad about taking the gun back."

She opens it to see a DVD of Caddy Shack and a book titled 'The Enochian Myth'.

"Thanks but I don't think I'm interested in any more homework."

Dean takes the book but kneels in front of her bag. He opens it and lifts the sword the Grigori was using out of her bag.

"Do you honestly think I didn't see you take this?" He puts the sword back and lifts the plush cat Cas got her. "Really?" He puts the cat down and shoves the book inside along with the DVD. "I'll just put these in here." He stands up. "You know, Claire, you already got your revenge. If you go down this path... our path... It's not a long life."

"I don't know. You seem pretty old." Dean scoffs playfully and shakes his head. "Listen, what I did, setting you up, I'm sorry. I just... I shouldn't..."

"Forget it. It's in the past."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Me? I don't know, but I will keep fighting. I'll keep swinging until I have nothing left."

"Will you keep an eye on him?" Both of them look at Cas. "He's been through enough."

"So have you. Claire, do your homework before you do anything stupid, okay? We're here if you need us, any time." A cab pulls up to the parking lot of the motel that will take her to Jody's place. "I'll get you loaded up."

"Um, Claire." She turns to him. "If you, um, if you... need anything, ever, I'm ... I'm ... I just wanted you to know that..."

Claire cuts him off by hugging him. That's as much as an apology that he's ever going to get from her. They part and Dean opens the back door of the cab for her.

"Dean?" she says through the open window.

"Yeah?"

"Y/N's going to get better, right?"

"I hope so."

"Don't give up on her."

"I won't."

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural angst #spn #supernatural series rewrite #supernatural season 10

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jvzebel-x · 5 months

Text

🦋

#sometimes i get really sad about my life you know? like. really sad about it lmao. for various reasons.#like it would be really cool to be normal. very often i just wish i was normal lmao.#but then i remember meeting this guy while i was homeless&he had everything that i late 20s/early 30s college grad would want #stable&well paying job in the field he actually went to college for #rented part of a banging a duplex that had a yard allowed dogs&was a five minute walk from downtown bar crawl area #had both one of my fave motorcycles-- an r6--&one of my all time dream cars-- a 6speed cts-v.#i presume a dating life from the tampons that were in his bathroom.#&yet. he was miserable from what i could tell lmao. &it was weird bc it was like he didnt realize that #until he met us lmao. i would be more annoyed by that. i was v annoyed by it at the time lmao. the amount of weird jealousy i dealt w while #fucking homeless+sick is disgusting&ill never forgive fucking anyone for it&a part of me will always be dead+rotted bc of it lmao.#but for him it was different in the way of. i could kind of understand it lmao.#he had come from a rough background from what i understand&was a success story.#&yet he clearly felt trapped in his own life. clearly felt like he was surrounded by things he should be more grateful for while none of it #filled the hole in him ppl like him are PROMISED success will fill. being apart of the status quo but on the good end will alleviate.#he had been in one accident&never rode his bike again. when i asked why he lied&told me the bike was unrideable bc he didnt know me lmao #&when i asked if there had been any damage past the obvious dent in the gas tank he got red+quiet+changed the topic.#he worked at some big bank&didnt bother trying to brag bc the one thing he DID know about me is that i am v anti bank+leftist lmao.#he considered himself a leftist too until he talked to me&realized he was actually v centrist in basically every view he had #&that centrism came from a desire to keep his privileges as a cis white straight man-- something that made him openly embarassed.#he used to deal thru college&when i met him he couldnt keep up w one round of dabs w me something that also obviously embarassed him.#he had surrounded himself w ppl just like him&was jarred upon meeting anyone outside of that bubble who wasnt a far right asshole.#&he didnt like what he saw about himself. &that was really obvious.#when we left his place after the brief week we were staying there he was literally in tears about how much he wanted to come.#to help&see where we ended up or whatever idk lmao. i guess im still actively annoyed by it lmao.#but i still get it on some level. when you reach the top&realize youre not fucking happy where do you go from there?#will a house do it? will moving to a different location for your same bullshit job do it? will meeting a girl exactly like you do it?#&when i want to be normal so bad it physically hurts i remember him&i think maybe things arent so bad lmao.#like it could be worse i guess lmao.

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irndad · 14 days

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i wish i knew you wanted me - s.r.

a/n: okay this ended up being so so long forgive me!!! i hope you like<3 summary: based loosely on 'bad habit'. spencer got asked out by reader 5 years ago, when he was recovering from his dilaudid addiction, and turned her down. now, he's in love with her, and pining for her. also, jealous!spencer. she fell first, he fell harder. wc: ~2k

She’s very pretty. It’s distracting. Right now, she’s staring intently at his hands, and he feels hot under her gaze. It’s been a while since he’s done this, the little rocket trick, but she’s visiting the office, and Garcia had mentioned he’s a magician.

“That’s incredible!” She exclaims, a giggle in her laugh, and he feels the swoop of his stomach, the butterflies of it all, “You got them so high up!”

“It’s just physics,” he laughs, meeting her warm gaze. Her smile is one for the ages.

She’s here dropping off a file. They’ve known eachother a really long time, actually. She was an expert witness for them, once, years ago. She spoke with ease, both on the stand and in person. Equal measure kind and measured, and Spencer had adored her on first glance. They’d met when he was just getting clean from Dilaudid, and Spencer’s been in love with her since not long after than first meeting. That’s pretty much the only thing about her he wishes he could take back.

He still has a hard time thinking about it, the fact that he met her when he was barely himself. Still, she’d been kind, listened to him talk and let the others tell her that he was…going through something. It was on his two month sobriety date (which she’d had no way of knowing) that she’d asked him out.

Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he replays the memory in his head. How she works just south of their office, and how they’d meet at the café nearest, and chat for an hour before calling a cab home.

On the other side of the veil, he can picture that night, years ago now. How she’d looked with the snow kissing her nose, dotting the edges of her faux-fur hood. She’d stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, and he’d almost combusted and the adorability of it.

“You look nice,” she’d said, although at the time he’s pretty sure he looked gaunt. He’d only recently started to gain the weight back- but still, her praise felt like stardust.

“You look nicer,” he’d said back, gently bumping her shoulder as a fond gesture. Her little grin is well-worth how awkward they both look on the street.

“Listen,” she had said, stuffing her hands into her pockets, the size of the coat causing her hands to disapear from sight entirely, “I asked JJ and Morgan, and they said you’re not seeing anyone.”

“Oh, yeah. They love reminding me of that. Not everyone can be like Morgan and have dated half the western hemsiphere.”

He felt embarrassed, her watching him. It’s nice, but sometimes feels like staring into the sun.

Her chuckle was nervous, not fully reaching her eyes.

“You okay?

“Yeah,” she swallowed again, before speaking, “I was wondering, um, if you might want to grab a drink with me?”

“Sure,” he’d replied back, amenably. He couldn’t tell why she looked so nervous, “I can’t really do hard liquor, though. Maybe we can invite the team.”

“No, Spence, I was wondering if you and I could go on a um, a date.”

And he’s frozen. Because this might be the second time he’d ever been asked out, and second, this might be his dream girl. She’s gorgeous and kind and she’s in front of him, asking him out.

“I um,” his mouth was dry. He’d be a bad boyfriend. He was a recovering drug addict who already was bad at talking to people, and she lit up a room whenever she walked in. She finds him easy to be with, easy to care for and he’s bound to fuck it up. He couldn’t imagine giving that up because he was too greedy to take what he got. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He almost took it back with incredible speed, with that flash of disapointment on her lovely face, and the knowledge that it’s because she wanted him, before she quickly regained her speech.

“That’s totally alright! We’ll just be good friends, yeah?”

In the here and now, they are friends. Best of, really. And he made the right choice. He’d lashed out at Emily a month later in a withdrawl, and he knows that he’d have done the same to her, and now, she’s still in his life.

The drawbacks of course, to being her friend, means she has dates. Boyfriends, as well, and he’s been a…friend, through it all. Good friend. She’s never suspeced him of anything more, of course, after he’d categorically rejected it.

(Even though this rejection plays in his head all the fucking time, like a torturous groundhog day.)

She’s beautiful today, a blue blouse with a scarf lazily around her neck, and the way she’s leaning over his desk to see the trick before she drops off her analysis.

“Alright, Spence,” she says, her rose perfume wafting in the air prior to her hopping off the corner, “Did you need anything else? Today is my half-day, and Harry wanted to take me to Art Insititute.”

Harry, is the boy on rotation at the moment. Spencer has no impulse control and a super-computer expert best friend, so Spencer knows that Harry is 6’0 on his Driver’s License, and is a Financial Analyst. Spencer knows from her own mouth that this will be the third date, and that he’s a little boring but she’s attracted to the fact that he was direct and wanted to go out again.

Low bar, but one Spencer couldn’t even clear. He doesn’t say any of that, though.

“That sounds fun,” he says, instead of saying that he’d love to walk her through the inscriptions on each art piece, love to kiss her in front of something thats’ beauty does not come close to her’s. “Are you thinking it might run long, or are we still doing the bookstore and TV at mine after?”

He’s been looking forward to this all week. He bought special marshmallows for her cocoa. He also htes to imagine her date running long.

“Nah,” she smiles, “besides, he’s just some guy. You’re Spencer.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything when he looks down at his. paperwork, and scribbles instead of thinking, the best he can.

________________________________

Don’t think about the fact she was on a date. Don’t think about how Harry might have got to kiss her. Just don’t bring it up.

“How was the date?”

She shrugged, pulling at the spine of a hardcover novel.

“It was fine. Like I said, he was kind of boring.”

“So why’d you go out with him again?”

“I dunno, Spence, I just… I want a boyfriend, you know? I want someone to want to be with me.”

She is so beautiful. She laughs with her whole chest, and she listens to his stories and chimes in with her own expertise. She has a voice that seems like it’s spun gold thread, and he’d give anything to kiss her.

“I get that,” he says, instead of anything he’s thinking. She’s wearing brown lipstick, transfer proof. He’s in love with her. “There’s got to be guys lining up for a girl like you.”

“That’s a nice thought, Spence. Not the ones I’d like.”

___________________________

This thought haunts his evening, and when he parks and they start the walk-up to his apartment, a confession hammering at his throat, a physical urge. She’s giggling at some long physics joke he’d made, and he’s addicted to the soft bell of her laughter.

His apartment is small and lovely, and he enjoys having her in the small and dark of the night, the sun set over what he wishes were two lovers.

“You are really pretty, you know,” he says, once she’s settled into his chest, a sick satisfaction of knowing Harry got a quick thank you text before she darted over to Spencer’s arms.

“Thanks, Spencer. You’re a good friend.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“That you’re a good friend?”

“I’m not saying you’re pretty because I’m a good friend. I’m saying it because it’s true, and I enjoy saying true things.”

“You don’t…I don’t know why you’re saying that, Spencer. We’re friends and I adore you and I’m here right now, but you don’t need to make it harder on me.”

She looks nervous, and a little disapointed. He wants her to know, that even if he’s missed his shot, she’s not going to be alone. He’s gonna spend the rest of his life hating whoever knew to take the best thing offered to him, but Spencer- he knows he is not going to be the last to love her. He grabs her hand without thinking, her doe eyes peering into his with some emotion he can’t pin down.

“Hey, I’m not trying…to make anything hard for you. I don’t ever want to do that. I just… some day someone’s gonna see you and want to be with you and I’m going to watch it and know it was inevitable.”

The words taste like barbed wire.

Ask me again, he wants to beg, I’m ready now. I’ll do it right.

Is that even true? Is it just that he wants her bad enough he’s willing to risk not doing it right?

“You’re so sweet,” she sobs, and oh, she’s crying. Just a little, but tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “You make it so hard to be your friend. And I know that’s my problem, that you’ve always been straight up with me. I asked you out and you said no, and I know that-“

“I know that I was too late, and freaked out about being with someone like you when I was still so fucked up.” they’re so close to eachother, he can smell her chapstick. His chest aches. “Sweetheart, that had nothing to do with you. It was all me. It’s a train I missed that I’m gonna spend the rest of my life wishing I’d caught.”

He feels uncomfortably bare, even in the oversized sweater that she’d gotten him last Christmas, and that he’d pretended had been from his lover all of that week. But it’s important that she knows.

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”

Her voice is small, so quiet he barely hears it. She threads her nimble fingers into his slender ones, and his heart is hammering.

“I-I was on Dilaudid, or just barely off, you know- you wouldn’t want to be with someone like me. You asked me out when you didn’t even know that.”

“I know you now. Years worth of knowing.”

“And you haven’t asked me since.”

“Spencer,” her voice is warm, rich like silk and grainy old music, and he wants to drink this image in, her fingers stroking the side of his face like he’s holy. He wonders if he’s dreaming, with how good she feels to be so close to.

Ask me again, he wants to beg. I’m ready, now.

“Spencer Walter Reid,” she says, properly holding his hand, bringing her soft lips to his hand, kissing his knuckle. He feels anointed, blessed by a higher power. “Could I take you out on a date?”

“Yes,” he says, finally. Five years of waiting melts away as he kisses her, warmth and light seeping into existence, a dream brought to tangible life, to touch and reality, “Actually, wait,” he says, and finishes before her face can fall, “Would you be my girlfriend?”

It’s maybe playing his cards too much, but her wide, ear to ear splitting grin is everything he needs to see, everything he might need to see for the rest of his life.

“Took you long enough, boy-genius.”

“All you had to do was ask again!”

If she has a complaint about that, it certainly couldn’t be heard by the many, many kisses that would follow.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader

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barbieaemond · 4 months

Text

Religion

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, banter, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, dry humping, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol

Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. Just keep in mind that Aemond did not cheat on his wife while in Harrenhal. He used Alys only for her visions.

Word count: 13k. Ye have to suffer for your smut darlin'

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language.

taglist: @multyfangirl @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @darylandbethfanforever9 @zaldritzosrose @alphard-hydraes-blog

Her mother had come to King’s Landing three days after she gave birth. Peering through the door, the Princess didn’t know if the woman was more surprised to finally see a baby safely tucked between her daughter’s arms or to witness that she was still breathing. She had chosen to believe both.

Since she was a little girl, she had been instructed in what was coming, for her and all the girls like her: how to serve men, how to serve the Realm. She knew pregnancy could be a time of great distress, physical and otherwise, and for her, it turned out to be nothing more than that.

She spent the first moons plagued by sickness, glaring at the Maesters who told her that morning sickness was perfectly normal. It would've been, if only it had lasted the hours the sun was at its highest. Instead, she couldn’t keep down her breakfast, just like her lunch, or dinner. She had lost weight, she couldn’t stand any kind of smell with the risk of rushing to her pot and empty her stomach.

Then, on one fine morning, while she was walking the gardens with two of her maids, she had suddenly bent over, hissing with pain while clutching her maid’s arm, dreading the trickle running down her thighs.

The Maesters said occasional bleedings might happen, that she only needed to rest and take some tonic to strenghten her body. But that day signaled the end of her peace and the beginning of her confinement.

Because clearly, at the first sign of something going wrong, slipping out of his control, Aemond would panic, albeit showing none of it, standing as tall and stoic as ever and somehow more than he’d ever done now that the Conqueror’s Crown weighted on his head. But she knew better. She knew how to look through all his walls. She knew he was scared—for her, for the baby, for his sister, for his whole family. It was simply too much for a single person to carry all of that on their shoulders. And it was precisely for that reason that she didn’t object to any of his orders. After all, she couldn’t. He was the King now, even if he didn’t choose to style himself as such.

Thus, her chambers became her prison.

Cobwebs didn’t have time to grow because she was quick enough to point them out to the servants. She was aware of the slight drop in the stone tiles just behind the terrace, as of the strategic point where to linger to gain some cool breeze from the sea. She knew the baby liked to sleep upside down in the early afternoon, occasionally kicking hard as he, or she, settled comfortably in her womb.

Aemond had picked some books for her, mostly about history, having her yawning at the third page. She had tried needle work, putting all her good will into it for the sake of doing something, and she had deliberately chosen to believe she was undeniably good at it. But that was a very generous lie.

“What is that supposed to be exactly?” Aemond asked one day, peeking over her shoulder as he reached her on the terrace.

She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes fixed on her embroidery tambour, working the needle in and out. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He leaned down until she felt the long silver strands tickling her head and even without turning, she could feel him grimacing. “A bird?”

At that, she had raised her head, reading all the disbelief on his face. “It is a dragon. For the cradle.”

Aemond had simply furrowed his brow, unable for the life of him to consider what he saw as something even remotely resembling a dragon. But he thought better than to anger his pregnant wife, given her late sour spirit, but especially in light of how fiercely she had started to stick the needle in, likely picturing to stick it into him instead. He had built the most fake pleasant smile he could master and said “Very well. Excellent work, my love.”

“Thank you, husband.”

The trouble was that, as time went by, she only became sourer. She grew more and more uncomfortable, too tight in her own skin. Her back hurt, her breasts hurt, and she was starting to believe she was carrying a real dragon, with fangs and all; she had no other explanation for how hot she constantly felt, forced to lie in a thin white chemise all the time, despite the winds carrying the winter.

But maybe there was another reason why her spirits were so low and sour. She had come to learn that pregnancy affected every aspect of her life, including the most pleasant one.

She would grow wet for a kiss. She would close her legs and rub them together upon seeing him rise from the bathtub. She would moan into his mouth if he so much as grazed her nipples with his knuckles. But as she grew bigger and bigger, along with the discomfort, kisses and some intimate brushing were all she would get from him. Aemond had grown distant, not only with his presence, due to all the duties he had to fulfill wearing the Crown, but even when he was there, in their chambers, sleeping next to her, she felt him leagues and leagues away.

“Pregnancy is a very hard time for a woman.” The Dowager Queen had said to her “It is overwhelming to think that you are never alone and yet...somehow you are.”

She’d never understood what her good mother meant until she was confined to her chambers, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She didn’t expect Aemond to do something, this was women’s business. And she knew his reluctance to lie with her rested solely on concern and love for her.

No matter how much he craved to take her, he had decided to put his husband’s rights away for the delicate final moons until the baby was born. He still felt guilty, for Harrenhal, for the witch, for forsaking her only to get drunk on visions and prophecies. Yet, those visions turned out to be true. He had shut that voice in his head and tried to make amends. But they didn’t have the time to mend themselves together, to knit all the distrust and suspicions into something good; the baby was coming, and it seemed he or she did nothing but grow them more apart.

He saw how tired she was, how some days she couldn’t even get out of bed. And how useless he felt when he would catch her crying, like that night when he found her all alone on the terrace at the hour of the owl.

She was sitting on her chaise filled with cushions when Aemond walked around her. Given the state of his white shirt and hair, he had likely just awakened and hadn’t found her beside him.

“What are you doing out here? You will catch a cold.”

“I cannot sleep.” she had kept her eyes far, on the Black Water Bay, far from him. But he saw them anyway, her reddened eyes.

“You cannot stay here in your condition.” He said almost tiredly, but when she didn’t even blink at his words, he called her name, with the tone he used in the Throne Room.

“Aemond, please.” She whispered, turning her head. “I—” she bit her tongue, unwilling to put this on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let go until she was safely back in bed. So, she said “I don’t want to hear her.”

It took him less than a moment to understand what she meant. Helaena. Helaena who lost a child, who saw her flesh and blood horribly murdered before her eyes. Helaena who couldn’t stop wailing in the dead of night.

She had looked at him, seeing that torn thing, broken and raw like a split wound; shame and guilt and rage all at once. Then, he lowered himself onto his knees until he took her cold hands and squeezed them tight. His mouth opened, but she was faster. “Don’t say it.”

You cannot keep such a promise, you cannot keep us safe. No matter how many times you say it. But she wouldn’t take that solace away from him, not that plainly. The more he said it, the more he seemed to believe it. So be it.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and there was a beautiful, heartbreaking desperation in his hushed voice. “Tell me what to do.”

She had built a convincing smile, running her hand through his loose hair and pushing some strands back. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

Her spirits during the day would slightly improve. And between the Council and some hearings in the Throne Room, he always saved some time to go visit her in their chambers. She didn’t seem to enjoy being watched like a toddler, but deep down she cherished his concern. She cherished the way his hands would gently hold her own, or caress her hair, her belly. She found it hard to believe those hands could bestow such reverence and violence at the same time. And even in his absence, he managed to ensure she always had anything she needed. Even blackberries in early autumn.

“Myra, where have you been?” She asked in a late afternoon, when one of her most loyal maids entered her chambers after disappearing for the whole day.

The young girl had an awful look. She seemed exhausted, as if she had walked the entirety of Flea Bottom, twice. “Apologies, my Princess. It took me quite a while to find blackberries.”

“Seven Hells, it is only a craving. You did not have to go all the way through King’s Landing to find me blackberries.”

"No, I-I ought to.”

The Princess paused, frowning at the young girl. “Did someone else tell you that you ought to?”

“Well…yes…” the maid said, sinking her gaze to the floor “The King—uhm Prince Regent.”

She sighed deeply, and with heavy steps, she walked towards the terrace; her maid was immediately at her side to help her. “What did he tell you?” the Princess asked as they reached the chair outside.

The girl waited for her to sit, slowly and awkwardly given her big belly; then, a little timidly, she said “He…ordered me to go look for blackberries and not to…bother coming back if I didn’t find them.”

The Princess rolled her eyes in quite an unlady-like manner, “How in the name of Seven did he know about it?” She asked, grimacing as she desperately tried to find a comfortable position. “I have barely seen him this morning.”

The young maid helped her, fixing some cushions behind her back and whispered “The White Cloak at the door…I suspect he reports everything to his Grace.”

The notion didn’t seem to strike her that much, or maybe she was too tired, too uncomfortable and too hot to comment on the matter, or even scoff at it.

She grabbed a fan from her maid’s hands and unceremoniously shook her shoes off, placing her swollen feet on the cool tiles. Closing her eyes, she basked in that small relief; the floor was cold, the sun was about to set, and the baby was sleeping.

According to the Maesters, her time was close. She was eager to meet this little person but in truth, she just wanted it to end. She hated having no control over her body, her spirits, her marriage. She missed being a wife and being treated as such, not just as the mother of his child. She had come to think that, deep down, any woman felt that way, but they were forced to hide everything behind a joyful smile while sinking to their knees to thank the Mother. Wasn’t that the sole purpose of any girl in the world? To bleed on a birthing bed? Wasn’t that the way men measured women’s value?

She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?

She wouldn’t dare ask him.

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.

She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.

“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”

His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.

“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”

That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.

She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.

“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.

Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.

“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.

You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?

“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”

“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”

“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”

His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.

“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”

He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”

“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”

Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.

“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.

“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”

“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”

“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”

Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.

“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”

His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.

“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.

“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.

Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.

She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”

He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.

“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.

“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”

She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”

“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”

She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”

“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”

It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.

“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”

His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.”

She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”

She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”

“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.

His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.

“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”

He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.

But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh.

She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.

He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.

She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth.

Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.

“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”

She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.

But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.

She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.

She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.

A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.

She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.

She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.

She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.

He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.

He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.

“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.

“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”

A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.

“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.

Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.

Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”

She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”

A man of few words, but loud actions.

Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.

In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.

Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.

“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”

The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.

The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.

“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.

“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.

She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.

It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.

Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time.

Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”

But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.

What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.

She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.

But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.

Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.

In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.

However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.

“You do realise he’s one week old?”

“”Tis never too soon.”

“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”

“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“

“Over my dead body.”

He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”

“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”

She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.

He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.

“Soon.” Was all she answered.

The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.

But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.

The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.

The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.

She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.

She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.

But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing.

She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.

By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.

Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.

The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.

Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.

She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”

The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.

“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.

She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”

His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”

There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.

“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”

She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince bows to her and leaves.

Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.

“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.

“How’s—"

“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”

He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”

“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.

Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”

“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”

“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”

“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”

She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.

“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.

Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”

She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”

“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”

“A pincher?”

She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”

“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”

She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.

“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.

“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”

“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”

“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”

He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”

“And how do you propose we spend it?”

“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.”

Curse him.

He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”

His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”

Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”

“We’ll make it quick.”

“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches.

Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”

“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.

“How many fucking layers have you on?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.

“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”

“Don’t you dare, Aemond—”

“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”

They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.

“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.

Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes.

“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”

Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.

“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”

Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”

Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.

“You should retire.” He curtly says.

“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.

“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly.

At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”

“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.

Aemond did not join her.

The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.

But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.

She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.

Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.

When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.

Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.

“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”

“More or less.”

“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”

“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”

“That was your plan?”

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”

“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.

“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”

Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”

“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”

“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”

Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.

She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.

Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.

When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”

Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”

While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.

“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”

At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”

“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.

As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.

“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.

“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.

“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”

“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”

“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”

“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”

Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.

She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.

But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear “but the Princeling is awake.”

Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”

“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”

By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.

Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.

She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.

As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.

Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.

She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.

“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.

“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them.

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.”

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”

His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.

When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.

He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”

“My—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.

“On your feet.”

And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.

“Come.”

It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.

“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.

“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh.

Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.

But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.

“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”

A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.

Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.

That noise, that might be his second favorite.

Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.

She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.

Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”

She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.

“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”

His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.

Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.

He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.

“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”

“Aemond—“ she pleads.

“Hush. Spread your legs.”

She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”

But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.

His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.

Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”

And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.

“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.

“What, my love?”

“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.

“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”

“Let me come please…please…”

At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.

It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”

She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.

He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.

His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.

He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.

“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.

“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.

“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”

She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.

“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.

“I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”

Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.

She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.

Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.

He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.

He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.

He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.

And she does all of that. She finds God.

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