#and you both just... *have fun*. enjoy! love

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men Getting "She's busy bro" Text

Request: Hi!! I waited patiently (and eagerly) for your requests to open again, I'm so happy!! I love your writing!! I laughed so hard at the previous request where you mentioned Tara. I have another "Tara is on thin ice" idea, lol. Tara and Mc are having a girls night at Mc's place. Mc is cooking or just doing something, mc's receives a message from the lads men (something random like "hi, how are you, I'm off work"). Tara tells Mc she got a message (since Mc is doing something and she can't answer), and mc tells Tara to reply for her. All good and sweet, what does Tara reply with? "Hi, all good, she's busy now, she will talk to you later!" (Basically, the "she's busy bro" prank but with an oblivious Tara that didn't mean to prank them, lol)

AN: Hey anon, I am sorry for how last I am posting this. But thank you for requesting such a fun scenario. I hope you enjoy this!! Might be ooc at times but I am woman of dramatics so excuse me.

Ingredients: 75% fluff , 25% drama

My Fav: Zayne 🥺

Genre: She's busy bro, prank

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

You’re in the kitchen, half-focused on stirring the pasta and half-listening to Tara rant about her latest training match when your phone buzzes on the counter.

“Hey, your phone just lit up,” Tara says, leaning over to check the screen. “It’s one of the guys. Something about ‘how are you?’ and ‘off work.’”

“Just reply for me,” you say, tossing a handful of garlic into the pan. “Tell him I’ll get back to him later.”

Tara shrugs, picking up your phone and squinting at the message. Her thumbs fly over the screen as she replies, “Hi, all good, she’s busy right now, she’ll talk to you later!”

She hits send with a satisfied nod, setting the phone back down without a second thought

Rafayel:

You lunge to catch Tara as she collapses, her hands flying to her throat, her breaths coming out in sharp, choking gasps.

“Tara!” you gasp, your watch buzzing with frantic alerts, the tiny screen flashing red with proximity warnings.

And then you see it. The curving, sinuous tendrils creeping from the edges of the painting on your wall. The one Rafayel gifted you not long ago. The inky black swirls ripple like living shadows, curling toward you.

You snatch your phone from the counter, one arm still braced around Tara’s trembling form, your body blocking her from the painting as the tendrils inch closer. You hit Rafayel’s contact, your finger jabbing the call button with a fury you can barely contain.

He picks up on the first ring, and you don’t give him a chance to speak.

“Stop it. Now.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, the sound of crashing waves and distant seagulls crackling through the line, but you don’t flinch.

“I swear to the fucking seas,” you snarl, your voice low and dangerous, “I will never talk to you again if you hurt her.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, a flicker of hesitation, and then the tendrils retreat, coiling back into the frame like startled serpents, the air around you cooling as the painting slowly still.

Tara collapses against you, her breathing evening out, her death grip on your arm loosening as she gasps for air. You meet her wide, dazed eyes, your own heart still hammering in your chest.

She gives you a shaky, crooked grin. “That was kinda hot,” she croaks, her lips twitching into a weak, mischievous smile, and your heart melts on the spot.

It takes Rafayel three weeks of pleading, apologizing, and bribing (both you and Tara) to be forgiven for 'the incident'. He sends flowers, chocolates, and a rare pearl necklace that you suspect he made with his anguished cries.

But the painting stays. “For protection,” he insists, his tone defensive, his eyes shifting away from yours when you bring it up. “You’ll thank me one day.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t push it.

Xavier:

He just shows up at your door. Because, of course, he does.

However busy you were, he could stop it. He is a victim to the sunk cost fallacy. If he has to pull you out of some other guy’s orbit, he’ll do it, no hesitation.

He knocks once, twice, each rap firm but patient, the ripped delivery package dangling from one hand, his other tucked casually into his jacket pocket.

The door swings open, and he inhales to deliver his practiced excuse." “Delivered to wr....” He blinks, momentarily thrown off as Tara opens the door, her hair a chaotic mess, pasta sauce smeared up to her cheeks like she’s just face-planted in a pot of marinara.

Behind her, you’re hunched over a massive dish of pasta, a noodle dangling from your lips, your eyes going wide as you choke at the sight of him, your face turning a lovely shade of tomato red.

“Oh, he—uhgh!” you splutter, breaking into a fit of coughing, nearly dropping the fork in your hand.

Xavier’s eyebrow twitches, his frown slowly morphing into a wide grin as his shoulders relax, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in the chaotic scene.

There’s a long, painful beat of silence.

Then Tara, completely unfazed, just wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, shrugs, and steps aside. “You coming in or what, dude?” she says, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Somehow, Xavier ends up joining your girls’ night, plopping down on the couch, grabbing a fork and helping himself to the monstrous bowl of pasta, because why not?

He makes a few snarky comments about your terrible math skills, but shuts up when you threaten to make him eat his own disastrous cooking as punishment.

Predictably, he’s the first to fall asleep. Conveniently, on your shoulder, his head tucked against your neck, his soft breathing mixing with the faint sound of the movie still playing in the background.

Zayne:

Zayne, of course, doesn’t take the bait.

He’s the only one who doesn’t react to the “She’s busy, bro” text like it’s a declaration of war, because he’s seen this sort of thing before.

As a surgeon, he’s often out of reach, his pager passed off to a resident while he’s deep in the OR, his hands steady, his mind clear as he cuts through flesh and bone. He knows what it’s like to be unavailable, to be occupied with things that demand his full focus.

So when he gets the text, he just blinks at his phone, smiles a little, and sets it down without a second thought, already mentally filing away a dessert he can bring you later, something to help you relax after your busy day.

And he does. He shows up that night, a paper bag in one hand, his coat still smelling faintly of antiseptic and coffee, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the faint lines of old scars.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, a little shy, like he’s not sure if he’s intruding. “I brought tiramisu. Thought you could use a break.”

He’s literally the most precious bby, and you have to resist the urge to hug him right there in the doorway.

Sylus:

He’s in the middle of a deal, lounging back in his leather chair.

He checks his phone on a whim, his fingers flicking over the screen, and sees your text. His lips curl into a slow, arrogant smile as he types out a quick, casual, “Hey, what are you up to, sweetie?”

When the "She's busy, she'll call you later," text comes back, the smile freezes on his lips.

Busy? Busy?

His mood sours instantly. His fingers curl around the edge of his desk. He flicks his gaze back to the fumbling dealer in front of him, and his generosity reserves run dry.

“Out.”

The dealer stumbles back, wide-eyed, sweat beading on his forehead as he stammers out a “Y-Yes, sir!” before practically tripping over his own feet to escape the room.

Sylus leans back in his chair, teeth gritted, jaw tight, the soft click of his metal-tipped fingers against the desk the only sound in the now-silent room.

But just as he’s about to mentally spiral, his phone buzzes again.

“Made a pretty big batch of pasta, would you like some?”

He blinks, eyes flicking to the photo you’ve attached. A literal tub of way too much pasta, the noodles piled high, the sauce thick and steaming, a chaotic heap of carbs that only you and Tara could possibly miscalculate into existence.

He huffs, a quiet, exasperated chuckle slipping past his lips, the tension in his shoulders melting away. He leans back, his head tipping against the cool leather of his chair, a small, fond smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll be there in 20. Don’t start without me.”

And just like that, his mood is ruined in a completely different way, his dark, dangerous aura slipping into something much softer as he straightens his tie and stands, already picturing you waiting with a bright grin and a mismatched fork.

Caleb:

“Why does she get to use your phone and I don’t?” Caleb storms around your apartment, his boots clomping against the hardwood floor, his uniform still perfectly pressed.

It’s been an hour of this. A Fleet Colonel throwing a full-on tantrum in your tiny studio, pacing like a caged animal, his jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he’s debating strangling the nearest pillow. You did put your plushies away at the first given chance.

Pouting. Whining. Sharp, accusing glances thrown your way every time you so much as move.

You’re honestly grateful that Tara had left before this. She’d probably just laugh and egg him on, and you don’t need two chaotic messes in your living room right now.

“Caleb, I was busy,” you try to reason, leaning against the kitchen counter as he paces. “I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

He whirls to face you, his eyes dark, his jaw ticking, his hair somehow still perfectly in place, untouched by the cap he’d clearly ripped off the second he stormed through your door. Your mind unhelpfully drifts to the way that uniform clings to his shoulders, the way his collar hugs his throat, and nope, now is not the time for that.

“Busy?” he spits, his voice a low, irritated rumble. “Busy with what? And why with her, exactly?”

You sigh, pressing a hand to your forehead, already exhausted from the emotional hurricane that is Caleb. “I was cooking, Caleb. With Tara. I didn’t want to leave you hanging, so I asked her to text you back.”

He scoffs, his shoulders tense, his eyes narrowing like he’s daring you to try that excuse again.

Rage bait Tara is Colonel Caleb’s worst nightmare come to life. Given how you never seem to care how close she gets to you, how easily she invades your space, how unapologetically she teases you.

Much to Caleb’s dismay, you never seem to mind.

[idkhowtosocialize]

trying to compare coding to art is very interesting to me, as something who enjoys both and dislikes AI

for some reason people see programming and art as two opposite edges of the spectrum, but I think it undervalues the creative work coding requires and the technical work art requires

I think what seperates coding to other stem fields is that at it's core it's a tool for creation

math, physics, chemistry and such are just sets of rules, which you can use to learn more about themselves and the world, but you can't really create something new that is separate to them

but coding, at it's core, is a set of rules FOR creation, that's why I like coding! it's challenging, it's engaging, it's fun! and it has a lot of potential in creating new interesting things,

whether you are creating the most mundane calculator or an insane video game, you are making something, and that act of creation takes creativity, knowledge and problem solving skills

in that sense, I think there is a bit of art in everything, the keyboard I'm typing on was designed by someone, the little buttons in the UI, the pillow I'm resting on

it's not just everything that is human made, but everything that is, because finding that extra thought and meaning isn't limited just to creator alone, but the observer as well

modern art talks a lot about how you can look at everything the way you can at high art, you can find beauty symbolism and meaning in everything, because that depth doesn't exist within the object itself, but within the mind that interprets it

so circleing back, art exists in two realms: being created and being observed

and that raises the question, can art comfortably exist only within one of those? again, my pillow was designed and created by someone, but it usually doesn't get observed as art, but I will still argue that designing it was an artistic process

so then, can art only be observed? and I will argue again that yes, you can find meaning in everything! even seeing shapes in clouds is a bit of an artistic experience

so then, can AI art be classified as art? the creator less amalgamation that it is? well unfortunately yes - BUT not because of the machine that created it, but because of the HUMAN THAT OBSERVED IT, without the human mind to interrupt the shapes and the colours and the composition and give it that meaning, it reminds nothing but an array of pixels

well I did mention I dislike AI art, so why is that? and well, while art can exist on only one of the realms, that doesn't ignore the fact that it stripes it of a whole entire realm of meaning!!!

the person behind the piece is meaningful to the piece for multiple reasons,

first of all I think it simply adds depth to the piece! if we have established that the meaning of art lays within the depth you can find in it, the person behind it, who they are, the choices they made and why, adds a whole new layer of depth and meaning to the piece!

you can look at the sky and see clouds, you can see a cloud shaped as a cat, and you can see something that reminds you of your late grandmother, these are 3 different experiences that occurs by looking at the same object, and the difference is in the meaning you find in it

which just leaves AI art as less interesting, because there's less meaning to find (unless you count the artists it's based on), it just makes it a bit more flat

but not only that, I feel like it's at risk of robbing people of the artistic process, there's a reason why people still draw even though there are cameras - it's because creating things is fun!

yes art is challenging, and sure you can create the same result in easier means, but that challenge IS what's so fun about it! thinking though problems is a good thing!

I love drawing, and I generally believe it's one of the hardest things you can do (I might be biased) because not only it takes learning anatomy or perspective, but it also extends to fighting with the unwritten rules of the subconscious of making something look or feel "right"

creating things is challenging, drawing, writing, programming, but there isn't a greater use to the human body and mind than creation! yes you can take shortcuts, you can try making things more comfortable and easy for yourself, but you should do that to give yourself more power, not less power! or you'll be robbing yourself from using your mind

I've finally figured out an argument that convinces coding tech-bros that AI art is bad.

Got into a discussion today (actually a discussion, we were both very reasonable and calm even through I felt like committing violence) with a tech-bro-coded lady who claimed that people use AI in coding all the time so she didn't see why it mattered if people used AI in art.

Obviously I repressed the surge of violence because that would accomplish nothing. Plus, this lady is very articulate, the type who makes claims and you sit there thinking no that's wrong it must be but she said it so well you're kind of just waffling going but, no, wait-- so I knew I had to get this right if I was gonna come out of this unscathed.

The usual arguments about it being about the soul of it and creation fell flat, in fact she was adamant that anyone who believed that was in fact looking down at coding as an art form as she insisted it is. Which, sure, you can totally express yourself through coding. There's a lot more nuance as to the differences but clearly I was not going to win this one.

The other people I was with (literally 8 people anti-ai against her, but you can't change the mind of someone who doesn't want to listen and she just kept accusing us of devaluing coding as an art) took over for I kid you not 15 minutes while I tried desperately to come up with a clear and articulate way to explain the difference to her. They tried so many reasonable arguments, coding being for a function ("what, art doesn't serve a function?") coding being many discrete building blocks that you put together differently, and the AI simply provides the blocks and you put it together yourself ("isn't that what prompt building is") that it's bad for the environment ("but not if it's used for capitalism, hm?" "Yeah literally that's how capitalism works it doesn't care about the environment" she didn't like that response)

But I finally got it.

And the answer is: It's not about what you do, it's about what you claim to be.

Imagine that someone asks an AI to write a code and, by some miracle, it works perfectly without them having to tweak it---which is great because they couldn't tell you what a single solitary thing in that code means.

Now imagine this person, with their code that they don't know how it works, goes and applies to be a coder somewhere, presenting this AI code as proof that they're qualified.

Should they be hired?

She was horrified, of course. Of course they shouldn't be. They're not qualified. They can't actually code, and even if by some miracle they did have an AI successfully write a flawless code for every issue they came across that wouldn't be their code, you could hire any shmuck on the street to do that, no reason to pay someone like they're creating something.

When actual engineers use AI what they do is get some kind of base, which they then go though and check for problems and then if they find any they fix them, and add on to the base code with their own knowledge instead of just trying different prompt after prompt until they randomly come across one that works.

People who generate code like this don't usually call themselves engineers. They're people who needed a bit of code and didn't have the knowledge to generate it, and so used a resource.

And there you go. There are people who have none of the skills of artists, they don't practice, they don't create for themselves. When they feed the prompt to the AI they then don't just use the resulting image as a reference point for their own personal masterpiece, and if they don't like it they don't have the skills to change it---they simply try another prompt, and do that until they get something they like.

These people are calling themselves artists.

Not only that, these people are bringing the AI generated thing to interviews, and they are getting hired, leaving people who slave over their craft out of the job.

And that is the difference, for the tech bros who think AI art isn't a big deal.

[yourmessagehasbeendenied]

~WEEKENDS

tw; chubby!reader, fluff, suggestive language, cursing, husband!simon, bubbly!reader, scary!simon, AU.

Simon was a big rough man. But he tried his hardest to not be it for you, and that's why you loved him. You two were polar opposites, and everyone saw it. Simon didn't go outside a lot, he was very anti-social and worked from home. No one ever really saw him, they only heard about him from you, really.

Because of that - you were the one doing the shopping and doing most things for the house. He did help out a lot, especially with cleaning places. But you were much more social because of that, you met a lot more people. And Simon was just happy he didn't have to deal with them. You recently took a liking to a certain shopping place, it sold everything you liked and needed for the house. It was a simple store, but you really enjoyed shopping there. So there you met a girl. Sophie, was her name. She was really sweet and you helped her find which aisle has the certain type of butter her husband loves the most, because she was trying to make him happy. You gladly helped and from then on- you two became friends. You two talked a lot and after a while, you even started going out together to hair saloons, manicures, everything. Simon didn't mind, he was happy each time you came home telling him about this "Sophie" person and how wonderful she was to you. You two talked a lot about your husbands. You always wore pink, and she was just more of a modern- dresser. She had a great style, but her eyes were always caught on how cute of dresses you were wearing. Shopping together, she speaks. "So how come your husband doesn't come outside that much?" She asked with a curious tone in her voice, to which you responded, "Oh, he's very shy. He doesn't exactly know how to treat people." She smiled at that. "Sounds very sweet." She said, and helped you pack your eggs in. Some time later - She invited you to a grill party and told you to bring your husband. You said you'd do your best to convince him. And after a lot of nagging and a few, "You can drink beer with the boys!" argument, he caved and gave in. He came with you to the store that day, because you two bought some wine to bring to the grocery store. That's where you ran into Sophie. Her eyes widened and she rushed over. "Hey Y/N! ..Who's that with you?" She asked, a little concerned. It wasn't common to see a 6'2 brute of a man follow around a girl who is 5'3. You smiled reassuringly. You spoke. "Hi, Sophie. I'm happy to see you! This is my husband, Simon." You said, and you wrapped both your arms around your husband's. Safe to say, it was.. A scene. Watching the bubbly, sweet girl hug a big man who looks like he could kill with just a look. So THAT was the shy, helping and sweet man you were talking about? She smiled awkwardly. "I-i see. I trust I'll see you at the grill party today, then?" She asked and you smiled. You nodded your head and finished shopping. The grill party was awesome. You got to hang around your close friend and your husband Simon, also found his own company by Sophie's husband and his friends, who loved fishing just as much as he did. They did get drunk a lot more than you girls did- but that was just predictable. They laughed, and Simon even tried grilling on his own- but he burnt it.

Which resulted in him coming over to you, with almost tears in his eyes.

"The chicken trusted me… and I failed it."

He sobbed, and he buried his face in your neck. It was a remember-able day. Especially when you two went home and he threw himself on you in the bed, hugging you close, whispering, "Thank you for taking me there, sweetheart. I had so much fun today." You smiled and wrapped your arms around him. "I know baby, me too." You kissed his forehead, and he smirked. "We could make it a little more fun, if you know what I mean." You didn't get what he meant at first, but when you felt something start to poke you, you understood. And who would refuse?

[clemmmmmmmmmmmmmm]

“My little love,Mama’s got a lot to learn.”

Batboys x single mum reader

My little love by Adele makes me cry every time now that i have kid.Because what if im doing this all wrong.Buttt enjoy!

Bruce Wayne

• At first, Bruce is hesitant — not about you, but about whether he could be a good father figure for your child.

• Once he commits, he commits. He’s suddenly funding your child’s education, upgrading their stroller to a literal tank and reading parenting books at 3AM.

• Surprisingly good at bedtime stories — his deep voice makes fairy tales sound like epic adventures.

• He sometimes slips and calls your kid “ours.” You pretend not to notice, but your heart definitely does.

⸻

Dick Grayson

• Dick loves kids — he’s the type to immediately crouch down to their level and ask their name.

• He’s the fun “stepdad” type — trampoline parks, baking cookies (he burns them), and choreographed dance parties.

• Teaches your kid acrobatics and ends up making them his little sidekick-in-training.

• Loves you fiercely and constantly reassures you that you’re not in this alone anymore.

⸻

Jason Todd

• Jason is surprisingly protective — he softens a lot around your child, even if he still gives off a rough exterior to the world.

• Reads your kid classic literature and gritty detective novels — he says they need “culture,” but he skips the violent parts.

• Carries juice boxes in his jacket like he’s carrying ammo. Snacks on one side, weapons on the other.

• He never talks about being a good role model, but shows up for every school event and parent-teacher conference without fail.

⸻

Tim Drake

• Tim overthinks everything — he googled “how to bond with children” the minute he found out you were a single mum.

• Gets overwhelmed at first but eventually becomes your kid’s favorite nerdy uncle-type. Teaches them coding, chess, and gives them supervised access to the Batcomputer.

• Sleep-deprived bonding moments — your child once woke up from a nightmare and found Tim already awake researching ways to help.

• You once caught them both asleep in front of a monitor, drooling onto a pile of LEGOs and snack wrappers.

Damian Wayne (Angsty Edition)

• When you first meet, Damian is distant. He’s polite — in that blunt, vaguely condescending way — but he keeps emotional distance from both you and your child.

• It’s not personal. He’s terrified of failing. Of becoming like his mother. Of inheriting the worst of both legacies and ruining a child that isn’t even his.

• He watches from the sidelines — his expression unreadable as your child laughs, clutches your hand, calls out to him with easy affection. Something tightens in his chest every time.

• One day, your child gets hurt. Not seriously — just a scraped knee, a tumble. But Damian’s reaction is instant and furious — with himself. He cradles them gently, whispering in Arabic, not realizing he’s shaking.

• He tries to push you away afterward. “They deserve someone better,” he says. “You both do.”

• But your child draws him a picture of “Dami, Mum, and me.” It’s crudely drawn — your child has given him a sword and a heart.

• He keeps the drawing folded in his wallet. No one knows it’s there.

• Damian doesn’t say “I love you” easily — but he shows it in quiet acts. Fixing your child’s broken toy with surgical precision. Standing watch outside their door during storms. Holding you in the quiet moments and asking, “Are you sure you want this? Me?”

• He eventually starts calling your child “my son” or “my daughter.” Quietly. Fiercely. As if daring the world to question it.

[miajooz]

here me OUT

ellie teases the reader and edges her too much so she gets up and locks herself in the bathroom to finish the job herself. ellie begs at the door for her to forgive her and let her do it. the rest is up to youuuu

Give it to me, Baby ⋆˙⟡

warnings ⋆˙⟡ Smut (obviously) multiple orgasms, masturbation (both), fingering (r!receiving), strap use (r!receiving), thigh riding (e!giving), edging, worshiping, praise, swearing. SUBTOP!ELLIE

wc ⋆˙⟡ 7.2k

Ellie was never really one to deprive you of pleasure—no, that wasn’t her style at all. In fact, seeing you shaking and writhing in pleasure was her favorite sight. Maybe because she loved the way your jaw went slack, or maybe because she loved the fact she made you react that way. Regardless, she was dumbed down to a complete fool who loved watching you crumble when she made you feel like you were on another planet.

Though, it wasn’t in a freak-dominant way you may think—it was different. Ellie enjoyed the fact that she could make her girlfriend feel so good, that came with the visual aspect of seeing you orgasm. It proved that not only could she love you, but she could please you as well

Ellie was a slut for hearing you egg her on. She loved when you made requests, told her what made you feel best—anything of that nature. Hearing you tell her how good she made you feel could make her finish from the littlest amount of friction—differing from your situation, where you were stuffed with her fingers or strap.

She thought about edging before, but felt as if it would be too cruel. Of course it sounded hot in retrospect—but it still wasn’t her style.

Yet when she heard you ask her to do it, she couldn’t resist you. Sure, it sounded a bit strange—but trying and wanting new things was only natural! Especially in sex where it’s more fun that way. So, she agreed.

How Ellie got carried away with this new idea was completely beyond her. She did it once, hot enough! You were ready to finish now, in fact, you were losing your mind from the first time she ripped your orgasm away.

Second time? Thats fine..maybe she felt as though she should build your pleasure up as much as she could. Torturous but fair.

Third time? Okay, now you really needed to cum. This was getting to be far too much. The first two times were already to much—yet she kept it pushing. She kept depriving you of that release you craved with every fiber of your being.

Fourth time—you were in shambles. By this point you were crying from how badly you wanted to finish. Your wetness was all over your thighs, your ass, the bed, and even Ellie. She seemed to feel bad for edging you four fucking times, her hand had reached down to cup your cheek tenderly. But you were not having it, the need to feel that tension in your lower abdomen snap was much stronger than any other feeling. There was stronger feeling in your hold, all the blood rushed down and made it all the more torturous.

That’s how you found yourself locked in the bathroom, sitting on the floor by the tub with your fingers between your thighs. You were circling your clit with a little too much desperation, all you could think about was how amazing you’d feel when you came.

But it wasn’t peaceful—Ellie was outside the bathroom door. She was knocking on it desperately, her voice sounded needy and guilty. You could practically see the remorse on her face, even though she was behind a closed door. You just knew what her expression looked like, it was all panicked—her eyes filled with a deep kind of yearning.

And you were right.

You tried to tune it out, but even when you shoved two fingers inside yourself and the sound of squelching echoed through the room—her voice was louder.

“Baby, please. I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll let you cum. Please just come out here.” she pleaded, knocking softly on the door. She felt absolutely terrible for getting ahead of herself, but she just couldn’t help it.

The way you would desperately rut your hips against her finger after every time she ripped an orgasm away from you was absolutely intoxicating. It was unfair and dangerous how much that turned her on.

So, yeah—she got carried away. But she was ready to make up for it, she wanted to make you cum as many times as she didn’t let you. Four times was a bit greedy and ridiculous. But she had a strap, a tongue, and a desperate, psychological need to please. A need she couldn’t just shove down, she was in shambles too.

How could she cope with the loss of not seeing you cum? No, that was too much. The thought alone made her voice even more distressed and her knocks a bit louder.

“I’m sorry, I swear I’ll make you feel so good. I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life—the best four orgasms of your life!” she pleaded, trying her absolute hardest to coax you off the bathroom floor and into her arms. “I’ll never put you through that again, I’ll fuck you until you’re limp. Just how you like.”

Her words had almost the opposite effect, the way she was begging to fuck you and make up for her actions—or lack there of—made your fingers move faster and your breathing become more labored. Ellie could hear it, she could hear the way you were getting yourself off. Maybe if you came once, you’d give her more at her own hands.

So, she kept talking.

“Please, I need you so bad. You wanna feel good, yeah? I can give it to you, baby.” she begged, only lightly knocking on the door now so you could hear every single word. Or maybe so she could hear your choked out gasps and the way your chest heaved.

You let out a pathetic moan, the type of moan that crawled its way out of your throat when you thought you could keep it in. But it wasn’t a secret what you were doing.

Not when the humiliating, wet, sloshing sounds coming from your pussy were bouncing and echoing off the walls. The sound was all around you, but you tried to imagine it was Ellie doing this to you. You tried to pretend she was finally satisfying you, and the voice in the background was her talking you through it.

So yeah, it wasn’t secretive.

Not when the sound of your sweet moans made Ellie reach down her own pants and work at her own clit.

Not when the sounds coming from that bathroom were downright dangerous, downright torturous to your pathetic girlfriend outside.

Not when she was touching herself to the fact you were touching yourself. It’s crazy how things like this come to be when two people are horny enough. Or maybe it’s because you were both deprived in a way—a differing way, sure, but you were both struggling with a desire to have each other.

“Please, please. I need to see you cum, I jus’ wanna see it.” she pleaded, her voice sounded all breathy and nearly whiney. “Fuck, please. I’ll do anything you want me to. Anything.”

You let out a particularly loud moan, getting off on her words so much to the point of insanity. Who knew such deprived horniness and breathy dirty talk could have such a big effect. Maybe it didn’t, but after being refused an orgasm four times—it didn’t take much to affect you.

Ellie cursed under her breath, two fingers working at her own dripping pussy, maybe that’s the thing you didn’t differ in. She was pumping her fingers in and out of her sopping hole, other hand on the door for support. She was a mess, sweat dripping down her forehead, both her fluid and the leftover coating of yours mixing inside her cunt, her jaw slack—it was a sight, but not one you could see behind a closed door.

But surely you could imagine, right? Surely that got you off—a lot.

“I can fuck you with my fingers first, I’ll make you cum so hard and stretch you out so good. You’ll be seeing stars, I promise.” she tried to assure you, both your fingers working desperately in your own pussies, buried knuckle deep. “And I’ll do it right. Since—since you’ll cum, You know?”

What a dork. God, you were in love. You also knew she was stumbling over her words from fingering hers led so aggressively. You could hear the wet wounds through the door.

Then she continued, “You’ll be all stretched out, right? Then maybe I can fuck you with the strap—any position you want. I’ll give it to you, baby, I’ll give you anything.”

You were a hot mess by this point, such vulgar words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel a tight coil in your stomach, your breathing becoming heavier as you only got closer.

But Ellie just kept talking, continuing her ramble in description about how good she’d make you feel if you came out of that bathroom. “Please let me fuck you properly. I’ll clean you up afterwards—then you’ll cum again!” she breathed out, her breathing just as labored as yours. she was close too, filtering her mind into an even filthier state than before. “I can make it up to you, i can stuff you so good and so full.”

“So full you will miss it when you’re empty, please, please, please.”

That was the last straw, all the remaining strings holding you together had snapped, had been overwrote by a shudder of bliss that overtook your entire body. With the perfect, most calculated, but also desperate pump and curl of your fingers, you reached said bliss.

“F-fuck, Els!” you cried out, as if she was the one with her fingers stuffed inside your cunt. You wished she was, you missed those veiny, long fingers that gave you a one way ticket to heaven when she used them.

Ellie wasn’t far behind, hearing the sound of you coming undone threw her over the edge. She desperately bucked her hips against her hand, her fingers hitting that rougher spot inside her, abusing it until the overwhelming feeling of her orgasm shot through her. She rode it out, moaning like a bitch in heat and letting her palm bump against her swollen clit perfectly.

The both of you remained in your places for a moment, chests heaving and minds clouded. It took a bit for you finally come to your senses, the aftershocks hitting you like a bodily reset, it felt like the cogs in your mind were all stuck in place as you sat on the back room floor—back arched and pussy stuffed with your own digits.

You managed to scoot forward a bit, reaching your hand up to the doorknob. With a small flick of the wrist, you unlocked the door.

That click was all Ellie needed, it snapped her out of her partial jelly-brained state. With a pathetic gasp, she opened the door, poking her head in to make sure she wouldn’t hit you with the hard wood.

The sight before her made her moan, her breath coming out in small pants and her face soft but utterly needy. “Oh, baby. You’re such a mess.” she coaxed standing over you but eventually crouching down to where you were.

You let out some sort of whimper—as if you were trying to speak but unable to because of the short circuiting of your brain cells. Ellie grabbed your wrist gently, slowly pulling it away from you. Your fingers followed, they were pulled out of your soaked pussy with a coating of fluid that said enough in itself.

When your hole was left empty, you were snapped out of your thoughts. Furthermore, when Ellie put one hand on your back, and her other arm under your thighs. She lifted you up with ease, looking down at your face. You looked so pretty, she wanted that perfect face to contort into bliss, she wanted to see it.

No, she needed to see it.

Ellie carried you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, holding you tenderly and steadily against her. She then set you down on the bed with a small groan, almost immediately taking her rightful place on top of you.

Within seconds your lips were connected, the kiss was messy and passionate. Your lips crashed together repeatedly, one hand keeping her propped up and the other on the back of your neck. You wrapped your arms around her, short gasps leaving you every time your lips parted for air or to just deepen the kiss.

Her leg slipped between your thighs, pushing against your cunt softly. You proceeded to rut your hips against the surface of her thigh ever so slightly, she groaned and resisted the urge to straddle you and ride your thigh.

Ellie was kissing you with a need that couldn’t be described in words, only actions. Pornographic, pathetic moans left her as she worked her lips against yours in a way that left you craving more. A way that made you feel like the only thing keeping you in once piece was the death grip she had on you and the feeling of her tongue down your throat.

She pulled away for a brief moment, breaths shaky and cheeks flushed. Her eyes held something familiar in them, she was falling apart just by looking at your face. You had that expression on your face that made her mind fill with the most vile of thoughts. Thoughts she needed to act on.

“Oh, baby. I need you so bad. Can I please finger you again? I’ll be so fucking good to you—just tell me you want it.” she breathed out, her lips practically gravitated towards your neck.

Your fingers tangled in her hair, soft breathes of bliss leaving your throat as you felt her kiss and suck at your throat. “I want it, Els. I need it.”

Ellie’s hands traveled down your body, kneading your breast with her free hand tenderly. She pinched your nipple and bit down on your collarbone particularly hard, making you yelp in response.

She pulled away briefly, offering you a breathy, “sorry,” before continuing. Two fingers rubbed your nipples softly in apology, along with the soft peck of the lips you earned. Eventually she pulled away and paused her abuse on your neck, just to simply stare at you.

Ellie’s eyes were so full of love, so full of emotion, admiration. They were the eyes of somebody who was mesmerized, hypnotized, enamored, all simply from the sight of you. The sight of your flushed cheeks, the hair sticking to your forehead, your naked body, all of it.

She was reminded in moments like these how much she actually needed you. She couldn’t even fathom where she’d be without this. Without you.

“Ugh, I love you so fucking much. You’re so perfect, how did I get so lucky?” she said breathlessly, a moan leaving her as she saw the look on your face. She rolled your nipple between her fingers softly, unable to break eye contact with you.

“Ellie, cmon..” you urged, mainly because you remembered the promises she made to you earlier. You knew she’d be good to you, she always was.

When she didn’t get carried away in the act of edging you, that is.

Ellie said nothing, but her actions were enough. She let her hand slide down your body further, settling them in between your thighs. she caressed the skin of your inner thighs so tenderly you were almost tricked into thinking this would be a peaceful experience.

Until the tips of her middle and ring finger found your bud, you could see the self control and restraint leaving her irises. She let out a breathy sound as she started her circling motions on your clit—moaning as if she was the one receiving it.

All you could do was look at her as her green eyes pierced your own. Ellie couldn’t look away, not when you looked at her like that. Not when there was that softness to your features when she made you feel good, not when she could sit and watch your expressions with every small but purposeful movement.

Ellie was obsessed with that, she could get high off it. Forget weed!

Ellie stoped her fingers for a moment, taking in the whine of protest you let out when she did so. She quickly maneuvered your legs further apart, you could feel her mainly focusing on one for reasons you were oblivious too. She then straightened your leg so it was hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Just hold it there, please. Don’t move, okay?” you were confused when she requested that, until she was sliding her panties down her thighs. You watched in absolute awe.

She held them delicately in her hand, before tossing them aside. Her eyes were on you again, her eyes slightly wide and her lips parted.

“Baby, what are you—“ you tried to ask, but you were cut off when she placed her wet cunt on your thigh. You shivered at the feeling, instinctively bucking your hips a bit and lifting your thigh.

“Oh, fuck!” Ellie moaned breathlessly, she wasn’t expecting that kind of friction since she told you to stay still. She panted softly, her eyebrows knitted together in way that made your neglected hole pulse.

She let her hand find your cunt again, the tips of her fingers trailing up and down your soaked slit. The whole time you held eye contact, the tension was palpable. Even more so when she slowly pushed two fingers inside you, intently watching your face.

You let out a weak sigh, moving your thigh up again so that you were both moaning together. When she curled your fingers and hit that rougher, spongy part inside you, you tilted your head back. A broken moan left your throat, as if your larynx was worn out from how much you were moaning that night. The exhaustion of phantom, pulled away cries of protest when she refused you an orgasm over and over again were lodged in there.

Ellie saw you tilt your head back, to which she immediately grabbed your face with the hand that was holding her up before and forced you to look at her. “No, no, baby. Please let me watch, I need to watch.” she pleaded, starting to pump her fingers in and out of your squelching, embarrassedly, wet hole. “You have the most gorgeous face. Especially when you’re moaning.”

You gently rocked against her fingers, making her soaked cunt slide on your thigh. Ellie’s jaw clenched as the friction in her needy clit was satisfied, she ground her hips on your thigh in response. Broken, needy moans left her as she slid her pussy over her own slick, the feeling was intoxicating and so was the sight. She worked her fingers rougher, faster, everything she could possibly do to make you squirm.

“That’s it, baby. Take it like that, you’re so unbelievably beautiful” she moaned, her eyes trained on the way your jaw went slack. Those fingers of hers were a lethal weapon, a weapon in which could make you a melted mess in a matter of seconds.

Ellie couldn’t help but ramble at the sight of your blissed out face, “Look at you, prettiest face I’ve ever seen. You’re heaven itself, everything you do is so perfect.” she whimpered, roughly fingering you and grinding against your thigh like a creature in heat. “You’re so gorgeous, can you feel the way you’re sucking me in? It’s like you were made to take my fingers. They just fit so well, yeah?”

“I wanna keep them inside you forever. It’s so warm, I can’t get tired of those sounds.”

“Fuckk me..so good, baby. It’s all so good.”

The way Ellie was talking only made you get off even more. The way she was practically worshipping you for just sitting there and letting her finger you was almost too much. Her fingers hit the perfect spot with every thrust. All you could do was take it and listen to her endless ramble.

Your hands were shaking, but you managed to reach them out and place them softly on her ass. Your bodies were so tangled up now, you were in a knot you never wanted to be untied from. You slowly moved her against your thigh, watching the way her lips parted further and her eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, god. Yeah, s’good, you’re so good to me.” she moaned, you could see the way her face crumbled as she fell apart. But it only made her want to put you in that same state, so she did.

Ellie’s fingers fucked you at a brutal pace. The wet sounds of squelching and your loud moans echoed off the walls. You gripped onto the flesh of her ass, moving her against your thigh and her own slick.

“Shit, Els!” you cried out, squeezing your eyes shut so you couldn’t see the way she intently watched you. You could feel the knot in your stomach forming, your whole abdomen felt tight and strained.

Ellie was in a similar state, she tilted her head back and desperately ground against your thigh. Needy moans crawled out of her throat, the sound of her wet cunt against your thigh and the sound of her working your hole only brought her closer.

Within seconds you were ruined. Your eyes rolled back, jaw slacked even further, pussy clamped so tightly on her fingers it was hard to move—all of it. A loud string of moans were pushed out of you as you came on her fingers, your back arched and your cunt overwhelmed.

Ellie helped you ride it out, but the way your body arched up against her pussy made her hips stutter. One last look at your fucked out face was all it took.

“I love you, you’re so perfect. Im gonna soak your fucking thigh.” she said breathlessly, the last part more high pitched as she threw her head back, her mouth stuck open as a string of curses and cries of your name were moaned like a demand, like a surrender in a way.

Your hands found their way to the arch of her back, fingers digging into the smooth flesh. But her fingers didn’t stop moving, she was too distracted by her own orgasm. You whined and clawed at her back, the overstimulation making your eyes become glossy.

“Ellie, please! Too much, f-fuck!” you cried, you were so overstimulated and sensitive it almost hurt.

When you spoke up, Ellie stopped thrusting her fingers in and out of your tired hole, looking down at you with a blissed out expression. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t realize.”

Didn’t realize? Didn’t realize she was still fingering you? That had to be some sort of earth shattering orgasm.

Ellie then pulled her fingers out of you, groaning at the wet sound it made and then the fluid layer covering her skin. She brought her fingers to her lips. sticking her tongue out and kitty licking your juices off her digits.

You watched in awe and utter bewilderment, your lips slightly parted in an attempt to say something—though you were ultimately silenced by the sight of her sliding them into her mouth. She sucked on them as if they were a candy, as if your arousal on them was some delicacy that couldn’t be wasted.

You tried to sit up to have some control in this situation, but she just pushed you back down by your chest.

“I’m not done, baby. Three more, yeah?”

Your eyes went visibly wider. Right, she already told you this. As much as you were flattered, it all sounded exhausting.

But who were you to say no to such a kind offer!

Except you were somebody to worry about it.

“Els, this is too much. We’re both going to get tired. We can pick this up tomorrow, if you’d like.” you offered, worried about her comfort more than the orgasms she owed you.

But she wasn’t even listening. She was off your thigh in seconds, leaning over to slide the drawer open and shuffle though it. You looked down at the slick layer left on your skin, groaning at the sight. It was so dangerous, it was something you adored so much it could be photographed.

Ellie grabbed an army green strap and held it softly in her hands, a stark contrast to what she planned to do to you with the damn thing. She looked at you with a soft smile, immediately shifting her focus towards the strap.

You assumed she was thinking about lube, and chimed in, “I don’t think it’ll need lube, baby. It’s—“

Before you could even fathom what she was thinking about, she put the silicone between her legs. She rubbed her wet cunt on it, getting it all soaked with her own arousal. She even shoved the tip inside herself softly, groaning as her squelching hole sucked it in greedily.

You watched in absolute amazement, your jaw slack in pure bewilderment. The sight made you let out a strained whimper, knowing that her juices would be mixed with yours when she fucked you.

When she pulled the tip of the silicone out of her pussy and examined it, there it was—lubed up with her own natural lubricant. Then, she finally moved to secure it around her waist as if it was routine, as if it didn’t make you start circling your clit as you watched.

You were speechless, how did she still have energy? You were pretty tired, but the sight of Ellie’s focused expression as she put that strap on made your head spin. Not to mention how she hurriedly forced her shirt off and threw it to the side.

You clicked your tongue, your legs still spread and your cunt still a mess, “Ellie, we can—“

“—Baby, I never said I was too tired. I promised I’d give it to you. Just let me make you feel good, yeah?” is all she said to you, her voice firm but reassuring.

Your lips parted in preparation to argue, but you didn’t. Your eyes just traveled down her body, eying the silicone that was harnessed around her hips.

“Unless you’re scared to take it, but that’s another problem we could talk about.” she said, knowing same well that wasn’t the case at all. She was only teasing, she laughed and smiled down at you. lovingly.

Ellie scooted over to you, her eyes trained on your face like usual. She hovered between your legs, shooing your fingers away from your bud and replacing them with her own.

“That’s it baby. Fuck, never seen a prettier pussy, s’perfect.” she coaxed, her voice was mainly a moan. “i’m so fucking obsessed with you.”

You simply let her circle your clit, your eyes locked on hers the entire time. You were too tired to actually start bucking your hips up, so you settled for being less desperate.

Ellie pulled her fingers away from your clit, moving them towards the silicone harnessed to her body. She maneuvered it towards your pussy, the tip parting your folds—like sticky bubblegum being pulled apart. That’s how it was visually, there was so much slick on your cunt that it made everything in that area wet and sticky.

She slowly pushed the tip in, attentively watching the way your facial expression contorted from the pleasure. She loved the way your jaw fell open, or the way you’d squeeze your thighs around her waist.

The way your eyes widened or rolled back as you tried to keep eye contact made her moan every time.

You could feel the stretch of the silicone as she slowly pushed it in, your walls fluttering around it and sucking it in visibly. Her eyes darted between yours and the way your pussy sucked it in so faultlessly. Your jaw went slack, the stretch making your thighs tremble a bit. You felt so full, straps stretched you in all angles, it’s a different kind of fullness.

“Fuck..Els..” you moaned, your voice was all breathy and airy. Airy in the same state that your brain was, all you could think about was her fucking you, her giving you all your orgasms back.

You could feel it, the mixture of her wetness and yours combined. The idea alone made you squirm and pant.

Ellie bottomed out, groaning at the sight of you below her. She bit the inside of her lip, bringing her hand up to gently cup your cheek. “Oh, baby. I stretched you out so good on my fingers, didn’t I? I know you can take this.”

You just stared at her and panted softly, clamping around the still object inside you. With a weak nod, she started actually fucking you.

Ellie started off slow, her thrusts were deep but careful—as if she was handling a delicate ceramic. A delicate work of art, something she needed to care for.

“That’s it, good girl. You’re taking me so well, baby.” she praised, she was being so gentle with you. It was typical, she never wanted to actually hurt you. Especially in such an intimate activity.

Unless you asked, that is.

“So perfect, fuckkk me..” she added, her thrusts starting to pick up in pace and intensity. Once she started she could never hold back. Ellie loved the sounds you made, the sounds your body made. She loved everything about you, in these moments just as much. Your reactions fueled her to do more, please you more, go faster, anything you wanted.

You’re hands scurried to the sheets below you, her thrusts making your lips parted—an exit for those sweet sounds to escape from. Every thrust pulled one out of you, as if she was digging for it purposely. It was like she was searching for those sounds specifically, angling her hips to wherever you moaned the loudest at.

And oh, did she find it.

You shuddered and choked out a needy moan, your eyes nearly rolling back as she hit something astonishing inside you.

“Right there, please!” you pleaded, feeling her set a perfect angle. She hit that spot over, and over, and over again. At first she was softer, trying to really activate the nerves—then she picked up the pace again.

“I hear you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” Ellie started fucking you at a brutal pace, her thrusts were harsh, deep, fast—everything. You felt like you were going to tear apart, your whole body jolted from each thrust. Pornographic moans left you with every sharp movement, every calculated motion had you writhing and whining.

But her face.

Her face was so soft, her jaw was slack just from watching you take all of her like that. “Take it baby, I love seeing you spread open for me like that.” she panted, moaning at the sight. The strap was slightly rubbing against her clit, making her only thrust more frantically to chase that friction. “Please, please.”

“So perfect, you’re so unreal.” she praised, rambling like she always did when she fucked you. “I’d do anything to see that face of yours when I make you feel good. I’d do anything to make you feel good.”

Your eyes softened at her words, her pace was so brutal but her words were so loving. You were trying to speak or form a coherent sentence, but you were nothing but a moaning, panting, squirming mess.

“Els..” you managed, a breathy tone to your voice. Like the words were forced out of your lungs. One of your hands untangled from the sheets, reaching up to grab Ellie’s.

She immediately noticed and let out a soft, affectionate sigh. She grabbed your hand softly, intertwining your fingers and letting you squeeze her tightly. Her other hand traveled down to your clit, circling it to enhance your orgasm. “I know, baby. You close? Wanna cum for me?”

The way she was speaking to you and fucking you was making that familiar feeling in your stomach return. Her thrusts were powerful and meaningful, her clit getting that mind dizzying friction as well.

Not only was she giving you your orgasms back—she was sharing them with you.

You just whimpered, but Ellie seemed to understand, she didn’t change her pace at all, her hips still angling to hit your g-spot. She leaned down a bit and kissed your neck tenderly, trying to distract you from the humiliating moans leaving her. She gasped for air softly, moaning and huffing in your ear like a dog. “Fucking soak me, baby.”

As she leaned against your chest and pulled you against her, you could feel your nipples rubbing perfectly against hers. The feeling made you both gasp and shudder. This was all you needed. “Oh my god, Ellie!” you cried, the feeling was dizzying.

Ellie was just as loud as you were, her moans were relentless in your ear. She couldn’t even speak, all she could do was pathetically empty out her vocal cords’ only sounds into your eardrums.

“Ellie, Ellie! Fuck, I’m—!” a high pitched moan from your own throat silenced you, making your back arch off the bed and your head tilt back against the mattress. To your surprise—you squirted. The release soaked Ellie’s thighs. A string of curses and Ellie’s name echoed off your lips, trailing on as she helped you ride out your orgasm and helped herself approach her own.

Seeing you finish pushed her, she let out a breathy moan into your ear, squeezing your hand. She could feel it dripping down her thighs. She rubbed her nipples against yours once more and came. Her head was buried in your neck, her lungs pushing out some sort of pathetic noise. A noise she tried to suck in but failed miserably. “Shit, baby!..I love you, I love you..—so much!”

The both of you just stayed like that for a moment, panting and desperately trying to catch your breaths. Ellie hadn’t pulled out yet, she just sat there while your sensitive cunt squeezed the silicone tightly. Her head was buried in your neck, and yours was back against the mattress.

Ellie eventually raised her head, peeling herself away from your sweat covered body so your sensitive nipples could have a break. she looked down at you, cupping your cheek tenderly—even though you weren’t looking at her.

She slowly pulled out, groaning at the soft squelching sound that followed. This seemed to be a common theme. Her hands came down to steady your trembling thighs, one hand gripping the flesh and the other caressing the skin on your right thigh.

Your head was tilted back still in exhaustion, so you couldn’t exactly see what she was doing. She kneeled down over the edge of the bed, moaning at the sight of your soaked, fucked out cunt. “Stay still for me, baby.” she coaxed her breath hitting the wetness coating your poor hole.

You didn’t know what she meant, too dazed to even think. Not until she licked a long strip up your folds, lapping up all the wetness she could in one go. She ended up at your clit, swirling her tongue around the bud and sucking it softly.

You writhed.

A choked cry left your throat as she worked your overstimulated cunt. It was too much, you had just came and she was already trying to pull more out of you. You couldn’t take it, it was too much.

You tangled your fingers in her hair, weak sounds leaving you. With weak efforts, you tried to pull her head away. “Els, please! Give me a second, I can’t take it!”

As soon as Ellie heard that, she unlatched herself from your clit carefully, looking up at you to meet your weak, glossy eyes. She groaned at the sight, a crease between her eyebrows forming at her enamored expression.

“Sorry, baby. Just trying to clean you up.” she soothed, her hand gently caressing your inner thigh again. “Can I please clean you up when you’re ready? I can’t leave my girl all messy. Especially if it’s my fault.”

A weak noise crawled its way out of your throat at the tone she used with you. So soft but so undeniably sultry. All you could do was nod, the words lodged in your throat and filtered into sweet moans instead.

Ellie smiled. She smiled because she still got to eat you out after all of this. That was her favorite thing to do, even if it was more difficult to see your expression that way. The way you squeezed and fluttered around her tongue made it with it every time.

“Just tell me when.” she mumbled, kissing up your inner thigh softly. Her kisses were so soft—until she started biting and trying to leave hickeys and bite marks all over your flesh. Something about seeing those marks in somewhere so close to your pussy made her crazy. She could get herself off just on the memories of it.

She’d occasionally press her tongue against your clit, hearing the way your whines would slowly die down a bit as she waited. Eventually, you assumed you were ready.

“Ellie, I’m—“ she didn’t even let you finish your sentence. She just dived in, licking up your cunt like it was the most delicious ice cream she’d ever had. As if she was trying to devour you whole, make sure the only wetness left on your pussy was her saliva. The saliva that dripped off her tongue as she messily ate you out, as she cleaned you up and left a mess at the same time.

As if you were trading fluids. For your slick, she gave you that saliva.

The saliva you were familiar with. The saliva you could feel when your tongues would swirl around each other when you made out, the saliva she left on your neck, thighs, nipples, pussy—all of it.

Ellie licked up your cunt repeatedly, each swipe was slow but purposeful. Purposeful in the way that made sure her tongue was flat enough to please all the nerves in your clit. The nerves that would make you cum again and just allow her to clean you up again.

She pulled away for a moment, simply staring at your pussy and groaning. Her grip on your thighs adjusted, it was firmer and she even pried them open a bit wider. With ease she pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, giving you some slack so you could wrap your thighs around her head. She loved that warm feeling more than anything.

“Oh, look at that. You taste so good baby, I could stay between your thighs forever.” she said, kissing your clit softly and relishing the way your thighs would squeeze around her head desperately. “Heaven, absolute heaven.”

You still had your fingers tangled in her hair, weakly trying to push her head closer so she would start to please you again. She didn’t fight it, she licked your pussy once more and hummed against it. The vibrations made you weak.

“Fuck, Ellie. You’re so good, so good to me.” you breathed out, gasping at the feeling of her tongue splitting your labia apart, as if she was cracking open a sunflower seed and desperately trying to lap what was inside.

And oh, did she search inside.

Ellie’s tongue pressed at your opening, it was angled downwards as she teased those nerves with the tip of her tongue. Hearing the way you moaned made her continue, though. She pushed her tongue inside, the feeling was just as heavenly as always.

She started to thrust her tongue in and out of your cunt, occasionally pulling out just to suck on your clit. Even though her nose would bump against it, she just liked the way you squealed when she sucked it like a piece of candy.

You were on another fucking planet, after finishing so many times, it was like there were sparks in your body being set off with every flick of her tongue. You thought you couldn’t handle it, but it was too good to refuse. “J-just like that, please, please!”

Your moans egged her on like always, she thrusted and flicked her tongue faster, sloppily eating you out like she was starved. As if she was trying to soak up all the sweetness and juice from you that wouldn’t even satisfy her hunger.

But it satisfied a deeper kind of hunger, a hunger that only you could really satisfy. Maybe she could gaslight herself into thinking your wetness could quench her thirst!

But Ellie’s movements were still relentless, you always wondered how this girl did it. She ate pussy like nobody else could, it was the type of talent that was torture and a blessing for you all at once. You just tugged at her hair softly, thighs squeezing her head as you rocked gently against her face.

She pulled away and laughed for a moment, her chin and nose getting all soaked from your combined movements. “That’s it, sweetheart. Use my face, fucking drench it.” she coaxed, moaning and getting back to work. She found it so cute how you acted when she did this.

Ellie could feel the way your thighs trembled, the way your moans and ruts against your face just got more frantic. You were close, she knew that. She didn’t change her pace or rhythm at all, she didn’t want to ruin your orgasm or bring it on too quickly.

She had already ruined too many orgasms that night. She was almost done paying you back.

With one final thrust of her tongue, you were gone for. You desperately gripped onto her short, auburn hair—trying not to dig your nails into her scalp but failing. “Ellie, Ellie!” you chanted weakly, a sharp cry falling from your lips as you came again.

Your back arched off the bed and your head was glued to the mattress again. Your eyes rolled back dangerously far, your eyes mapping out something in the back of your head you didn’t know was there.

Ellie groaned against your cunt, helping you ride it out. She desperately lapped her tongue against your clenching hole, licking up everything she could. You were panting and twitching, squirming as she kept going. She was making sure she cleaned you up all nice and pleasantly.

You whined and squirmed further, but before you could plead she finally pulled away. She shifted, getting up so she could hover over you and look at your fucked out expression. You just stared at her, the both of you panting.

Ellie moved a strand of hair out of your face, and placed a kiss on your forehead—even though it was sweaty. “You’re so perfect, do you forgive me?” she asked, her juniper eyes falling on yours. “Do you want another one?”

You laughed softly, still trying to pull yourself together after all of that. “I forgave you after the first orgasm you gave me, Ellie. I guess I just have to adore you more.”

Ellie smiled at this like a dork, she loved sweet moments like that afterwards. As if she didn’t just make you scream her name and forget your own—it came off your tongue much softer now.

“How about we actually clean up. You know, in the shower.” she suggested, trying to find your hand so she could hold it.

“Did you not clean me up? Liar.”

Ellie laughed, “Of course I did, baby. But you’re sweaty. Plus I’m not sure you want to just leave my saliva there.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, I’ll help you up, sweetheart.”

tags!! <333 @valeisaslut @eriiwaiii2 @hyperbabes @usuck @haithone @yunaversalluv

A/N i feel as though this is too much LMAO. let me know! enjoy!

[berrryparfait]

Hii this is My first time asking for something like this, but, can you write "How much age difference" love and deepspace boys would hace with his girlfriend? 🥹

age gap(?) ༉‧₊˚.

***i hope u don't mind me giving u a short answer instead of a full fic—i'll def write one in the future if u'd like! <3

honestly, i can see xavier being a couple years (3?) younger than his gf, mainly because he's a little more reserved in nature and would probably be drawn to someone slightly older than him. i also think it would be fun / ironic how he's a freak in the sheets and quite dominant in bed despite his younger age 🤭

in my head, rafayel is centuries older than his gf. mentally, him and his gf are around the same age (same maturity level) but he's existed for much longer due to his status as a god (not canon). i think rafayel being technologically illiterate would be so hilarious and adorable. imagine mc teasing him for not knowing how to use emojis 😆

sylus is older than his gf, ranging from 6 to 20 years older lol. he could either be an oppa type of guy or a full-on silver fox, depending on how dilfy you'd like him to be. he's naturally protective, enjoys taking care of you and makes sure all your needs are met—but at the same time understands you're your own person and knows not to overstep.

i think most people would agree that caleb is older than his gf, maybe about 4 years older(?) he's known her since they were kids so he's also very protective of her, and likes it when she depends on him. ofc, mc wants to be independent and fight her own battles, but she secretly delights in the fact that she can always rely on him should the need arise.

zayne could either be younger or older than his gf, but not by much. i've always seen him as a mix between xavier and caleb (more so xavier, personality wise), so he could lean either way. he gets teased by mc a lot, but also enjoys teasing her back. they have a healthy, mature dynamic with just the right touch of playfulness 💕 and ofc, they both look out for each other at all times.

[sushirrrry]

Hi Em! I have an idea for a little prompt if you have time:)

2nd person

No smut

I was thinking Harry and y/n are freshy dating so everything is very new and exciting but they are also both kind of nervous and shy around each other:) just something cutesy in the early stages of dating, how they’re exploring their routines, habits etc:)

Set at uni/young adults working their first jobs

Have a nice dayyyyy!

GENTLE

@witch-rry hope you enjoy 😘

Everything about him, about this, it’s still new.

The way he knocks on your suite door, even though you told him he never has to, especially when you’re expecting him. The way your heart does that silly little flutter each time anyway — even if you’re just in mismatched socks and his hoodie that he left at your flat a week or so ago, holding a spoonful of peanut butter mid-air as you meander to answer the door.

Harry smells like outside air and laundry detergent when he steps in, cheeks pink from the cold. The beanie settles on his curls perfectly, and his large, green eyes have crinkled in the corners from where he holds his happiness. He smiles like he’s trying not to; you smile like you’re not trying at all.

He toes off his shoes by the door, carefully, always in that same order — shoes, jacket, hat, then the little sigh he lets out like the day’s finally over now that he’s here with you. You stand there next to him, waiting to lead him into the small flat.

“You’re always eating peanut butter,” he says, amused, dropping his bag beside the door.

“And you’re always late,” you shoot back, but there’s no heat behind it — just that familiar tease that you both like so much, that low-grade buzz that’s settled between you two like static.

He grins, shyly. “Got caught up at work. Again.”

“They must really need you,” you tell him, taking another bite of the peanut butter from your spoon. “Employee of the Year award.”

Harry shakes his head, putting his hands in his joggers with a sheepish response, “I guess – I like being needed.”

You offer him the spoon. He takes it, brushing your fingers accidentally-on-purpose, and for a second the room tilts. He looks at you like you’re magic, and you look at him like you might believe it to be true.

“You still okay for a movie night?” you ask, a little softer.

“Of course – I even brought the snacks this time.”

You follow him when he starts to move over to your couch, “You pick weird snacks.”

“I’m a man of complex taste,” he says, puffing his chest slightly, before collapsing onto your tiny couch that still smells like takeout and cheap candles.

And then… there it is. That quiet beat that follows new love. Not loud, not dramatic. Just two people slowly making space in each other’s lives.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” You ask him, knowing that the kettle had already been on, but wondering if he would like to join you.

Harry turned from his seat on the couch, almost looking like he would get up because he wanted to help you. “Oh – uh, yes, actually. That would be great.” He’s shy, and nervous, and feels as if he needs to help you with everything. It’s what a gentleman would do; but the thing about Harry is that he knows how independent you are, and how much stuff you don’t want help with.

You don’t know his middle name yet, but you know how he takes his tea: plain with just a splash of milk. He doesn’t know where you see yourself in five years, but he knows you sleep with your window cracked open just in case it starts to rain. You’re still figuring it all out — the pacing, the rhythms, the delicate weight of maybe falling for someone too fast. But it’s a type of falling that feels fun and dramatic and soft.

For now, it’s enough. Peanut butter spoons and shared blankets and knowing smiles across the room make sense for you both, and it feels incredibly special to know that you can look at each other with the same hearted eyes.

Harry settles into the far corner of your couch, leg tucked beneath him like he’s still not sure how much space he’s allowed to take up. His hair’s a little damp from the walk over, and it curls slightly at his temples — you try not to stare, but your heart’s doing that thing again, the skip-hop flutter that’s becoming familiar around him. His cheeks are still pink, you wonder if it’s from blush or just from being warm.

You pass him the blanket from the back of the couch without a word. He takes it with a quiet “thanks,” eyes flicking to yours for a second too long before looking away.

On the screen, the movie menu loops again – he let you pick the movie this time, even when he argued that you’d never seen Jurassic Park so it was a must. But he let you choose Little Women because he wanted to watch you watch it more than anything. Neither of you press play.

Instead, you both sit in that still moment, the kind that only happens when you’re not quite strangers, not quite anything else yet. Your flat smells like microwave popcorn and your vanilla body lotion. His knee accidentally bumps yours, and he leaves it there, like maybe he’s hoping you won’t mind if it’s just resting.

Of course, you don’t. You even push back a little bit to let him know that you feel him.

You don’t say anything — just rest your head back, letting the soft hum of the room fill the spaces between your thoughts. It’s new. It's unfamiliar in a way that feels good, like breaking in new shoes or hearing a song you know you’ll play to death just so you can practically feel the words.

He reaches for the popcorn and misses the bowl completely, sending a few pieces scattering onto the carpet. He groans, embarrassed, and ducks down to pick them up, mumbling something that sounds like, “Every time.”

You give him a pitied laugh, just a little, soft and honest. He glances up at you from under his lashes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’s proud to have made you laugh even if he didn’t mean to.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” he says, almost like he felt he needed to thank you for allowing his presence.

You nod, brushing your socked foot against his in an absentminded kind of way. “I like it when you’re here.”

He smiles at that, cheeks pink. Not from the cold this time, you were sure of it.

The quiet stretches, but it’s not awkward. Just… tentative. Like the two of you are standing on the edge of something, peering down into it but not quite ready to jump.

Your hand ends up next to his on the blanket. And then, not long after, in it. He doesn’t look at you. You don’t look at him. But the grip is warm, and it holds.

The movie finally starts playing in the background, but neither of you are really watching. You feel the rise and fall of his chest where he’s settled a little closer now. He smells like cinnamon gum and something clean, like the laundry detergent your flat mate insists on overusing.

At some point, your head drops onto his shoulder. And his thumb brushes your knuckles, once, twice — a steady rhythm that calms something buzzy in your chest.

You don’t talk about how new it all is. You don’t talk at all. But then when the credits roll, and you both stay exactly where you are, you know he’s not going anywhere — not tonight. Not if you don’t want him to.

And you don’t. Not even a little.

[thrasherella]

Weekend Getaway ‧₊˚⊹

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ synopsis ~ stepdad!Nanami takes you for one of your regular weekend retreats over at his friend Higuruma's house; this time Higuruma's extra needy since you've been busy with work/friends/life and haven't been able to come see him and Nanami has been hogging you all to himself :(

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ featuring ~ nanami x reader, higuruma x reader

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ tags ~ drunk, drinking, drunk sex, porn with plot, fauxcest, stepdad, mention of 'uncle' but no actual relation, daddy kink, lots of praise, praise kink, cuddles and creampies, non-protected sex, fingering, oral sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, sloppy make-out sessions, age gap, threesome, sharing, exhibitionism, squirting, spitting, cum play, cum eating, domination, free use, generally other fun sexy things~💋

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ a/n ~ back with more of the two hottest suited daddies in jujutsu kaisen sharing you for their own weekend of pure carnal pleasure~! sorry this is a bit late, but I think it was worth it ~ ☺️ I don't normally write in second person pov soooo hope you guys enjoy this as much as I do~! any constructive feedback/thoughts are welcome 🩷

~ Part Three ~ Slay All Day

‎͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙

One of the many, many reasons you loved these weekend trysts was the fact that there was hardly a five minute period that you were ever by yourself, other than when in the bathroom, of course.

Stepdad!Nanami and uncle!Higuruma could get a bit...intense, passing you back and forth between each other, most times unable to wait their own turns and filling both of your tight little holes at once, fucking you like it was competition. Not that you minded; you were only too happy to let them do whatever they wanted to you, making all kinds of sweet, erotic sounds that only fueled their already insatiable hunger for you...

This weekend was much the same; there was a slight argument between Kento and Hiromi over who was going to be making breakfast and who would get to escort you to the shower:

"Rude. It's your house, Hiromi, you should be the one cooking," Nanami had stated, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you off in the direction of the bathroom.

"Look, all I'm saying is that your omelettes are far superior to mine, it's a compliment!" Higuruma called after you both, Nanami shaking his head, but a small smile danced across his lips.

"Not the only thing I can do better than you!" Nanami yelled playfully back, and you hear Higuruma's incredulous reply, "Awwh fuck you, you wish!" making you snort with laughter as Nanami hurried you over the room's threshold, pulling the door shut behind you and locking it pointedly.

"No interruptions; I want to really take my time with you today..."

About forty-five minutes later, after having been stuffed full and then thoroughly cleaned by Kento, you were both finally ready to devour something other than each other.

You were now dressed in a long, white t-shirt you had taken from one of Hiromi's drawers and a pair of your long, thigh-high black socks; no bra or panties, the shirt just long enough to cover most of your ass, the bottom of your plush cheeks cutely peeking out from the bottom hemline.

Higuruma was impatiently waiting with a very lovely, if not a little cold, breakfast.

Being perfectly honest, they were both equally skilled in the kitchen, but each had their own strengths; Nanami was admittedly very good at breakfasts, while Higuruma was best at desserts (which made sense considering his multiple sweet teeth...). His omurice was very satisfying though, the simple dish was comforting.

When you were finished, Higuruma had learned over and kissed the corner of your mouth, feeling his tongue giving two slow, thick swipes against your sensitive skin. You couldn't help the little gasp that had escaped, blushing furiously.

"You had a little ketchup on your face," he had huskily breathed after pulling away, tongue now running against his lower lip, giving you a little wink that made your ears go hot, your clit giving a little throb...

...

It just so happened to be a darker, gloomy day; perfect for warm tea and scary movies on a large comfy couch sandwiched between two strong, handsome men.

You all naturally settle into the living area, lights dimmed, curtains drawn. You lit a candle, 'Cozy New Book'; the smell was weirdly spot on, making you think of cracking open a leather-bound book and inhaling that fresh paper scent for the first time, along with a woodsy note that seemed to teleport you straight into a library. You knew Nanami would love it, which is why you had slyly given it to Higuruma as a gift; so that you could light it when you were both here. Your mother was again to thank for that; she would get terrible migraines triggered by scents, so rather than risk her wrath at home, why not get something he liked for your weekends away instead?

uncle!Higuruma wants something a little stronger than tea however, and says you should really try this new cocktail he's been liking himself lately, already in the process of making you one of these mysterious drinks before you can even think about saying no. Taking advantage of the fact that you were paying more attention to the movie than him at the moment, he adds a little too much alcohol to the fruity drink (whoopsies), insisting you down it as fast as possible and immediately making you a second. It is really good; your first glass went down so quick that you hardly noticed the usual biting, alcoholic taste, if anything it was more like a sweet juice. You reason that if you can’t really taste the alcohol then it obviously can’t be that strong, right? Besides, they both know how much of a lightweight you are…

You were so wrong it was hilarious.

Three drinks in and you were decidedly drunk and very giggly. The movie an afterthought at this point; the ambrosial sighs and moans coming from all three of you drowned out whatever it was the people on the screen were saying anyway.

Your mind was long gone, settled in the middle of the large, comfortable couch, being passed between the two men in a sloppy make out, mouths and tongues exploring fervently, only interrupted by the occasional pause to gasp for heated breath.

You weren't quite sure when but at some point you were pulled onto someone's lap (Higuruma's), back pressed against his chest, and then your mouth was left abruptly lonely as someone else (Nanami) gently tugged off your t-shirt, goosebumps flaring along your arms as your skin was exposed to the cooler air. A low hum rumbled from Nanami's throat, you realized who it was when your hands became entangled in his blonde hair as he dipped to take one of your hard nipples between soft, wet lips. A little whine escapes you as you arch back into Higuruma, the soft curve of your ass pressing into his stiff cock, Nanami teasing your sensitive bud with his tongue and teeth, making you gasp and writhe beneath him and further against Higuruma.

It was now Higuruma's turn to give a husky growl, an electric wave rolling down your spine. There was a sudden, frantic adjusting and entangling and before you could do anything else Higuruma had your knees hooked over his arms, spreading you wide. You gasped again; if you hadn't been fully exposed to them before, you definitely were now.

"Look at you..." Nanami purred, pulling away from your breast, a long, thin trail of saliva connecting your skin to his perfect lips for a moment before it was broken by gravity. "Such a pretty girl...our pretty little doll..." the heat flared in your lower belly; Nanami reached down next to the couch to grab a small bottle of lubricant (it was stashed in various places all over the house), pouring a small amount into one hand.

Higuruma gasped sharply, hips stuttering forward and bumping into your ass as Nanami reached down between you two and grabbed his cock, the sight of his long fingers gripping Hiromi's length and coating him in the slick substance from between your legs made your cunt throb almost painfully around nothing, making you moan with need.

"Are you ready?" Kento leaned in closer, voice low, breath hot against your ear as his hand left Hiromi and instead both hands moved to your hips, one palm still wet with the lube.

"Yes,"

The singular, breathy sigh was all he needed; he gripped you with an almost bruising force and lifted, holding you up so that Higuruma could line up with your waiting entrance. But instead of sinking into your begging cunt, he dipped lower, pushing at your tight little backdoor.

Oh fuck

Higuruma and Nanami locked eyes as he lowered you onto the other man's slick, blushing tip, meeting a slight resistance as you involuntarily felt yourself tense up to keep him out.

"Relax baby girl..." now it was Hiromi's voice, whispered into the back of your neck, the bridge of his large nose brushing against your sensitive skin as his lips found you, leaving trails of soft, wet kisses, still gazing up into Nanami's eyes, Kento feeling his cheeks burning lightly.

You let out a little sigh and leaned back against him; he slipped in, Nanami giving a low moan, breaking their eye contact to look down, watching Higuruma's cock sinking deeper into your tight hole, pulling you down further along his length. Your moans are loud, crying out as you were stretched and filled in a way that you hadn't been for a long while, holding onto's Kento's wide shoulders for dear life as your entire body seemed to tremble.

"Hah, Oh fhuck your ass is so tight," Higuruma groaned, hips bucking upward into you as Nanami helped bounce you up and down along his dick. On the next downward push as Hiromi bottomed out, Nanami spat down onto his own neglected and throbbing cock, smearing it across his fat tip in one, smooth motion before thrusting into your soaked and leaking cunt, hilting you himself as he held you down.

You came instantly as Nanami shoved his thick cock into your waiting pussy with a low, hungry growl, not realizing how badly you had been waiting for the moment when your cunt was finally filled. You moaned and sighed, pussy gushing all over Kento's cock, writhing between the two men, your hips rolling and bouncing, mind turned to static as they rutted into you.

You lost track of how many times you came, soaking both of them as you gushed and squirted over and over, hips shaking and twitching as you let them share you, so full that you didn't know how it was even possible.

"Fuck," Higuruma again whined, falling out of rhythm with Nanami as his thrusts became hurried; desperate. "'m gunna cum doll-" you could feel him throbbing as he climaxed, shooting his hot load deep in your ass, grunting and groaning heavily as he grasped your legs tighter.

"Me too," Nanami's voice was a deep, breathy groan, his cock squirting inside you, painting your walls white, jackhammering into you as his hips bucked and jerked. You feel yourself also being pulled over the edge, pussy clenching and gripping around Nanami a final time as all three of you grind against one another, your own sweet juices mixing with theirs and dripping all over both men and the fabric of the couch.

"I think you're going to need another shower..." Higuruma eventually whispered softly against your ear, still panting slightly as he caught his breath when you had all finally stilled.

You couldn't help the loud burst of drunken laughter that rose from you, giggling wildly, Nanami giving a small sigh but a smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

"Don't keep her too long Hiromi, you know we have that reservation later..."

‎͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙

[axetivev]

— Summary: You and Renn are the truest definition of rivalry to lovers. At least, that was your co-workers kept telling you two, after a heated argument. One of Renn's buddies told you to have sex just to tease you two, which ended up with something...

— Warnings/Tags: Mirror Sex, Slight Cockwarming, Degrading(?), Renn is a virgin, Porn with Plot, Rivalry to Lovers(?).

— Words: 2.4k

— A/N: first oc fic + it's long ass fck.... I was actually planning to write something jjk first. but oh how fun of fate to just suddenly make me busy for a lil while. More of my ocs are coming. I hope you enjoyed this fic !!

— Pairing: Oc!Kaede Renn x Male Reader

“You—[L. Name] I’ve already told you. We. Cannot. Take. His. Case.”

“Why then!? Can’t you at least explain why, Kaede!?”

The sound of screams echoed through the firm. As your and Renn’s lighting the room from the once quiet now loud.

Being a lawyer wasn’t really your dream, but your parents forced you to. Working your butt off by so many papers while they talked about how much success their son will gave them when they barely paid attention to you, but who cares? You’ll just cut them off the moment you graduate. And you did. And after years looking for a job, you found yourself working on the top law firm on the city.

Everyone in the firm were better then home. They were supportive of one another, until you finally crossed paths with the man who neither everyone loves him or hates him. Kaede Renn.

Everything was normal when you first met him. But not even a month in, you two found yourselves arguing rather to take a case. Specifically, a case about murder, the client, a girl in her 20s was accused of murdering her brother, when the first time you met her, Renn was there. Even after looking how “innocent” she seemed to be. Renn immediately rejected her, as she left feeling down. There was it. How the tree of argument started, from many and many others coming.

Back to your current position, you and Renn were separated by one of Renn’s buddies, Yoshida Kanade. She stepped between both of you with her hands on your and his chest. Making you both froze, the female looked to both males with a sigh, followed by a disappointed look on her face. “Y’know, [L. Name], if you and Kaede wanted to be loud. I suggest, not here.”

You paused, Renn raised an eyebrow, before he asked, crossing his arms. “And what’s your suggestion?”

“Renn’s bedroom.” Kanade cleared her throat, skipping away like nothing ever happened. Like she never said something. Leaving you and Renn just started at each other, your face red from how bold her choice of words, Renn? He covered his face with his right hand.

“…I’m in for that idea.” Renn’s voice was barely a whisper. You snapped your head at him, jawdropped. “You piece of—” “Language.” With that, Renn immediately grasped for your wrist. Bolting out of the firm like it was the last day on earth.

“What’s wrong with Kaede? Doesn’t he had more work to do—”

“Yeah, in his bed with [L. Name].” Kanade chuckled to herself.

You swore to yourself you’ll kill Kanade after this.

You just casually looked down on the car with your fingers fidgeting. Who’s car? Obviously, Renn’s. His eyes were on the road, not even taking a glance at you making you even more nervous. Fuck, is he going fuck you? By the looks in his black eyes, there’s a chance, it’s a yes. But the term “fuck you” can go by him actually fucking you, making you dumb or him, actually destroying you both physically and mentally. What if he choose—

A hand went to your thigh—immediately making you snapped to reality and gasped as you look straight ahead, seeing that the traffic lights was red light. Renn just continue his silence staring ahead, his left arm resting on the edge of the window. His cheek resting on his knuckles, seemingly unbothered by the fact his hand in your thighs. You found it annoying but made no absolute effort to pray his hand away—you just follow his gaze, looking forward.

“Something in your mind?” Is all he said before the lights go green, he released his grip on your thighs as he continued to drive like nothing happened. You mutely nodded which Renn answered with a grunt. Not wanting to continue the conversation.

“What the fuck—” “I must repeat myself; Language. [L. Name].”

When you made it to the Kaede’s resident. You just stared up to this place he called “home”, this is not a home! But a fucking mansion. Even in the entrance, there a gate in black and even a whole ass garden with a fountain in the center. Renn was just acting casual but this isn’t what you used to. Your childhood home was average to say the least, it’s still livable. Even with some parts broken and your parents making no effort to fix them.

What if he used money and bribe—

“Don’t think too much.” Renn’s voice was calm with a hint of harshness within making your froze. His answer was like he just read your mind which was somewhat scary. Once you two were in front of the actual doors of the house, Renn pulled out his coat and placing in his left arm before using his right hand to opened the door.

…Bigger like expected. You just stared at everything.

The chandelier, which light up the room, the furniture from expensive brands around the place, the two separated stairs in the middle with a damn campfire, pictures of Renn, and four other people, everything about this place just makes your bank account feel insecure.

“I’m home…” With a blink of an eye, a girl, perhaps still 17-18 came from the left side of the stairs, her eyes were similar to Renn, but instead of a navy hair like him, her hair was close to midnight.

“Hiroto is somewhere with Yukii…” The girl looked down before groaning, you honestly felt bad. Wait, who’s Hiroto? And Yukii?

“That kid never listen—” Renn pinched the bridge of his nose, he turned back to face you. Using his palm to show the girl. “That, is Kaede Sukii. She’s the third child of the family.”

He wasn’t like this in the firm… He looked rather calm. Not saying that he wasn’t came in work, but he doesn’t carry that professionalism. That professionalism that lead you to this. You still questioned yourself if he’s gonna fuck you to he is gonna actually fucking you.

Sukii just waved her hand at you with a polite smile. You waved back before she goes back from her room, Renn groaned after she left. Rubbing his temples. “She’s my sister, unfortunately.”

“…Why unfortunately?” Your eyes slightly widened, Renn had siblings?

“Her and Hiroto are my siblings. Since my parents death, I was the one responsible for both.” Renn said calmly, grabbing your wrist before he dragged you without glancing back. “Let’s make it quick before Hiroto knew what will I be going.”

Never in your life you’d be with Renn, even though in the past, you two had little beefs that didn’t let to arguments. You still hated the fact that someone like him, making you sat on his lap, your legs spread as his two of his fingers inside of your rim.

His fingers was long, pushing his digits deep inside of you, brushing over your prostate. His words from earlier replayed in your mind, besides your mind being foggy out of his fingers, you recall Renn saying he was a virgin.

But what virgin fingers someone until they moaned and made their brain almost melt!? It’s not like you didn’t trust him. But his fingers was too good to be called virgin, his fingers stretched your hole, your cock slowly getting close to its orgasm as Renn’s middle finger kept pressing your prostate.

It's more humiliating for the fact you’re already naked while he still wears his white shirt. Your body trembled when the tip of his fingers almost out from your rim making you whimper from the lost. But you tried to breathe, his fingers were rough, when you tried to take a breath—he slammed his fingers back, your back arched as your cock reached its peak, cumming to your stomach, your hand grabbed Renn’s biceps letting out a moan, Renn’s fingers fucking your hole until your dick stopped cumming.

“You… you’re such a slut. [Name].” Renn rested his chin over your shoulder, you slightly jumped by him calling you with your actual name, not your last. But not just that, but the fact he called you a slut.

You felt Renn pulled his fingers out, making you whimper at the lost, his index finger, which had some of your cum, he circled his index round your rim. A gasped escaped your lips, you looked up to look a Renn, you swore you saw a smirk playing on his lips. He then left you rest in his bed for a moment as he gets up, your eyes were still dazed. But at least, you can take a look over the celling of his bed, which in white. You heard a noise which make you slightly snapped, you tried to sat up, only for Renn to pin you down. His black eyes staring at you. He blurted out; “Let’s fuck.”

Your eyes slightly widened by how blunt his words were. You never heard him cursed. Well, technically when he called you a slut but you didn’t count it, he didn’t let you answer. Immediately making you sat on his lap, raising your thighs, were his left arm immediately wrapping around you. You closed your eyes for a moment from whatever he was doing, but it seems he doesn’t want that. Immediately, he plunged his cock inside of you, making you scream his name and resulting you to open your eyes. Where it was, a mirror.

Right in front of your face. Everything about you was captured your very figure, even showing clear as day; Renn’s cock inside of your asshole. But he was kind enough to let you get comfortable, he immediately slammed his hips against yours, he lets out a grunt while you let out a whimper. How big even is he!? You can’t tell, but it felt humiliating that the mirror was in front of you. You felt your ego melting away as he rammed your hole like no tomorrow.

You felt Renn’s hand slowly grasped your chin, hesitantly, he leaned forward—pulling you to a heated kiss. Renn’s tongue was dancing against yours as your moans were swallowed by him. Perhaps, he did so because you were too loud for his liking. This aroused you so much, you never felt this horny for a man, especially Renn. For a virgin, he’s a good kisser. Really.

His hips paused for a moment as you two continue your silly little kiss. You wanted to breath but Renn doesn’t let you. When you tried to pulled the kiss, he just slammed his lips against yours. His cock was still inside of you, you were warming up his cock, bonus points, his cock was also hitting your prostate. That’s fucking hot. And you hated it.

“R–Renn—” You whimpered between his lips, he slowly parted your lips with his, Renn quietly studied your face, before ramming his cock back, even rougher as you gasped. Your second climax was right around the corner.

Renn saw the way your cock twitched. A smile formed between his lips. “Ah, about to cum already? I haven’t even come close yet. You’re just like a bitch in heat.”

“Renn you asshole!” You groaned, his words were so vulgar. Out of control. Unlike his usual self on the firm, but you don’t hate it, you literally made no effort to fight back.

But your orgasm came on quick. You threw your head back, resting on Renn’s shoulder as a loud moan escaped your lips, followed by small whimpered and you calling his name repeatally like a prayer. Cum, specifically yours stained the white sheets. Renn’s sheets—but the man himself just kept thrusting until he followed his own climax. You felt warmth inside of you, you honestly wanted to complain because he didn’t wore a condom. But you just don’t had the energy to do so.

Renn’s cock was still inside, you wanted to sleep. Your eyes met with Renn, it was clear he isn’t tired yet, but he seemed to be slightly concerned by your appearance. Before you got here. You looked tidy, handsome. Just perfect—but now, you were a mess.

“[Name]…” He tested your name on his lips, he slowly tried to pulled his dick, his eyes slowly widened when you pushed him down. A gasped came from your lips, feeling his cock was right on your prostate. “Hey, seriously. If you’re tired we can—”

You shook your head. “One… one more.” Fuck, you were cock drunk. Renn, at first seems unsure, his hand made contact to your waist. Embarrassed, he slowly nodded. “Fine…”

That one more time? Yeah, ended up with a total of four rounds. You slowly woke up from a random dream that Renn confessed to you that he loved you in the firm with everyone watching. You felt all the parts of your body was sore. But at least, you wore something. Perhaps it was Renn’s clothes. When you tried to get up, only to feel Renn’s arms wrapping around your waist. Making you groan, you turned around, trying to pray him off with your hand.

“Renn…” You whispered. He grunts.

You sighed, you then slowly raised your voice. “Renn.”

He shook his head.

“RENN!”

“Tch, fine…” The man, that asshole. Finally let’s you go, turning to the other side of the bed. Renn grunts as he falls back to sleep, you stood up, nearly falling in the process.

Shit, how are you gonna work now? Your face was flushed from embarrassment. Your legs just trembled, refusing to walk when you heard a moan—you snapped your head to the door. You rushed (suddenly making you able to walk) to see what’s going on, you bursted into the room next to Renn’s. You found…

Fuck.

You found a male, fucking maybe—a trans man. Maybe you were dreaming. The first male was similar to Renn, you suspected it was Hiroto. And the man who was below him. You don’t really know who, he just had black hair and his left eye was covered. A smirked played on Hiroto’s lips. “Oh? You must’ve be Renn’s fuck buddy, yeah?”

Before you could say something—literally even to breath, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Renn, already wearing something, he dragged you back to his room. Leaving a glance at his brother. “Keep your boyfriend’s voice down…”

“Ohhh, Yukii’s? Alrighty, boss!” Hiroto giggled, you looked at Yukii who covered his face out of embarrassment.

What an odd morning to start your day…!

[witchslove]

Watch Me

Pairing: Camgirl!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: When Wanda gets an interesting request from one of her viewers, she asks you to help her out.

Warnings: 18+ nsfw content; bottom!wanda, top!reader, piss kink, mentions of smut

A/N: Just a fun little blurb in the camgirl Wanda universe. This fic contains piss kink, you have been warned.

Blurb from “The Camgirl Next Door” | Series Masterlist

——————————

Ever since you and Wanda had made your relationship official, you’d been helping her out with a lot of her streams.

It was new and exciting and it turned both of you on immensely.

Sometimes you’d star in her shows, fucking her on camera for her viewers to see. You never showed your face, however, and Wanda was okay with your decision to remain anonymous.

She also had you help her film content pretty often, finding it even more arousing to have you watching her from behind the camera while she touched herself.

The paid requests were usually pretty tame - viewers wanted to see Wanda edge herself, overstimulate herself, or make herself cum with different toys - and you were glad to help, always enjoying the view that came with it.

One particular request had Wanda feeling nervous to ask for your help.

Someone had asked her to piss on camera. She’d never filmed anything like that before, but she wasn’t opposed to it.

She just didn’t know how to ask you to film it. She didn’t know how you would react either, or how awkward it might be to pee in front of you. You’d made her squirt before, many times at that, but this was different.

There were so many variables that made her nervous, but what really caught her off guard was that the thought of you watching her do it actually turned her on.

She never considered that she might be into such a thing. The thought had never crossed her mind, let alone accompanied by so much arousal. She came to the conclusion that it wasn’t so much the act that turned her on - it was you specifically. The thought of you watching her while she was so vulnerable made her core throb.

Days went by before she finally mustered up the courage to bring it up to you, unsure of why she was so nervous when you were always nothing but understanding.

The two of you were making out on the couch, her in your lap, the movie you’d put on long forgotten, when she decided to take the leap. “Oh, I wanted to talk to you about something,” she started, breaking the kiss. “I got a new request and I need your help with it.”

Your interest piqued at her words. “Go on,” you encouraged, your hands resting on her waist as she spoke.

“It’s kind of a weird request but I think I want to do it, I just can’t really get the camera angle right on my own and you’re always so good at it,” she rambled before stopping to take a breath.

“Someone paid me to pee on camera,” she blurted out, biting her lip immediately after the words left her mouth.

You took a moment to process what she said and Wanda held her breath.

“I- wow, that’s… something,” you managed to get out, unsure of how you felt about it, but unable to deny the heat that spread through your body at the idea. “Of course I’ll help you, my love. You know I’ll never turn down an opportunity to see you naked,” you joked, alleviating some of the tension.

Wanda chuckled, relieved that you weren’t judgmental, not that she thought you would be in the first place.

“Okay,” she said, smiling down at you. “Thank you.” She leaned in to kiss you softly. “Could we do it later today? I got the request a few days ago and I’ve kept them waiting a while.”

“Of course baby,” you responded, not pressing her on why she didn’t bring it up sooner. You figured she probably hadn’t decided if it was something she was comfortable with until now.

“Guess I should start drinking water,” she jested, giving you one last kiss before getting up to go to the kitchen.

A few hours later, she was ready. She pulled you aside and led you to the bathroom, where she’d already set things up for you. You grabbed her camera and microphone from the countertop while she undressed before waiting for further instruction.

She positioned herself in the bathtub so that she was half sitting on one of the edges, her legs spread and pussy exposed.

You practically drooled at the sight. No matter how many times you’d seen your girlfriend on display for you, it still had the same effect every time.

“You ready?” She asked, wincing slightly at the fullness of her bladder.

“Yes ma’am,” you replied, pressing record.

Wanda looked at you for reassurance and found only desire in your gaze. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip before she relaxed and let go.

What started out as a trickle turned into a steady stream of piss, splattering slightly as it came in contact with the tub. Wanda let out a breath of relief and closed her eyes at the feeling of releasing after holding it in for so long.

When she opened her eyes, a pang of arousal shot through her at what she saw.

You were entranced. Your gaze was fixated on her pussy and the clear liquid streaming out of her, your mouth open the slightest bit, pupils dilated.

She hadn’t expected you to be so turned on from watching her pee, but it was exhilarating. The way you were looking at her was making her feel hot all over.

You didn’t know what to expect going into this, but you certainly weren’t expecting your view to be this hot. You couldn’t help but stare, your arousal growing with every second that passed.

Wanda was pissing in front of you and it was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen.

Part of you wanted to toss the camera to the side and kneel in front of her as she let go, but you had one job and you were going to do it right.

When you looked up at Wanda’s face, she was staring at you intently with a smirk adorning her perfect features. You knew at that moment that you’d been caught, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

Rarely did you ever rewatch the videos you made together, since you always had the real thing right in front of you, but you had a feeling you’d be coming back to this one.

Your eyes fell back down, watching as piss continued to flow from her pussy, almost letting out a whimper at the sight.

As her stream died down, you noticed you were practically panting and tried to control your breathing. Luckily, the mic was above her and not you.

You stopped recording and looked away, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Wanda spoke first, teasing you.

You couldn’t lie to her. “Yeah,” you managed, still avoiding eye contact. “That was…”

“Hot,” she finished, causing you to look up at her.

“Yeah,” you breathed out in agreement, not sure what else to say.

“Come here,” she said softly, leaning forward, and you met her halfway.

She kissed you, letting her tongue slip into your mouth for a moment before pulling away. “We can talk about it later,” she mumbled against your lips. “Right now, I need you to fuck me.”

You grunted at her words, nodding eagerly and kissing her again with more fervor. You picked her up, setting her against the wall, and did exactly as she asked.

She came three times before you stripped down as well and joined her for a shower, kissing languidly as you washed each other.

The two of you eventually discussed what had transpired, acknowledging that you both enjoyed it and deciding to do it again in the future.

The next morning, Wanda left the door open when she went to the bathroom just to tease you, letting you hear her stream and giving you a partial view of her legs spread on the toilet. This woman was going to be the death of you.

Two weeks later, she peed on you in the shower and you touched yourself under her stream, coming undone before she was even finished.

Wanda was no longer nervous to ask you for help with her more unique requests, nor was she nervous to explore new kinks with you, which you were also grateful for.

What started out as a weird request from one of Wanda’s viewers turned out to be an undiscovered kink brought to light in your relationship, and the two of you had never felt closer to each other.

[felibrary]

WITH LOVE: your summer thing

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser x Reader (gender neutral)

SYNOPSIS: "Granted, you’re more than aware that you’ll regret this later on, but where’s the fun if not doing something reckless once or twice—or well..always whenever you're with Michael."

The universe seems to resent you. Being dumped by MICHAEL KAISER was apparently not nerve-wracking enough—the two of you were never quite ‘a thing’ to begin with. So, how come he worms his way into your life once more, and worst of all, on your birthday?

wordcount: 2.3k | content & warnings: consumption of alcohol (both), mentions of drinking & slightly smoking (not by either of them), they kiss like once, ngl #situationshipfinalboss#bothkindatoxicbutwhocares#cancelsitout (who can relate), one suggestive/nsfw remark (not explicitly detailed); oneshot

author's note: i proofread this i swear! (i scream as they drag me to the psych ward) well talking of psych ward, my therapist recommended me to go there again cause she had the impression i was doing worse but HELL NO also sorry writers block been eating me alive. had this in my drfats for like 4 months LOL

“So Meguru, mind telling me, why did you think announcing my birthday party and leaking my address in the local newspaper was a good idea?”

What was supposed to be a peaceful evening, hosted and arranged by your closest friends, in honor of your birthday, (which was only supposed to be celebrated in your small social circle) quickly turned into an open house party—all because Bachira couldn’t contain his excitement and wanted to share the news with everyone. 

Which leads you to this predicament: your ex of a situationship (or summer thing—how he’d call it), standing right before you. There’s a boyish smirk slapped onto his face, as if he found the whole situation too funny to be true, and seemed to enjoy your disapproval of his presence.

Bachira tried exchanging apologetic glances with you, but you simply dismissed them. “Well, you see, I now of course realize it was a mistake, but I just thought it’d be a nice surprise to have people congratulating you.” He lets out an embarrassed huff. “Though now, I see why that might not have been a great idea.” 

Meguru presses his lips into a thin line as he looks at Michael awkwardly, before turning his gaze back to you. “Sorry, I was so excited that I didn’t think about the consequences and how it could possibly affect you.”

Although it was a reckless decision (and idiotic if you may add), you didn’t want to be mad and put all the blame on Bachira. “I suppose there’s nothing we can do now, it’s fine.” The exasperated sigh that leaves your lips tells otherwise, but you weren't going to start arguing with one of your best friends on your birthday—especially if it was done out of good intent.

There’s loud 2000s pop music filling the atmosphere. People dancing along to the sound whilst shouting the wrong lyrics across the room.

The smell of cheap alcohol and poorly rolled blunts reeks in every corner of your place, accompanied by the whistles and claps of barely legal adults playing party games — spin the bottle, seven minutes in heaven, two truths, one lie—you name it.

Cleaning everything up was going to be a mess, but that’s a worry for later.

There was one thing you were sure of, though: If you stay here any longer, you’ll lose your mind.

So, before you let the blond jerk (Michael) open his chatty mouth and leave some insulting remark, you take your leave. Grabbing the red plastic cup filled with some mixture consisting of a random fruit soda you found on the table and vodka, you then try to leave in hopes of finding a quiet place to put your mind at ease.

(Preferably your bedroom if it isn’t already occupied by some strangers who locked the door to make out.)

But, perhaps, the alcohol has messed with your head that it slipped your mind just how insufferably determined Michael can be. “Der Spaß hat doch gerade erst angefangen und du willst bereits gehen?" "Sei doch nicht so lahm drauf, ist doch dein Geburtstag, hab Spaß!” his laughter fills the space. …and just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse.

You shoot him an irritated look, eyes wandering from his flushed face down to the tight grip his hand has on your wrist. “Man, what are you saying?” 

Out of nowhere, and if on command, Alexis chimes in. “Well, he basically said that you’re kinda lame for already leaving, despite the fun only having started, and that this is your birthday party, exactly why you should enjoy it!” Ness finishes his translation of Michael’s gibberish before adding a remark of his own:” And I couldn't agree more.” 

There’s a somewhat prideful smile gracing his lips as he agrees with Michael’s statement, and you’re not sure whether to feel impressed that Michael has someone who’s this devoted to him or if you should pity Alexis for being this devoted.

“Whatever. Just don’t do some stupid shit and don’t even fucking think about talking to me.” The sour words you spit are full of sincerity. With the amount of people approaching and congratulating you (even though they barely even know you—same goes for you, though) you’re already overwhelmed enough, and if then, Michael out of all people, started talking to you, you’d probably start malfunctioning. 

Michael just stares at you, fully captured in a haze as he looks at you through a blurred vision. “Mhm, can’t keep any promises,” he simply tilts his head to the side and grins. 

At that, you can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, I’m quite aware.” You hint and take your leave. 

“What was that all about?” Alexis asks, confusion written all over his face. “Not important,” Michael mutters under his breath, and suppresses his groan by biting down on his tongue, before disappearing into the crowd—Alexis running right after. 

Luckily and surprisingly, your room was unoccupied and left untouched. With a sigh of relief, you slump against your bed. Exhaustion fills your limbs, and your body feels heavy, not to mention the relentless stinging in your head.

If this continues, you're certain you'll fall asleep at any given moment.

Buzz

Drowsily, you open your eyes, patting your pants to find your phone. When you do, you see that Isagi sent you a message.

Isagi: dw about michael btw. me and the others will keep an eye on him and make sure that he won’t bother you

A small smile creeps onto your face as your eyes skim over the text.

: thats rly nice of u guys. i appreciate it. : thank uuu :)

Not even a second later, you already see Isagi typing a reply. 

Isagi: only natural, dw.  Isagi: btw megs apologised for basically inviting michael over again

Your smile softens upon reading the message, and you send Isagi a small message.

: it’s all good : tell him not to overthink it : guess we'll just have to manage w his ass for the time being lmfao

Isagi: haha, ill tell him that Isagi: rest well :)

You react to the message with a heart before tossing your phone somewhere on your bed. 

The red plastic cup sits on your drawer, and you reach out to grab it. It smells horrible. Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if you got alcohol poisoning from it and the other questionable mixtures you consumed tonight. 

You ignored the smell and gulped it down in one go, face contorting into an expression of disgust as you tasted the alcohol on your tongue. 

But it wasn’t merely the taste nor the smell that made you dislike alcohol so much—it’s what it did with your body and mind. 

Reckless decisions and impulsive actions were always guaranteed when drinking, not to mention how much you started overthinking your entire life, love life, to be precise.

Never in a million years would you’ve thought that you’d see Michael Kaiser again. If someone told you that he’d appear at your birthday party, with that all too familiar smile plastered on his face, which you fell in love with, you would’ve simply dismissed the comment.

After all, things were a total mess when he broke it off. From then on, you tried to avoid him as much as possible. Walking different routes to your classes, intentionally looking away when you’d pass by him on campus, not attending any parties you knew he’d go to, and not visiting any of the football games your school held. 

Because you knew that if you saw him, you’d start to crumble. 

Michael always knew what to say when it was about getting a reaction out of you. Whether it was bringing a smile to your lips or dropping snarky remarks where he knew that they’d tick you off and make you snap.

Truly, you convinced yourself that you despised him. The feeling of hatred coiled in your stomach whenever his name slipped into a conversation. 

What you hated more, though, was the effect that he had on you—how he’s able to spark a reaction despite not being in the room. The mere mention of his name was enough to send you over the edge.

There were days when you thought that Michael was the person for you. All the things you never told anyone, which you were convinced you’d take to your grave so not a single soul will ever know—they were all laid bare when you were with Michael.

But that wasn’t because he forced you into it. In reality, he was the first one to open up. Admittedly, you still don’t have an explanation for that and how it happened. But it somehow did. 

Little did you know that by doing so, you’d started growing weak around him, eventually telling your secrets, too.

Those countless nights where you were wrapped in his arms, barely able to move because he hugged you so tightly as if he feared that you’d flee from his hold if he were to let you go—they’re priceless memories that led you to believe that things were progressing positively.

But perhaps you were too caught up in your imagination that you didn’t see the changes in him and yourself.

Sometimes you think that Michael planned out your whole relationship. Playing the role of a picture-perfect boyfriend only to end up leaving.

While he seemed to be more than just fine—maybe even better than before, you were contemplating whether all of those moments you shared meant anything to him.

Why were you the only one who seemed to be affected by this?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud knock on your door and you snap your head towards it. “Who is it?” You yell out, hoping it reached the person on the other end of the door.

It doesn’t because they just decide to enter without answering, and you look up.

There he was.

Long blond hair with fading blue tips, hands loosely stuffed into the pockets of his denim jeans, and the same smile that never failed to make you falter.

His unevenly cut strands of hair fall perfectly on his face. You always laughed about it. Telling him that he should go to an air dresser instead of letting Alexis mess with his hair but Michael always insisted. 

Looking back, it seemed really endearing.

At the sight of him, you can’t help but let out an annoyed groan. “What did I say about not getting in my way? Fuck off.” You demand him to leave, and your eyes dart to the door. 

When everything you wanted was for him to stay. 

For him to explain his reason for attending, if he’s thought of you too, if he had any regrets—all the things you never dared to ask, because some things are better to be left unsaid for the sake of peace.

Michael and peace don’t belong in the same sentence. Whenever you spent time with him, things were anything but in order. Sure, he stirred chaos, but somehow always managed to make it pleasant—it was messy, but in a good way. 

You feel your body tensing up as you watch him, but he doesn’t leave, doesn’t budge a little. Instead, he leans against the door, closing it by doing so. “Isn’t it obvious?” A smirk finds its way on his face. “I wanted to see you.” He says, as if it were the most natural thing ever, pointing it out as if it were in his nature.

“Ugh,” you can’t help but groan. “Shut up, for once, will you?” Michael seems to be caught off guard for a moment before smiling. “Hm? Why should I? I thought you liked it wheneve—” “You’re annoying” you butt, then proceeding to lay down on your bed.

Silence fills the room, and you scoff in amusement. “Never got told to shut up or what’s with the silence?” you snide. He chortled at your comment before seating himself on your bed, the mattress slightly dipping as he set his weight on it. “Guess so. You’re always my first one.”

You let out a dry, almost mocking laugh. “Mhm, enlighten me, will you?” Michael looks down at you, and if you were sober enough, you’d say that he’s almost admiring you with fond eyes. His blue eyes glint with fondness, gazing at you as if you hung up all the stars in the sky. “Well, if we wanna start with the get-go, you were my first ti—” 

“You’re insufferable,” you exclaim in embarrassment. Unlike you, Michael seems to find enjoyment in your flustered state and reaches his hand out to your face, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb over your flushed face. (It’s from the alcohol and not his touch, you convince yourself.)

His fingers graze your face gently, lingering for a moment before he tucks the stray strands of hair behind your ear, his touch tender and quiet, but enough to make you soften. 

Granted, you’re more than aware that you’ll regret this later on, but where’s the fun if not doing something reckless once or twice—or well..always whenever you're with Michael. “Man up, and kiss me, will you?” you grumble in annoyance. 

You should’ve known it was a bad idea when you saw Michael immediately smirking. “Thought you’d never ask, but I thought the atmosphere would be more romanti–” For the third time this evening, you shut him up, although not with a snarky remark or a rebuttal, but with a kiss—and in every case, you catch him off guard.

Michael’s eyes widen in surprise as he feels your lips press against his. With no hesitation, he reciprocates the action, closing his eyes and kissing you back. He’s quick to grab the hem of your shirt, his hands move beneath the fabric, and he starts roaming around on your bare skin.

You despise how good his touch feels, but what you hate even more is how his touch feels the same. How everything is the same, as if nothing has changed. His messy kisses, the familiar scent of his cologne, and how he’s still able to make you sway. 

You’ll most likely regret this in the morning, but hey, at least you know birthday wishes aren’t always so far out of reach—the impossible is possible, after all.

© FELIBRARY 2025. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[scorpiossslut]

Sweetheart Syndrome— Rafe Cameron.

part two here.

Sweetheart Syndrome (n.)

A psychological phenomenon in which affection is used as a weapon - often characterized by one person's obsessive devotion masked as tenderness, leading the other to mistake control for love. Typically occurs in relationships where the lines between protection and possession become dangerously blurred.

pairing: bestfriend!rafe x reader

summary: Rafe and reader have always been inseparable - best friends since childhood, their bond seeming unbreakable. But when Rafe's affection for her morphs into something darker, he will stop at nothing to make her his. She is blissfully unaware of the darkness growing within him, finds herself caught between love and fear, unsure of where Rafe ends and she begins. As his manipulation tightens, she struggles to hold on to the person she once was.

Author's note: This is kind of based on the first fic ive written about Rafe Cameron. But like... in the way that it has similar themes. Also inspired by YOU. Anyway, enjoy xoxo💋

Warnings: possessive!rafe, borderline obsessive, crazy!rafe, violence, thoughts of murder, unprotected sex.

1. Unspoken Boundaries

"Some of the most dangerous people are the ones who pretend to be normal."

Song: "House of Balloons/Glass Table girls" - The Weeknd.

It started like every other summer before it. Salt on skin. Sand in shoes. Laughter echoing across the dunes.

The Pogues were causing a ruckus down at the Boneyard. The Kooks were throwing another party by the docks, where empty beer cans clinked against the dock wood and cigarettes lit up under the stars. Rafe Cameron stood on the edge of the crowd, drink in hand, head slightly tilted as he watched her.

Seventeen. Green-eyed. Tan-skinned from too many afternoons lying on the hood of his car, too many days falling asleep on his shoulder during movies they'd already seen a thousand times.

"Yo, Rafe," Kelce's voice broke into his thoughts. "You seriously gonna stand there all night and stare at her like a serial killer?"

Topper barked a laugh. "Dude, you're embarrassing yourself."

Rafe didn't even flinch. His eyes didn't leave her.

"She's drunk."

Kelce shrugged. "So is everyone. She's just dancing."

"She doesn't dance."

"She does now," Topper said, nodding towards her, who was laughing and spinning in the sand with a red Solo cup in hand, her hair wild around her shoulders.

A guy — some random local - twirled her by the wrist. She let him.

Rafe's jaw clenched.

Kelce nudged Topper. "Ten bucks says he loses his mind in the next five minutes."

Rafe didn't hear them. His drink was forgotten. So was the music.

She stumbled a little and reached out instinctively- her hand landing on Rafe's arm like a magnet that always found its match.

"Rafey!" she squealed, her eyes lighting up like he'd been gone for months, not watching her the entire time. "Why are you all the way over here?"

"Why are you drunk?" he countered flatly.

She rolled her eyes and threw both arms around his neck. "Because it's summer, Rafe. And you're no fun."

He didn't hug her back at first. Then he did - slowly, possessively, his hand sliding low on her back. She didn't notice. She never noticed.

"Don't call me that," he muttered, even as she leaned her face against his shoulder.

"But it's cute." She looked up at him, her pretty, green eyes shimmering. "You look mad. Are you mad?"

He didn't answer.

Behind them, the guy she'd been dancing with approached again, hesitating.

"Hey, you good?" the guy asked, not even looking at Rafe. Big mistake.

Rafe stepped forward. "She's fine."

The guy looked confused. "I was just—"

"She doesn't need anything from you," Rafe snapped.

Leah blinked between them. "Rafe, stop. You're being weird."

"I'm not." His tone was dead calm, but his fingers twitched.

The guy raised both hands and backed away. She sighed, pushing her hair back. "You scare people sometimes, you know that?"

"Good," he muttered. "Keeps the wrong ones away."

She didn't hear the way he said it. Not really.

Instead, she smiled - that blinding, dizzy smile - and hooked her pinky around his. "Come on. I'm bored."

He let her drag him toward the fire, her hand warm in his.

And he thought, You'll never know what you do to me.

Not yet.

But you will.

[mourning-sapphire]

i wont lie, ive been waiting for you to read this lol

but first of all, thank you so much for reading!

i wanted to hammer home from the beginning that she absolutely loves her home, she doesnt want to leave, and i wanted to write it how she would view it! which is very dreamy, homely, comfortable, almost a paradise just for her, so that when she is forced to leave the feelings of her being misplaced and alone hammer in a bit more.

I like characters that dont come from Kings Landing, and didn't grow up there, because there's such wide cultures in Westeros that pulling elements from that is also important. The Reach is known for being like the crownlands but different at the same time.

its ALSO why i have both of their perspectives, and why they're written slightly different - because the two of them are more likely to pick up in different things, but they'll view the same situation differently. It's two people filled with a emotion close to fear but are experiencing it differently for different reasons.

its funny to see people ready for them to get along already because Aemond was so awful to our darling girl, but its gonna get a little worse before it gets better, someone is a bit hot and cold ;) especially since the wedding wont be for a few chapters hehe.

the title is funny and probably will be a bit unexpected as to why its called bruised fruit, but i enjoy seeing people think about it - its not what you expect. but its still fun :P

overall, so glad you enjoyed the first chapter and i hope you enjoy any rereads 🥰

bruised fruit | aemond targaryen | chapter one

Summary: he wasn’t the warmest man on earth, he walked ashed fields and scattered fruitless seeds, that was until the sun delivered him the ripest fruit from the arbor, his to harvest. The story of a man learning to love his saccharine ladywife and all her softness.

Pairing: aemond targaryen x redwyne!reader

Chapter warnings: none really, some harsher swearing, descriptions of panic, some description of boats.

Word count: 12.6k

authors note: I literally have read this so many times, if there's a mistake you'll live okay, love u enjoy :P

masterlist | next part

Some could mistake the sunlight that patterned through the shutters of the small council room as a sign for a glorious day in Kings Landing, a sign from the Gods that this would be magnificent and bright. But, Aemond could only look into his mother’s eyes that morning with a feeling of helplessness.

But Aemond could not see it that way. Not as he sat across from his mother, her eyes steady and sad, her mouth drawn in a line of reluctant resolve. The sunlight only seemed to mock him, casting its warmth over a moment that felt anything but.

This was not a sign from the Gods, this was an act of mental warfare on him.

Exactly 2 moons into the new year, the air of the Red Keep was chilled like the cold defeat in her eyes as she told him exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Aemond,” Her sigh was weary as he sat across from her at the small council table, the vapid gaggle that was lords of the council surrounding them as she looked at him with a plea to understand, “I understand this isn’t an easy feat, but...” He cut her off with a scoff.

He was usually soft to his mother, one of the only women in his life who saw past the marred skin and leathered exterior. Aemond was usually the dotting son and the only one who did everything she asked, bent to her sad eyes and long silences. But as this moment hung over them, he wasn’t sure he could afford her the luxury of doing this.

“But what?” His voice was chilled as the stones outside, chipped but still strong, “You wish to move me like a piece on your board? to what prevails exactly, your own liberty?” His eye was wide as it flicked between them.

The nervous demeanour of his mother and the ever-cool stoicism of his grandsire; Aemond was tempting them to utter the words everyone knew was on the tips of their tongue.

To one day help make Aegon king instead of your sister…

At that moment, he was happy he kept the majority of the council on his blindside, just so he wouldn’t need to see their loathsome faces as he stood his lonely ground. He hated all the self-righteous cunts anyway.

“It is your duty to marry, lest I remind you,” His grandsire cut in, Otto Hightower; ever the family man and doting peacekeeper of the keep in the king’s sickness, “Your duty to your house and your family.”

Aemond was sure in that moment that he could feel the chilly hands of the winter sky wrap their fingers around his neck, as his grandsire commanded the room with an ease that only a viper could.

“She’s a nice girl,” Alicent raised her hand and tried to keep her tone light; her son’s disposition was often a cause of contention for her, ever the actual peacekeeper of the family, “A sweet girl from the Arbor, and from what I’ve heard, she’s well-read and pleasant, a well-suited match.”

Well-read and pleasant. Aemond could have sniped at that. He could have laughed so loud that he was sure they would hear him on the coasts of the Arbour. It was flattering that they thought a pretty little thing with enough wit to read words on a page was enough to settle his fire. That it was enough to ease the burden of creating life with someone.

Like that made any of this better; he has always held the notion that he would be afforded a bit more liberty when choosing a bride. As not just her son but as Prince of the realm, but it was at this moment he was reminded that he was merely the second son. A second son who clearly can’t be left to his own devices or freedom of choice.

The spare to shove around their fictitious little chessboard, and plant in whatever house they felt kept them strong in the war of succession everyone knew was bound to happen.

The whole situation felt like dust settling on his tongue as he glanced at the two of them. The murmuring of the other lords felt more like roars in his ears as his blood started to boil, congealing in his veins. He could taste the words he wanted to say, like burning embers on his tongue that were still light enough that he could spit at them. Watch them burn with at least a little pain.

“House Redwyne are not only allies of the Hightowers but have a strong naval fleet that matches even the seahorses himself.” Tyland Lannister in all his stuttering glory cleared his throat and interjected.

“The match was not made heedlessly, Your Grace…” He continued as Aemond’s head slowly looked over at him, the glare enough to have the supposed lion trailing off towards the end of his sentence, “Her father’s support would be great for any issues that could…arise”

“She could be the re-imagining of the mother herself for all I care, you toad” Aemond snipped his face blazing with anger; fingers clenched in fists of rage, “But that still doesn’t negate the fact that I do not wish to marry, especially not marry the Redwyne girl, her fucking ships be damned.”

Aemond had always hated the way the Lannister almost pouted after every scathing word towards him. For a lion he was more akin to a pup who whimpered at even the nudge of a shoe, he was truly pathetic. To think he had even the foolishness to lecture him on what was good for him, now that was a notion so laughable, he wished he could have drawn his dagger where he sat.

“It matters little what you wish, boy” Otto snapped, his hand slamming down on the table, silencing the lords and his mother, “You will entertain the Redwyne girl when she arrives here in 2 weeks’ time, you will marry her and seed her when the time comes; as is your duty to the Realm.”

The Realm, Aemond could have scoffed.

“Aemond,” His mother tried to soothe the anger on his face, her own tired and desperate as she looked at him like he was just a little boy again, “Give the girl a chance, you may even come to like her in time.”

Aemond doubted that with his entire being, he’d even go as far as to say that he didn’t like the idea of the girl just from the few short words his mother had spoken to him.

“Girls from the Reach are all the same,” He could hear Aegon’s drunken prattling in his ear, the memory of him making eyes at one of the ladies from House Crane, “Pretty girls who want a silver prince and dozens of silver babes galore, but with a tongue like thorns, they are just needy cunts”

Aemond didn’t need to remind Aegon their mother was a woman from the reach, as by that point he’d staggered off to probably deflower the Crane girl; as he often did. But it did leave the question rattling in his brain, were all girls from the reach as shallow as his womaniser brother stated?

He supposed it would be something he’d be forced to learn, especially if his mother and grandsire were pushing hard for this union between him and the Redwyne girl.

Aemond could tell the council chamber was waiting with bated breath to see what he was going to say to his mother and Grandsire’s pushing. But all he could do was rise from the chair with a sneer at them, lips curled like he found their words disgusting.

The scrape of the wood against the stone sounded eerily like a dragon screeching in the night as he rose, his hand placed on the wood of the table to look around them all with a glare so harsh he was sure that at least one of the council members would catch fire.

Truthfully, there was nothing for Aemond to say, he was peddled into a corner not of his choosing and unless the Redwyne girl's boat sank on the way here; they would be stood at the sept for their union in the moons to come. He wasn’t a child anymore, tears would only sway his mother so far, and you might as well have tried to get blood from a stone before his grandsire let up.

So, with one last look around the room, he did the only thing he could do.

“Hm...” The noise vibrated from his lips as he moved to stride out of the suffocating chambers, his gait speaking on the anger brimming in his bones as he paid them little attention; the guards at the door merely opened the wood as soon as he neared.

He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him upset, but he would set them all on edge for when he would snap.

That itself was his victory to claim.

The Arbor.

You looked like a vision of a nymph, reddened with the sun and relaxed on the hammock like you were waiting for the sun itself to come down and bless you with grace. Nestled deep in the home of the Redwyne’s was you, the youngest Lady Redwyne, lounging on your balcony like you weren’t set to leave your home for the last time tomorrow, soaking up the sun and sipping chilled wine like you weren’t going to memorise every nook and cranny of the grand home and vineyard, relaxing in the sunshine like you could do this again tomorrow.

You had many memories on this Balcony, the grand white stone that overlooked the cliffs and the ocean below held a special place in your heart; beyond it being part of your home, it was the place you felt you could truly relax. Sat in this very hammock watching the way the ivy draped from the roofing and danced in the wind, the ships you would see come in from the summer isles, and the sounds of joyful sailors cheering from the leagues away. You would find peace reading, understanding things your Septas and Maesters would give you to read, the blush that would colour your cheeks as you delved into your own interests.

The weather in the Arbor was warmer than the rest of the Reach, the island was constantly washed in heat so dense that wearing anything thicker than tulle or silk was a crime. It was the reason it was so bountiful with fruits, the wine capital of Westeros, it was a sight to behold; the heat gave way to luscious lands so rich and green that it looked like something out of a painting, florals and fruits almost blooming overnight with the kiss of sunshine, the air so clean and fresh that you felt every breath like it was your first.

It was a far cry from the stink that was Kings Landing, or at least that is what you had been told; the two places were as comparable as Dorne and the Wall. Your maids had told you some of their tales from their own visits or their families' visits, the way the poor lined the streets like permanent fixtures, rats crawled in every nook and cranny, the stink of overpopulation marring the air so badly you needed a scented handkerchief to even ride through flea bottom.

Even now, you were hard challenged to remove yourself from where you lounged, the sun at its peak tickling your skin as huge wafts of salted air cleared your nose. It was amusing to hear the voices filter from the double doors of the chamber behind you, the cackles and japes from your maids carrying out the door like a memory you never wanted to let go of.

“I’ve heard they’re closer to the gods than any of us,” You could hear the tinkling voices of the maids from your place on the balcony, their hands busy packing her things into trunks, “Some say they shed their skins at night for their true scales” The giggles were something the young Redwyne girl would miss in these moments.

“Gods can you imagine,” you could hear the deep laugh of the older maid, Meredyth, chortle, “Waking up next to one and seeing those slits of eyes, gods I'd be paralysed.”

“Oh, I’d scream the bloody keep down!” Tayra, another one of your other maids gasped out loud, coupled with a ringing laugh, “Run for Visenya’s hill and walk on foot back here.” Their laughter was infectious, and you felt your chest rumble with amusement.

They never heard you coming as you rose from your hammock on the balcony, bare feet warm against the stone as you strode back into your chambers; the sheer curtains kissing your shoulders as you peeped back in with a smile.

“I’ve heard their hair is silver because once upon a time a dragon rider flew to the moon,” your voice was a gentle tilt as you smiled softly, the maids turning from their jobs with wide amused eyes as they listened to you, “And the gods decided to spin magic into the strands, blessing them for making the long journey.”

There was a pause as you stopped with a smile before the women in the room started laughing again, their laughter contagious as the winter fever as you settled on your day bed, body warm from outside, with a content sigh. Your hand fan was doing little to cool the heat from outside. A day like this was truly a kiss from the summer isles.

“Now that’s a story,” Meredyth smirked, her hands busy folding one of your summer dresses, “Be sure to tell your silver prince that one, petal, you might just make him laugh for once.” You could only roll your eyes.

“Be nice,” you sighed softly, relaxing into the daybed, “I’m sure he’s not what the stories make him out to be, Meredyth.”

“I’ve heard he hides his eye because the other could turn someone to stone,” the youngest maid, Mara, tutted softly, “Careful, my lady, lest they ship you back here to be a pretty statue in the gardens” You could only smile softly at that.

“Really?” you smiled as Tayra piped up, “I’ve heard he’s a ferocious fighter, trained by a man from Dorne; but prettier than the rest of the siblings.” Tayra huffed with a smile as she was packing up your jewellery.

“The Targaryen’s are pretty…” Meredyth sighed wishfully, her smile was almost a smirk as she recalled something beyond your years, “I remember seeing Prince Aemon in my younger years, now that was a prince” She raised her eyebrows in a lustful remembrance at the young girl.

“Was there ever a Targaryen that wasn’t pretty?” You could only tilt your head as you sighed out your question, your hand still delicately moving your fan to keep you cool, “I’ve heard stories that they’re just born looking godly, it’s unfair really.”

“Isn’t he called one-eye?” Tayra stopped packing to ask with a furrowed brow, “Something about losing an eye at a young age?”

“Does it really matter?” you sighed softly, your hand reaching for a glass of chilled fruit juice; the juicy peach taste coating your mouth delectably, “Tis only an eye, he seems like a strong man regardless if the stories are anything to go by.”

“Let’s hope he isn’t like the other prince~” Mara sang softly, “My sister told me, that someone who works there told her, that the Keep is constantly having to find new maids because the older prince Aegon is too... Handsy.” Mara received a smack from Meredyth at that.

“Don’t scare the girl, Mara” Meredyth hissed softly, her eyes looking at you as you lounged on the daybed; the beginning of your lip starting to worry with your teeth, “I’ve heard the two princes are completely different, Prince Aemond takes after his mother.”

Alicent Hightower.

You could scarcely remember the woman, not like you sisters did, but you remembered her father Otto visiting The Arbor some years ago for business; or friendship. Your father was a funny man to understand sometimes, so people visiting could never be pinned for business or pleasure, but you remembered the gruff man all the same. He had a fondness for his daughter over his son, but a sternness that didn’t afford the same love. But from what she understood now, the Queen was devoted in her faith and tense, but a lady in every textbook definition of the word.

“Well, if he’s anything like the youngest, Daeron, I’m sure he’s a charmer” Tayra mentioned with a soft smirk towards the young girl.

“Isn’t the youngest more Hightower than Targaryen?” Mara raised an eyebrow at Tayra, her hand stopping mid-folding her soft nightgowns, “He’s been in Oldtown since he was a lad, has he not?”

“Does he have a dragon?” Meredyth rolled her eyes, the crow’s feet around her eyes smoothing out at she looked at her two younger maids with a look that said ‘tread carefully’.

“Well yes,” Tayra hummed, “A blue thing from what I’ve heard from the mainlanders, couldn’t tell you the name, you can see him flying over the waters most days if you squint hard enough.”

“Then he’s a Targaryen,” Meredyth tilted her head for a second, “The royal family and their bloody… Lizards.” She mumbled as she folded yet another gown

You could only repress a soft smirk at that, truthfully, you’d never imagined ever meeting a dragon – let alone marrying someone who had one, but you supposed that this was going to be your new life now. A princess of the Realm who shared a bed with a dragon rider, or a dragon incarnate.

“Do you think the prince will show you, his dragon?” Mara asked innocently, “He rides Vhagar doesn’t he? The last of the big dragons or something...” Mara waved her hand like she was trying to recall some intricate title, but the little lady Redwyne could see the smirks forming on Tayra’s and Meredyth’s faces at her wordage.

“Oh, I’m sure that the prince will show her his dragon alright,” Tayra smirked lustfully, much to Mara’s shock whose jaw dropped; Meredyth cackled as she watched the two girls, “If you catch my drift.” Tayra winked at her.

“Tayra,” Mara screeched softly, her face aflame as she threw one of her rolled-up nightgowns at her, “Not in front of the Lady” Tayra reached over to swat her for that.

“It’s alright, Mara,” Your face was aflame much like Mara’s, the implications of Tayra’s words warming your cheeks more than the blistering sun outside, “You can speak freely, I must be prepared I guess.”

“Are you nervous?” Meredyth asked softly as she placed some of her gowns gently in the trunk, “Meeting the man you’re going to marry is no easy task, it’s okay if you are” She could have smiled at that.

Despite having sisters of your own blood, you were the youngest of the bunch, and by the time you had reached your moon’s blood; your sisters had been off into the world and married to various lords of the Realm. You rarely had women to counsel you and soothe your fears, and your mother no longer with you, so you were thankful for your gaggle of maids; they took care of you like they were your blood.

Meredyth was the oldest of them all, a woman well into her fifties, who had served your family since she was a young girl; she had seen every side of you and your family. She travelled with them everywhere and took care of you when your Septa’s could no longer handle you. She was less a mother figure and more an aunt, her tongue loose like she wasn’t serving a lord and his family, but her openness was welcome by both your father and yourself.

Tayra and Mara were her wards in a sense, she showed them the ropes of the house; and made sure they did every task to her perfection but remained youthful and fun. They were a far cry from your average maids, but as long as the house was kept and they were respectful when guests stayed, your father cared little. You’d be damned if you saw their light go out despite their position. They were like your sisters in a sense, they joked and prodded each other like so, and made sure that you were never lonely in the large estate.

So, you felt comfortable joking and gossiping with them like this, your oldest friends in a sense, there to soothe your worries about the new chapters in your life.

“Truthfully?” you hummed softly, looking down into your glass of juice, “I’m terrified, being away from home… It’s an ache in my chest that I can’t seem to shake” You tutted softly, taking a sip.

Your eyes were cast out the open doors of your balcony; your room faced the cliffs that overlook the crystal-clear waters of the Arbor. The air a mix of salt and the waft of florals that kicked from the fruit fields.

“I’m not sure what scares me more,” you shrugged, “Not seeing this place for a while, or the fact that I am going to get married to a man I’ve never met.”

“It’s okay to be scared, petal” Meredyth sighed softly, dropping her folding to wander and sit on the edge of your daybed, her hand reaching and squeezing your knee through your dress, “No one expects you to just be completely okay with being sent to King’s Landing.” Her lips pursed at that.

“You won’t be alone,” Mara settled down on the ground in front of the day with a gentle smile, her hand reaching out to touch your arm, “Meredyth will be with you, and your father till the wedding is over…”

“Yes, I know…” you sighed placing your glass off to a side table, “But what if we do not get along, what if he hates me?” Your eyes were wide as you stared at the two of them scared as a lamb.

It was a possibility you had rolled around your head in the many days since your father had told you that you were going to be married. The prospect of marriage was something you knew would happen but just not like this. You were well over-considered ‘of age’ but you never thought it would be to a prince of the Realm, you had thought as the youngest that you would marry another smaller lord of the reach and that would be it.

You remembered your father’s face as you were summoned to his study that afternoon. He broke the news to you then, and it felt like a blow to the heart more than the deliverance of good news. You still could remember the way he looked both overjoyed and hesitant to talk to you; you could tell as soon as you had entered the sun-washed room that whatever he had to say, was going to change her life.

“Sit, my petal,” Runce Redwyne was weathered by the years as Lord of the Arbor; his once orange hair was faded to a grey, tufts of the burning stands still visible in the sun, and his face tense and aged from years of dealing with five daughters and no sons, “We must speak.”

You had never looked like him, the man cursed with no sons had also been cursed with five daughters that all looked exactly like their mother.

Your father hadn’t been the same since your mother passed from what you had heard, the spark for life that he once held was snuffed out as he became quieter and more reclusive in his older years. You had only been a babe when a striking fever took your mother, but the pain of losing her still wore on her father’s face even years on. 

“What was so urgent that you called me away from my studies, father?” You had asked so softly as you sat in one of the chairs that he used for when he held meetings, the leather soft and worn as you played with a string on the arm, “Is everything alright?”

“My petal” His smile was reserved but still there as he spoke the news like he was granting her the greatest wish of all, “I’ve just had an interesting proposition from King’s Landing…”

The rest of that afternoon was a blur, from the shock of hearing that your father had found a marriage for you, to the even greater shock of finding out it was to a Dragon Prince of the Realm no less; you were practically a husk of a woman by the time you’d left his study. The blood rushing in your ears, and the fright of change grasping at your heart like death's cold hands.

Marrying a Lord of the Reach would have been one task, but having to learn to tame a dragon? That was completely out of your reach.

“My petal,” Meredyth interrupted your thoughts, “We will not know until you meet, stories aside; he is still a prince who was raised with a strong handed mother” She soothed you softly.

“Yes,” Mara agreed with her, “It is all thoughts until the two of you meet, who knows you might find yourself charmed with him; you were always a romantic at heart,” Mara tried to ease your pain with a smile and a joke, squeezing your arm softly as her round eyes looked up at you.

Mara was right though; you were a romantic at heart, painfully so.

Despite being educated to a level that most ladies didn’t dare to be, your heart laid with more than history or theories from the citadel. Romance, love, and tales of grandeur often found themselves in the young Redwyne’s hands; stories of people yearning so deeply that it fractured their very soul and caused an ache so deep only their love could fix.

It was girlish and childish to yearn for something so deep, but you couldn’t help but dream of a world where you found a love so bright that it formed your very life. You had read everything the Arbor’s library had to offer in terms of romance, even the more salacious novels, and despite never having been in love, you could almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. The honied feel of it so close yet so far from reach.

“It is a marriage of politics,” You could only shake your head at Mara, “I doubt the prince would find much interest in me, that’s if he hasn’t already found a mistress.” Mara could only tut at you.

“Maybe so,” Tayra said to you with a patient look, “But she is a mistress if that’s the case, you are to be his wife – that itself holds more power than you think, my lady” Tayra’s brow was raised in challenge as she also made her way over, sitting on the small table in front of the day bed.

“We shall not baby you, and tell you that you’re travelling for romance,” Meredyth sighed, her hand patting your knee, “But a marriage match can still result in feelings if two people are willing.”

“You think the prince would be willing?” You sighed softly, your eyes flicking to the older maid for guidance, “I mean, I’m not sure why they picked me for a match – why not a Tyrell?”

Meredyth looked pained for a second before she sighed, “Truthfully, petal, I could not tell you why it is you they want, but it must be for a reason if they’re willing to travel you to the capital now.”

It wasn’t like House Redwyne wasn’t powerful in its own right, but even you were confused why you were being picked for a prince over the likes of a Tyrell or even Baratheon; the lord of the Storm’s having four daughters for the choosing. You were the youngest daughter of the Arbor,

“It is all too much…” Your voice trailed off softly, a sheen coating your eyes that could only speak that the young woman was about to be moved to tears, “Why did Father agree to this? Why could he not settle for a Lord of the Reach? Maybe the Stormlands? Gods, I'd even take the Iron Isles.”

Meredyth’s face softened as she reached for your hand, her touch warm and grounding. “Because, darling girl,” she said gently, “your father sees more in you than you see in yourself. He would not send you to the capital unless he believed you capable of standing amongst royalty.”

Tayra gave a soft hum of agreement. “And perhaps… he believes you are worthy of more than a simple lord, a life less ordinary than just being the lady of a house.”

Mara leaned in, her expression mischievous yet tender. “Besides, it isn’t so bad to dream of the capital. Silks and jewels, grand balls and a place bigger than all the Arbor… You might come to enjoy it more than you think.”

But you didn’t want silks or jewels. Not really. Not if they came tied to duty you hadn’t chosen. To a man you didn’t love.

You pulled your hand away to rub at your eyes, blinking the sheen back before it could fall. “I just… I thought I would have more time to choose for myself, or to at least know the man before he became my husband.”

Meredyth didn’t have a comforting answer for that. She simply stroked her fingers down your arm and offered a quiet, “Many women don’t.”

“But many have found joy in what seemed unbearable,” Tayra added, her voice soft, “we cannot promise you that everything will be perfect, but there is still a level of respect that will come from this marriage, he’s a prince and not an average lord after all.”

A silence stretched between the four women after that, the kind that lingered just long enough to settle into your bones. Outside the window, through the sheer curtains, the sun was beginning its descent over the horizon, like always painting the sea it was about to kiss in ribbons of gold and rose.

Mara stood and stretched, casting a glance toward the balcony door, hands moving to continue packing. “Well, whatever comes next,” she said with a brightness she didn’t entirely feel, “you’ll face it with your head high, we know you will...”

“You're a romantic,” Tayra added with a wry smile before joining her. “Which may yet be your greatest strength.”

You gave them both a watery smile, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, sinking more into the daybed than ever before. “Then let’s hope he has even a shred of love in him,” you whispered. “Or at the very least, the sense not to trample mine.”

Meredyth smiled sadly and leaned forward to kiss your brow. “Hope, petal, is the only thing that makes the unknown bearable.”

And as the last light of day slipped beneath the horizon, you allowed yourself—just for a moment—to imagine that maybe, just maybe, the prince would be something more than duty.

Aemond wasn’t sure why he was here, he didn’t feel like he needed to be nor did he want to be.

The docks that led down from the Keep were astringent with the smell of salt and something sour he’d rather not think about. Even though the sun had warmed up the late morning, he couldn’t help but grimace as the beams reflected off the glistening water and into his lone eye. Trying to subtly blink the glare away as he found himself nearly blinded in what he had left of his vision.

No, Aemond didn’t want to be here at all, not that he could voice that to his mother; who was so nicely standing next to him, ridge backed like a statue and ready to snap at him if he even made even one comment about standing on the stone dock.

He had to be here, or so his family says, for it was the day that the Redwyne girl and her family would arrive.

A mere fortnight had passed since the council had informed him of the arrangement, and despite the nudge from his mother, he had no communication with this girl whatsoever. Ravens had come and gone, but the two scrolls from her had laid on his writing table untouched and seals intact—he had no wish to bolster a relationship with the girl prior to the meeting.

It was childish really, that much he was very aware, perhaps the most childish he had been in years; but frankly, Aemond didn’t care at all. He would respect whatever wife they gave him, for women were the mother personified, but he wouldn’t like her. No husband had to like their wives, especially the ones he didn’t want.

He wouldn’t caress her like a lover, and kiss her silly as novel princes did, he would be as he always was; Aloof and uninterested in anything besides duty. He had no want for carnal desires beyond what a whore and coin could give him. Aemond didn’t want a doe-eyed lover to stroke his hair, or murmur adoration to him in the hour of the wolves.

He especially didn’t want someone who had likely grown up on tales of love and longing, expecting her prince to be anything but a blade honed by fire and blood. If she came to King’s Landing dreaming of romance, she would be sorely disappointed.

Aemond's lips tightened at the thought, as the salted wind flustered his hair, as his good eye scanned the horizon. A speck in the distance that was rapidly getting closer.

“That must be her.”  He hummed quietly in his head.

The Redwyne girl. His betrothed.

His jaw flexed as he folded his arms behind his back, posture stiff with reluctant anticipation. Would she be frightened of him? Most were. The patch over his ruined eye, the quiet fury that always seemed to simmer just beneath his skin like a dragon ready to blaze fire. His presence like the quiet clicking a dragon’s throat made just before hells unleashed, it unnerved those who did not understand him.

He rather preferred it that way.

“Stand tall,” Alicent said quietly beside him, pious as ever with her tone even but firm, though beneath it, there was the steel edge only his mother could wield. “And for the love of the Seven, try not to look like you’re going to gut the first person who speaks.”

Aemond didn’t look at her, didn’t shift a muscle as he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ship bobbed closer with every passing second. “I make no promises,” he murmured, voice low, laced with dry humour that almost curled the edge of his mouth into a smirk.

Alicent turned her head sharply to glance up at him, her lips pressing into a tight line. Her eyes—green and sharp with years of courtly scrutiny—narrowed, sending a clear message. “You will make an effort, Aemond.”

He gave a shallow nod, more a concession to timing than obedience. Not because he agreed with her, nor because he thought there was anything worth making an effort for, but simply because fighting her here—in public, on the docks, with his grandsire, the Kingsguard and servants watching, whispers already forming on tongues—was a wasted breath.

Aemond knew this game. He knew the eyes that watched from balconies above, from the shadows of cloaks stitched with gold. They waited for any sign of dissonance, any crack in their image. Like a singular ember falling onto dry grass, any sign of upset would cause fire faster than they could breathe.

So, Aemond stood as his mother told him, like a perfect carving of Valyrian stone—chin high, shoulders square, both hands folded behind his back. The sun gleamed off his silver hair, tied neatly back, though a few loose strands danced in the breeze like flickers of flames.

Aemond always knew he looked the part of a Targaryen prince, more so than some of his family, his image more akin to the likes of his uncle than any of his immediate family. He knew how to play the game if needed and now was very much needed to play the part of the steely prince.

Even if, inside, he wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel, mount Vhagar, and disappear into the sky where no one could ask anything of him.

But he remained where he was on the docks.

Because duty demanded it.

Because his mother demanded it.

Because this girl—this betrothal to her and whatever babes she was going to birth—was yet another piece on the board he was meant to play, whether he liked it or not. His mother and Grandsire play a game greater than he cared to ever play at some points.

Still, he leaned the slightest fraction closer to his mother, voice quiet enough for only her to hear. “If she simpers at me, I may very well walk into the sea.”

Alicent exhaled through her nose, long-suffering after years of dealing with her sons, but her mouth twitched with the smallest flicker of restrained amusement. “If she simpers, you will smile. And you will do it like a prince, not like a snarling dog.”

His eye slid sideways to her, dry and unimpressed. “I was born a dragon, Mother, not a lapdog.”

“Then try not to burn the docks down before she’s even stepped off the ship,” she muttered, her fingers tightening lightly around her prayer ring. “For all our sakes.”

He didn’t answer, but the silence between them held the weight of reluctant understanding.

This whole ordeal was a farce. Everyone knew it, though no one dared say it aloud. And yet, somehow, Aemond was the only one who had to endure it first-hand. Duty, he understood it, he followed it, revered it even.

But gods, Aemond had hoped for a few more years of silence, of solitude before they pressed a wife into his arms like a burden wrapped in silk. It was a cruel fate to be tied to someone like him, and at his core, he had hoped he could have chosen someone who would withstand him, or at least have the sense to leave him alone besides doing their duty.

As the ship drew closer, its deeply coloured sails caught the light. The Redwyne banner fluttered high above the deck, proud and unmistakable. Aemond watched with a practised indifference, though his jaw tightened slightly as the figures aboard began to sharpen into clarity.

The deckhands started moving briskly, shouting orders, ropes unfurling and anchors dropping into the water the closer they got. And there—near the bow—a small figure stood motionless, her soft blue gown rippling like petals caught in a breeze.

Even from a distance, Aemond could tell that she looked... hesitant.

Her posture wasn’t poor, quite the opposite really, but it held the quiet restraint of someone trying not to take up too much space, almost like a mouse trying not to get caught. Her chin slightly raised, hands clasped tightly in front of her on the railing, her shoulders drawn as though she feared being noticed and yet knew she would be the closer they got to disembarking.

Aemond could read people like a book, she was trying to appear calm, trying to look graceful. It was written in every careful line of her body, practically screamed it.

Timid, he thought, fragile.

He didn’t like that the thought had formed at all. He turned his face away sharply, eye narrowing against the glare reflecting off the water. She would disembark, curtsy, and offer some nervous pleasantries. They would nod, exchange a few stiff words, and then retreat into the suffocating rituals of royal engagement.

He should not have looked again, but he did.

She was still there, still standing near the railing, while chaos of people trying to get things in place fluttered around her. Her fingers now lightly brushed the edge as if steadying herself from the rocking of the boat. The wind caught her hair, lifting it gently away from her face.

It was then that Aemond got somewhat of a good look at her. Her features were soft—almost delicate like a child but there was still a womanly aspect to her—but uncertain in a way that struck something quiet in him.

She looked young just in general presence, the kind you see in someone sheltered from the harshness of the world, younger than she should for such a fate.

But she was pretty, almost devastatingly so, and if he was a lesser lord he was sure that he would be blushing at this moment. But all his heart could do was give a thud as something that he had to call appreciation curled in his stomach.

“Mother,” he muttered under his breath, “what exactly do you know of her?”

Alicent blinked at him, surprised by the question. “Not as much as you think, she’s the youngest of lord Redwyne’s daughters. Overall unscathed by any scandal, apparently. Studious. Graceful. They say she’s gentle and well-mannered, the sort of girl who knows when to speak and when not to.”

“Hm,” Aemond replied, his eye drifting back to the ship despite himself.

Gentle. Quiet. Obedient.

Exactly what they would think he needed in a wife, and perhaps they were right to some extent. But if she came here with the intention of looking for softness and silence, she would find no warmth in return. Not from him.

Let her be timid. Let her bow and smile and follow wherever they told her. He would still keep her behind the same walls he kept everyone else.

Love had no place in his life, no matter how pretty the package that it came in was.

There was supposed to be a calmness that came with being at sea, or at least that is what you had heard from the passers-by as you watched them pack your things into the large ship that fateful morning. Unless it was rocky waters or war, the sea was supposed to imbue a sense of peace, being alone out in the water was supposed to be as freeing as the wind. But right now, the vast sea had never felt so suffocating.

The waves stretched endlessly in every direction, and the ship’s creaking timbers groaned beneath each swell as if echoing the tension in her chest. Your cabin was warm, too warm, and yet you could not bring yourself to climb up to the deck without purpose. So you stood there, halfway in shadow, watching the sliver of the sky from the narrow window and clutching the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing grounding you into this realm.

You didn’t know if it was dread or homesickness that weighed heavier in your bones.

You had spent the last night in the Arbor pacing in silence, walking the fruit fields one last time while you gazed out at everything you were leaving. This had been your home, your quiet solitude away from the main part of Westeros. The air had been still, fragrant with ripe grapes and damp earth. Your quiet, sun-dappled corner of the world, far from the noise and posturing of court life. The Arbor was known for its wine, its trade, and its civility. Not for war. Not for dragons. It was untouched by most of the political nonsense, the lands and your family known for its wine and trade. That was it.

And certainly not for daughters being sent off to marry princes.

You were never destined to be any sort of royal, you were supposed to marry some lord of the reach. Perhaps a Fossoway, or Rowan, not a Targaryen. You had tried to picture him on your last night, staring out past the vineyards to the sea, but the image would not come.

All you had were whispers and stories. Your letters to him, the ones your father had prompted you to send, were left unanswered and probably still sealed or fed to the fire.

It was a ridiculous notion to begin with, but a part of you, the hopeless childish part, had hoped that maybe he would read one and at least have the warmth in him to answer. But, after the second one had remained unanswered, you had burnt the rest you were being asked to send, a bitter feeling in your chest.

The reassurances from Meredyth and the rest of your maids did little to soothe your soul, you were a ghost in your home from the moment you found out you were leaving. Watching as the days dragged on and the reality of leaving set in, too tense to cry, too overwhelmed to sleep anymore.

Father had reminded you at your last dinner (and every dinner since he told you that you were leaving) that this was a great honour—that marrying into the royal line and joining our houses was something other girls could only dream of. You had only nodded because nodding was easier than speaking. He was proud of you. Nervous, too, but proud.

He didn’t see how your hands trembled beneath the table every time it was mentioned.

The Arbor was already fading into memory, a glaring white jewel on the cliffs swallowed by the blue horizon the further the boat sailed away. The wind tasted different here—saltier, harsher. Everything about this journey had been unfamiliar: the sway of the ship beneath your feet, the endless stretch of sky, the way her stomach had twisted with each passing day.

You had never left home before.

Not truly. Not like this.

The Arbor had always been your world—lush, warm, sun-drenched. Even the rain felt gentle there, warm, like something that asked permission before falling onto the ripe earth. The long, winding paths through the vineyards had been your solace, the scent of ripe grapes mingling with the soft, earthy fragrance of soil. The way the bugs and the butterflies fluttered around and helped. It was a place where the rhythm of the seasons was a constant companion, where you could watch the changing tides from your window and feel the pulse of the land beneath your feet.

There, the world had felt small, intimate, safe.

But out here, at sea, everything was vast. The wind rushed by ears, the ship groaned with each rocking wave, and the sky stretched on endlessly for miles like the land wasn’t in existence anymore. While the air was warm, a kiss from the summer isles, the open water felt like an unspoken threat—an endless, empty expanse that made your heart pound faster with each passing moment.

The original plan was to sail to Old Town, and then ride a few days from there to Kings Landing, but your father hated carriages and had insisted that they would arrive by boat, much to your discontent.

The first few days at sea had been disorienting.

The ship’s sway unsettled your stomach like never before, the rocking motion unrelenting, as though the very world was in flux beneath you. There wasn’t much to do on a boat, you had tried to sleep, to rest your mind, but the fear of the unknown kept you awake. Every wave that rocked the ship felt like it might tear you from the safety of your past and toss you into a future you weren’t ready for.

You had spent most of the journey under the deck in your room, staring out at the horizon from the small window, trying to reconcile the life you had left behind with the one that awaited you.

But the further you sailed, the more the familiar sight of the Arbor seemed like a fading dream—blurry and distant, swallowed by the boundless sea. Meredyth, the one maid you were allowed to bring with you, had tried her best to keep you sane while you sat in your bunk, chatting mindlessly to you about what she knew of the capital, the people there, and what the likelihood of that Tayra and Mara were up to no good back home.

It was sweet the way she tried to keep you sane, but it just didn’t do that, the more you listened to her, the more you were reminded that soon she would be back on this very boat after the wedding, sent back home, and you’d be truly alone with people you did not know. 

Every second the ship approached closer King’s Landing, you felt your chest tightening.

There was no mistaking the looming silhouette of the Red Keep against the morning sky, a red fortress that held years of terror, power and fear. The city below it sprawled out behind it, chaotic and bustling, nothing like the quiet sunny solitude that you had known.

The smell of saltwater gave way to the pungent scent of smoke, and the sharp, acrid tang of people. The capital was a place of hard edges and high walls, and even at a glance, you could already feel the weight of it settling on your shoulders. A crown clawing into your skin, never to be taken off.

Your father had stayed away from most of the journey, his eyes had grown distant, his words few. You were leaving behind the only home you had ever known, and he said little more than that it was a great honour to be betrothed to a Targaryen, that you should be proud.

He had reminded you often of the importance of the union, how many would envy you, but each time he said it, his voice had sounded almost hollow. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that this was what you were meant to do, but deep down you felt truly lost in the weight of it all. How could anyone be proud of leaving everything they had ever loved behind?

A part of you wondered if he felt sad that the last piece of his wife was now going to be gone. He would truly be alone until he either decided to remarry for a son or decide to pass on the Arbor to one of your sister’s children.

You wanted to ask, be was a man of so few sentimental words, but all of it would remain unanswered, but a part of you hoped that the fear of loneliness would have him change his mind. No matter how selfish of a notion that was.

Overall, it had been a five-day sail to King’s Landing.

Five days that felt both endless and far too short. The gentleness of the sea had lulled you into a false sense of stillness as if the world beyond the ship’s bow didn’t truly exist. Giving your mind time to occupy itself on the thought that maybe the ship would sink, or you’d arrive at the capital to find that the prince was charmed with another.

The horizon remained a blur, the mainland a foreign concept, and for a while, you had allowed yourself to believe it might never come. Out there on the blue open water, with only the creak of the masts and the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull, it was easy to pretend that time was suspended, that this journey was just that—a journey. Not a turning point. Not a life change.

But the illusion was shattered on the morning of the fifth day.

The captain’s voice rang out across the deck, clear and certain, calling down that the ship was making its final approach to the docks of King’s Landing. In an instant, your body betrayed you, your breathing hitched, your pulse jumping and thrumming harder, and a cold panic blooming deep in your chest.

The calm you had tried to cling to slipped away like water through your fingers. You tried to still yourself, to slow your breathing, to remind yourself of your lessons from your septa’s; your poise—but your heart only raced faster, pounding against your ribs with each step the ship took toward its destination.

There was no turning back home, there was something unknown beyond this point in time. No pause. No last request to delay just a little longer. The moment you had dreaded, rehearsed, braced yourself for, was here.

There was nothing left to do but face it.

You stood at the railing as instructed, hands clenched tightly around the wood, knuckles pale from the force of your grip. The wind off the sea whipped strands of hair across your face, the scent of salt and smoke already beginning to replace the crisp, sweet air of home. Below, the dock drew closer like a hand reaching out to grab you from your comfort—massive, foreign, loud. You could hear the faint murmur of the port from where you stood: dockhands shouting, carts creaking, gulls crying overhead.

Everything about it felt too loud. Too fast.

Your father came to stand beside you, his boots thudding gently against the deck. He didn’t speak at first. He only watched the dock draw nearer; his brows furrowed in thought as the image of a redhead and the striking head of silver started to become clearer.

You wondered what he was thinking—if he regretted this decision, if he worried for you like you worried for yourself, or if he was simply focused on appearances. Then, quietly, he laid a steadying hand on your shoulder.

“It’s time,” he said, voice low, palm warm through the fabric of your gown.

But there was no comfort in his words. No reassurance that if things didn’t work out you could go home. Just the quiet finality of your duty.

You nodded once, not trusting your voice, and turned to face the coming shore. The gangway would be lowered soon, and with it, the last remnants of your old life would be left behind.

The boat lurched as it docked onto land, a rush of breath leaving you as you held on tight while ship hands scrambled around you at a speed, you’re not sure you could move at.

Eventually, the gangplank was lowered with a shuddering creak, the wood scrapping on the stone dock while your father placed his hand at the bottom of your spine, the dockworkers already hurrying to secure the ship and prepare for disembarkation.

The commotion was dizzying—shouts of greeting, the slap of boots on wet wood, the flap of banners in the rising wind. You moved slowly. Deliberately. Hand tangled in the soft fabric of your skirt, each step down the ramp feeling more like a small betrayal of the life you’d left behind than the start of something new. The wood beneath your feet was firmer than the ship’s deck, but somehow less stable.

This was land, yes, but it was not your land. The people did not know your name, your steps, your roots.

And waiting there standing, just beyond the gathering of guards, was the prince.

You saw him before anything else.

Aemond clearly did not wear his station like the others.

He stood apart, not speaking, not smiling, his silver hair gleaming in the morning light. His posture was straight, unfathomably tall, almost unnaturally so—like a marble statue that had never been allowed to bend. Even at a distance, he radiated a quiet, coiled danger, much like the stories about him. He was not theatrical, not overt in any way, not dripping in rich fabrics of every colour.

He was simply there, stood in his leathers, sheathed like a blade kept just out of reach.

But by gods, was he beautiful.

Painfully so, that your heart gave a pathetic thud as you looked at him, he was dreamy in a dangerous way. Hard lines and edges, something almost sinful to look at, novel in the sense that someone had created him from a mould, unlike any others. You had seen many lords who tried for your hand in your time, esossi travellers docking, but nothing compared to the Targaryen beauty, your maids were right in that sense.

Aemond was something different entirely, the slash through his eye and the eyepatch did nothing to draw away from his beauty. Creamy skin, and strong boned, his nose and jaw were the centre feature of his face. Your hand twitched as it grasped your skirts, itching to reach up and trace every line, feel the warmth of his skin on your skin, and see that beauty up close.

Pitifully, you could feel the yearning in your chest.

Your feet slowed the closer you got to him and his family, but you did not stop. You knew better. You moved forward, your father walking at pace beside you, guiding you to your new future with one step at a time. You were dressed as they had instructed—nothing too rich or gaudy, but tasteful, demure.

The dress itself was a gift from a traveller that had traded with your father, something pretty and soft like most women of the Reach wore; layers and layers of soft tulle fabric that came together to look like a soft blue. It was similar to the colour of where the sky met the sea, a nod to your home. Your hair simple with a soft twist up away from your face and delicate pearl pins that caught the light.

And then, you were in front of him.

Your hand gripped your skirts tighter than you thought was possible as you sank into a curtsy, perfectly measured with a bow of your head. Deep enough to show respect for the royal family, but shallow enough to retain your dignity. The way Meredyth and your Septa had made you practice over and over again both at home, and on the ship, until your knees ached and your patience wore thin. There would be no greater embarrassment than not curtsying properly to the prince.

Your breath was rattling in your chest as you paused for a second out of respect, counting the seconds in your head before you looked up.

Aemond was looking down his nose at you, his one violet eye unwavering as he scanned your face. His expression betrayed nothing. Not amusement, not curiosity. Not even indifference. Just a blank page.

It was strange, you expected at least the comfort of twitching lips, or a gentler demeanour to at least ease the awkwardness, but it seemed as if Aemond relished in it, made him stronger. Up close, he was just as beautiful as you’d seen at the end of the dock, but there was an aura to him that drew you in like a moth—something addicting about him.

But at this moment there was only stillness, everyone around holding their breath like they knew something about the prince that you didn’t.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“Lady Redwyne, welcome.” His voice was deeper than you had imagined.

It was soft, shockingly so, but still cool and precise like he spared his words for when they mattered. But the greeting came with no hint of warmth, your name sounded like a formality to him, an obligation, not a greeting.

Still, it was more than you'd expected.

“Your Grace,” you answered, managing a soft, steady tone despite the way your hands begged to shake. “I thank you for your welcome.”

It was the most formal exchange of your life, and yet, he left your knees trembling beneath your skirts. Raising back up to full height, you noticed the stark height difference between the two of you, his ability to still look down his nose at you even stood was shocking. He was every bit as tall as he was strong.

You could feel the eyes on you though—guards, servants, all strangers who already had opinions of the exchange they would not speak aloud. You didn’t dare look away from Aemond though, couldn’t look away until he gave the faintest nod.

And then, mercifully like a copper angel intervening, Queen Alicent stepped forward.

She moved with the grace of someone who had long mastered the art of appearances. Her gown was dark green, finely embroidered but still simple. Like extravagance wasn’t part of her ritual, her expression measured but kind. She took your shaking hands in hers and squeezed them gently like someone might take hold of a dying bird just to make sure it was still breathing.

“We are pleased to have you, my lady,” she said, voice low and careful but a smile on her lips like a mother calming a child. “You’ve travelled by ship, and you’ve still arrived with grace... That speaks well of you.”

Her words were a balm, even if rehearsed. You managed a soft smile at her though, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you, Your Grace. It is... all very new.”

Behind you, your father said something polite and deferential. You didn’t catch the words. You were too aware of the weight of the prince’s silence; of the way he had already turned his gaze elsewhere—as though you were no longer worth looking at.

You turned when the Queen guided you toward the waiting carriage, but before you climbed inside, you glanced over your shoulder one last time.

Aemond had not moved.

He was staring back at the sea.

Let him, you thought, gripping the edge of your skirts tightly. Let him face the waves, if he liked them better, found them more interesting.

You would not chase his gaze, and you would not beg for warmth.

No matter how much your heart cried already just for a glance.

Everything else after the arrival was a blur of people directing you places, the Queen speaking lowly to you as she escorted you through the Red Keep on a short tour. Pointing out various places that you would soon see more in depth in the coming weeks.

She filled the space by asking you questions, and all while you tried smiling politely as you stuttering through various facts about yourself. It was equal parts embarrassing and exhausting, your father none-the-wiser as he lingered behind the two of you, catching up with the Hand of the King, old friends reunited after years apart.

You couldn’t help but feel like a burden slotted between reunions and political obligations—the sacrificial offering exchanged while the men caught up on their glories of the last few years. But it was nice for your father to at least have a familiar face to talk to, Otto seemed as happy to see him as much he was able to.

At one point, Queen Alicent paused by a grand terrace that overlooked the gardens, and with a soft sigh, offered her apologies that her other children had not been present to greet you.

“My daughter, Helaena, is occupied with her little ones,” she said, the corners of her mouth tightening in a way that suggested she wished it were otherwise. “And Aegon, as I’m sure you can imagine, is often... engaged with matters of the court and the children also.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, you had heard stories otherwise of her oldest and his whereabouts but you weren’t going to say anything, she moved along before you had to anyway.

“Daeron, of course, remains in Oldtown,” she added with a hint of pride on her face, the first you had seen since she’d even mentioned her children. “He sends his warm regards through raven, but I imagine you’ll not meet him for some time.”

You noticed that she didn't dare mention any of Aemond.

More small talk followed that more you walked. Polite, measured, and relentless. You answered every question with the poise you had been raised to show, but your cheeks ached from the effort of smiling, and your temples throbbed from the mannered chaos that was the whole morning.

It was like being on stage, only the role you were playing was yourself, and every word felt both too much and not enough.

By the time you reached the quarters assigned to you, rooms tucked into a quieter wing of the guest wing with a sweeping view of the sea, you felt as though you had lived through a full week, not a single morning.

The Queen took your hand briefly before leaving you in the care of your maids while the men continued on, your father would greet you later, you knew that they were all heading to the small council room this afternoon to discuss the matters of your betrothal and undoubtedly the wedding.

Alicent's hands were still warm as you both stood outside your door, a guard lingering just off to the side, the moment as private as you were afforded.

“You’ve held yourself with admirable composure, my dear,” Alicent said, her voice warm, though her eyes never lost that assessing glint. “I know how overwhelming it must all seem right now…But I assure you, it gets easier.”

You smiled, bowed your head, and thanked her as graciously as you could manage, the throbbing feeling in your temples getting stronger as you pardoned yourself to your chambers, eyes following with a soft sigh as the Queen followed after her father to what you could only assess as one of the easier talks of politics that would happen in that room.

Your chamber door shut with a soft click, and the silence fell like a soft shroud over the chamber, all you could think was how very far from easy it all felt.

It was the first time you had been truly alone since your departure from the Arbor and arrived here—no ship hands yelling, no handmaidens darting around with curtseys and murmured instructions, no quiet humming of the Queen Mother or the low, commanding voice of you father as he made polite conversation with the King’s Hand.

It felt like some semblance of peace as you moved further into the chambers, hand pressed over your stomach while you breathed as deeply as you could, being alone at this moment was good, it was needed. You just needed yourself for a moment longer.

The room was far too grand to feel anything like the safety of home, and you supposed that was purposeful, what there any true safety in this place?

The walls were a warm stone colour, with candle sconces littered all around, you assumed it would be well-lit at night with the number of candles shoved around. It was marginally bigger than your room back home, equipped with a sitting room that you assumed you would be expected to receive guests in, a comfortable set of settees in front of the unlit hearth, a desk by the window, and a table that you assumed would be used to having dinner alone if you wished.

It was a fine room, fitting for a princess, but you didn’t know if it was fitting for you.

The sleeping chamber was sectioned off with large arched lattice doors, cut with the shapes small flowers as it hid the bed. Some privacy that no one would dare to enter, besides your maids, and eventually your husband.

From your place by the hearth, you could see that bed was canopied in soft pinks and reds, similar blankets with tasselled corners, cushy duck pillows and soft white sheets that practically begged for you to crawl and hope this was all a terrible nightmare. All the windows around the room stood tall and arched, the very tops of them glazed with coloured panes of dragons and fire that tendriled of coloured light across the stone floor as the sun moved in the sky.

Everything around smelled faintly of beeswax and polished wood and a strange perfume that did not belong to you. But it wasn’t unpleasant, it wasn’t your room back home, but it was nice, it needed personal touches that you assumed would come in time—but as a start it was good, it was blank, it was needed.

You found yourself by the hearth, unmoving, eyes fixed on the old smoke stains and the fresh logs that were too perfectly cut to have come from anything real.

It was just you now… and Meredyth.

Meredyth was the only maid you were allowed to bring with you, Tayra and Mara were tasked with keeping the Arbor in check in her absence, but it was a silly comfort that you knew was going to leave as soon as the vows were said. You did not doubt that the Queen would find you new maids to serve you, and from what you heard in passing from your father, eventually ladies-in-wait who you would counsel and raise as companions of your own.

What a frightfully daunting task.

Meredyth was already silently moving around the chamber like a helpful ghost, efficient as always as she zipped to unpack your comforts, your life packed into trunks. She’d clearly wasted no time in opening your trunks, humming low under her breath, deft as always with the already laid out various bottles of scented oils and cosmetics. It was something to focus on to temper the panic rising in you as your eyes focused on her shaking out gowns with quick snaps of her arms.

“There’s no lilac in this room,” Meredyth muttered as she walked to the wardrobes, her sharp eyes narrowing at the corner where a folded sheet sat slightly askew. “You’d think with all this royal ceremony someone might have remembered your preferences; they were sent ahead for a reason. It smells of cypress and dust and… Targaryen pride, if that had a smell.”

You didn’t answer her. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight. You hadn’t spoken since you were dismissed from the Queen’s presence.

The welcome had been cordial. Formal. Cold.

Aemond had barely looked at you, only said your name in a voice so dry it might have been carved from stone. Queen Alicent had offered kinder words, even a smile that seemed genuine enough beneath her careful politeness. You were a means to an end for something you didn’t understand yet, and your value had already been tallied before your feet touched the dock.

The hand that wasn’t pressed to your stomach reached to one of the pillars of the hearth, breathing deeply as your fingers touched the cool stone, grasping it for support as you glanced around the room. Watching Meredyth work her magic to make the room seem a little more homely, you could feel your stomach turning the more you watched her.

She saw your pain clear as day, her fingers gently placing down a nightgown to look at you the way only an aunt would.

“Sit,” Meredyth said at last, softer now, gently guiding you toward the cushioned stool before the dressing table. You didn’t resist. Your limbs felt stiff like they weren’t quite yours anymore.

You sat like she asked. She stood behind you, plucking the pearls and the pins from your hair quickly to let it down; just as you liked. Before she was running a brush through your hair in long, slow strokes. She had been doing this for years, since you were a girl with scraped knees and sticky peach fingers, and the rhythm of it made something in you finally break loose.

“I can’t do this,” You whispered with a crack in your tone. The words barely left your mouth, more like a whoosh of air leaving your mouth rather an anything tangible. “He didn’t even speak to me, walk with me, it was like I didn’t exist.”

Meredyth paused for only a breath before resuming the brushing, steady and sure. “He doesn’t know how to speak like you wish him to,” she said lightly. “Not to people, anyway. I’ve heard the stories—they say he’s a man of few words, he only really acknowledges his sister and mother if he has to.”

You blinked at the mirror, meeting her eyes with your own wide ones. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Meredyth gave a dry laugh, shaking her head as she parted sections of your hair to brush easier. “No… But, it’s meant to remind you that it’s not just about you, it’s about the situation.”

“I appreciate you lying to me.” You said quietly as you watched your reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at you was pale, drawn. Her eyes were tired, her mouth downturned in a line of exhaustion. “But he hates me, or at least wishes me gone.”

You didn’t recognise yourself right now.

“I miss the Arbor already,” you said, your voice barely heard like it was being pulled from somewhere deeper than your lungs. You looked down at your lap, fingers twisting the soft fabric of your gown. “Do you think it’s too late for father to change his mind?”

There was a silence then. A long one.

Meredyth’s brushing had slowed as she let out a soft sigh, it was times like this that she wished that she could truly lie to you; tell you that it wasn’t too late. But this was your reality now, no matter how much you wanted to beg to go back.

“No,” she said at last. “But it’s too late for you to ask him to, the only way this changes is if something else happens—but your fate is here and now, petal.”

You looked back up, startled.

She leaned in, resting a hand on your shoulder; not firm, not light, but grounding you with her at that moment. “You’ve already stepped off the boat, you stood before him and the Queen. You were seen, and you don’t get to vanish now, court knows you’re here, the fire has started between both you and him.”

You swallowed hard. “But I don’t even know Aemond, I don’t even know if he wants this.”

“He probably doesn’t.” Her honesty stung. “But that doesn’t change what’s expected of you and him, and it certainly doesn’t change who you are.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the room quiet bar your own breathing, the brush trailing gently through your hair once more.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, and it felt like the most dangerous thing you’d said all day.

Meredyth didn’t mock you, but she didn’t rush to soothe you either, she simply kept brushing, like she always did.

“I know,” she said softly. “But you’re still going to be the most composed and watched girl in that feasting hall tonight, and tomorrow, you’ll wake up, and do it all again, and you’ll keep doing it till it gets easier to deal with.”

The feast.

A welcome feast for you and your father, your up coming betrothal, something you’d been told to prepare for in advance. It was to be your first venture into the snake pit that was the royal court. You could see what you were supposed to wear hanging from the door of the wardrobe; your dress for tonight, a soft pink, something gentle, something so inherently you—they were going to tear you apart.

“You’ll get through tonight,” Meredyth murmured, her voice low and certain. “One step at a time. And if you stumble, you’ll get back up because I know you can, you know you can." she added, meeting your eyes in the mirror with a flicker of a smile.

That was all.

Not a promise of glory. Not a lie to make it easier.

Just enough. And somehow, it helped.

Tonight would be something, and something in you hopped that it would be something you would survive.

You didn't have a choice.

[skwangmbyul]

rusted | thunderbolts (2025) - bucky barnes x tony stark's daughter

summary: peaks into bucky barnes and hennessy stark life as they navigate thunderbolt's events

what would be more angst than tony stark's daughter falling in love with the winter soldier?

warning: can be read as a standalone because i really needed to write bucky in this movie but this story is part of a longer universe called rusted on ao3 that follows hennessy stark since the iron man movie, i wanted to created an unique character and insert her into the timeline.

Bucky hated bureaucracy, which was kind of funny, when one considered his late application into politics. Hennessy would joke about it every time she saw him frowning upon a paper of details and over a process. Although she knew her husband still enjoyed reading some fiction, he despised technicalities and all that smiling and hand shaking necessary to make things happen in a legal manner.

She was happy, however, how he was healing by doing things in a way he never thought would be possible for him. She also made it clear that she saw no problem with him continuing as the Winter Soldier or whatever way he would like to be called if somehow, Bucky needed to fix things.

Her husband just really wanted to try it in the civilized way.

That was why he was standing in the kitchen, in their luxury apartment in Washington (still the simplest place Hennessy ever lived, not considering SHIELD complex and her dorm at college), reading the process of Valentina’s impeachment while trying to eat a chicken wing. Henny had taken hers to eat in front of the TV to let him work, but Bucky was really regretting not listening to her about the sauce being too close to the paper.

Now there were stains in his shirt, which was sprawled on the ground, leaving him only with a tank top, the paper was colored in a vibrant red and his metal arm was spending some time in the dishwasher.

— Having fun? — Hennessy Stark entered the kitchen with an empty plate, with only the leftover of the sauce indicating that there was some food in there, and a cup in her other hand.

Bucky lifted his eyes to look at his wife and he smiled upon her appearance: her hair entangled on a lazy bun and her body covered in one of his shirts. They used to look oversized in her but now, they were shortening fast. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that.

His look of adoration rested for a moment longer in her stomach. It wasn’t that advanced, but he loved seeing the small bump and how it fitted her body. The idea she was carrying a part of him, a product of them, always stirred something visceral inside of James.

— Not my idea of fun — he sighed, to which the Stark only laughed and took the plate to the dishwasher. But she gave one more eye glare at him, finally seeing his missing arm and raised her eyebrows, suggestively.

— The sauce again? — He nodded, a little embarrassed — Well, at least we know vibranium is suitable for dishwasher. Scientists wouldn’t test this theory anywhere else.

— Oh, your phone is about to ring — she warned him, pointing to the device.

— I can never get used to this — he extended his hand to squeeze hers, as she passed to return to the TV room.

— Put the plate on the dishwasher for me after you finish here, please? And I want this shirt out of the floor.

— Yes, ma'am.

Then the sound of his phone ringing reached him.

***

— Was that a woman I heard? — Hennessy Stark diverted her eyes from the movie she was watching to observe her husband entering the room. Now with both arms in sight, one of them holding the dirty shirt and the other his cellphone and the papers — James Buchanan Barnes, are you finally using that charm of yours to obtain things? — she said in a mockery tone but frowned when only got a huff out of him.

She noticed his expression was off and not in the way it used to get when he had to deal with boring paperwork.

— What is it, babe?

— Trouble — he sat by her side, the eyes going for the TV, fixating on them. Henny understood, it took a lot of effort on his part to be widely open, his first instinct being to reclude. She had to be extra patient when this happened.

— Trouble as, the government only does the wrong thing or the world is in danger trouble? — she asked while taking the remote control and turning off the TV. She needed to focus on his vibrations and ever since she got pregnant, doing multiple things tired her more than usual.

— Both, I think. I got a call from one of Valentina’s employees and she sounded preocuppied. Asked me to track her phone. — his hand went for her stomach. He did that a lot lately. It was as if feeling the life in there grounded him.

— Ok — she nodded, covering his hand — We can deal with that. What do you want to do?

Silence.

— Babe?

— I want to go and figure it out. — he looked at her, his eyes full of something she couldn’t quite identify.

— James, you know what I think about this. I see no problem in you being the Winter Soldier. You don’t need my approval.

— You saw no problem with your father being the Iron Man and now there is a little girl who is going to grow up without a dad. — he said, and now Hennessy could see clearly in his expression. He was afraid.

— Oh babe — she put her arms on his shoulder, coming closer so their legs were intertwined — I’m sorry that I didn’t consider this. Please, forgive me. I’m not saying I want you to go.

— James — she continued, making sure to face him — in the same way I cannot stop this baby from developing bones inside of me, I cannot stop you from doing the right thing. That is the only reason I tell you to it’s okay to be the Winter Soldier again. Not to become a hero, but because taking care of others is what you do. If you feel this is the right way to do it, I will trust you. And yes — she could read the question in his eyes — I feel terrified in thinking you would not come back. But I trust you, ok? I trust that, at least, you’re not entering any suicide mission. Especially now. Just know when to back up, all right?

— Thanks, love. — he sank his face in her neck, inhaling deeply, a weight coming out of his shoulder. Although he was only going after the clue to make Valentina pay legally, hearing Hennessy said that made him feel safe — I’m gonna miss you.

— One more reason for you to take care and finish fast — he laughed and the good vibration in her neck put a smile on Hennessy’s face. — Do you need any help?

— Track her phone while I change? — He raised his head and gave her his most charming smile.

— So, this is the smile you gave to the girl to make her call you, huh? Should I be concerned, Barnes?

— You know I only have eyes for you, doll.

***

— Bucky, we are not the good guys — Yelena said, the look of distress on her face evident. Bucky knew that look.

Before he could say anything, the guy in the red uniform shushed her.

— We can be a team — he said, eagerly. — And isn’t his wife one of the good ones? If we put her to join us, we can be great.

— His wife? Who? — Phantom asked, confused

— What? Don’t you know he is married to a Stark? — it was John who answered. Bucky sighed and gave a squeeze in his temples.

— I don’t have time to follow gossip, so no, I didn’t.

— She is not entering any fights and she won’t join us, so no Stark for us. — he raised his voice, putting an end to discussion.

***

He was relieved that Yelena was right. Otherwise, he would be dead and Hennessy would kill him.

He saw no other alternative. With the speed that the shadow was taking New York, soon it would arrive on DC and she and the baby would be in danger. He had no other choice but to hope that the ideas of the crazy individuals who had become his partner in the mission were right.

So once he finally got to past the most traumatic episodes of his life and found Bob and the crew again, he realized he would have to tell Hennessy that he let the shadow touch him with a slighty chance of this meaning his death. The girl would go feral over him.

— What? What are you doing here? — Bob asked, surprised to see them all in his room.

— Disobeying my wife.

— Are you guys okay? What did you see?

— Oh, I’m great. I have a beautiful past, so it’s cool — he gave her a nervous laugh.

[charcubed]

Doctor Odyssey thoughts after the penultimate episode!

Or more accurately... Doctor Odyssey "worst case scenario crash out" exploration of a sorts, with some thoughts I've been sitting on without sharing for a bit:

• I'm staying in line for ODY3 and hopefully renewal because I'm incredibly stubborn, but more importantly because I personally find it more fun/rewarding to have excitement and "hope" about the shows and storylines I enjoy until the (possibly bitter) end. I don't find it fun to make myself truly miserable preemptively when watching something.

• I don't think it's an accident that this finale storyline involves a "group wedding" in language even if we don't get to see it in practice (more on that later), and also that the ship's got double booking going on as they're overrun with passengers. I think the intent/setup for some possible throuple follow-through is deliberately all there and so close we can taste it.

• However. That being said:

• We all have eyes and brains. I don't need to recount all the ways the throuple has felt like more of a love triangle and less like a throuple for several episodes, even since the absolute emotional peak and gorgeous cinema of Hot Tub Week seemingly put us back on track. Some of that was for episode reordering reasons, yes... but there hasn't been a ton of effort to course correct since, and overall in the back half of the season we also haven't gotten much Tristan/Max interactions either which has fucked with the characters' dynamics.

• Setting aside the boys' side of the triangle though: the bare minimum hope now is for Avery to choose them both, and for the boys' part to be either hinted at or developed in a second season. This is what we've been reduced to hoping for at this point with one episode to go, right? Manifesting it regardless.

• But!

• Look. Doctor Odyssey's been a miraculous gem of a show since day one that drew us all in because it had clarity of purpose about showcasing diversity in different kinds of people, love, and relationships, and because it was very obviously intended to have the thesis of a polyamorous slow burn love story. That is the show's premise and its point, and that's also the reason why it's felt like it's been floundering a bit as that point became decentralized. The reason why it's so miraculous that the show's been accomplishing all of what it's done so far is that it's on network fucking television. Network TV is infamous for the restrictions it operates under (the cast talked about this in interviews in regards to the threesome choreography a little) and the censorship of queer storylines that tends to befall it because of executive oversight.

• Censorship is why we have subtext and queercoding, and also why people's use of the word "queerbaiting" is nearly always bullshit that erases nuance and the acknowledgement of the constraints queer storytelling is often put under. But I digress.

• All this to say: this ain't my first rodeo. It likely isn't yours either. And there is, unfortunately, a non-zero possibility that – despite its miraculous existence – Doctor Odyssey as a show did not get to evade the crush of the censorship boot and network executive interference indefinitely. Especially after coming back from hiatus.

• That statement ^^^ stands on its own merit, because I think at this point it can be a hypothesis that holds up based on a lot of storyline and character dynamic shifting we've been seeing. It's not a wild thing to think.

• But here is where I also put my conspiracy hat on for a quick second, as a treat. Last episode, when we heard the Captain say to Max, "It got me thinking about the future and life after the Odyssey. Family. Love. But you just can't make someone else want the things that you want. So I’ve taken the next-best course: accept and surrender"... I was like, hmmm. What I'd LIKE for that to mean, in the style of unsubtle typical Doctor Odyssey foreshadowing, is an eventual "accept and surrender" to a throuple scenario. But in the moment, the dark second thing that occurred to me for its potential meaning was a worst case scenario option: that that line is potentially extra-narratively about having to accept and surrender to doing more of a love triangle than polyamory.

• Here's why: The Captain is the consistent mouthpiece of love and support for the OT3 in our show. I adore him. He is the captain of the ship, pun intended. "The three of you take care of each other. I like seeing that," for example. When Captain Massey speaks of what he wants for our trio, it's what we (and likely the creative team behind the story) want too. So him saying he couldn't make someone want what he wanted... It did make me wonder if it was a small warning.

• (Also worth noting that, in a semi-abrupt turn, this was about how the Captain just lost the baby he was so excited to have. The baby and life he accepted he was ready to move forward + embrace in the Hot Tub Week episode, which was also our peak ODY3 indication episode. Captain lost his baby... did we lose ODY3? And so on. He is also about to be removed from his position of authority as Captain in the final episode of the season, based on the promo; whether he'll be reinstated by the end of it remains to be seen, but of course I hope so from a character perspective as part of a happy-ish ending.)

• Yes, this all sounds bananas. But remember, the Captain's lines aside, my point here is that this is still network TV, and there is no end to the amount of things network executives can decide to turn around and stifle when it comes to queer stories.

• Part of this is because I'm still thinking about that Disney exec's quote about a possible Doctor Odyssey renewal. We've all seen it:

"I really love Doctor Odyssey, I think it’s a wildly inventive show, and we’re doing everything we can to support it. That decision ultimately lies with Ryan Murphy, whether Ryan wants to continue to do it, and he feels like there’s stories to tell that he feels confident in."

• I have quietly felt like this quote was some level of bullshit from the moment I read it lol. Again, this is all conjecture, BUT: there is a non-zero possibility that the execs gave Ryan Murphy an ultimatum about no longer doing polyamory, and since that's the premise of the show, he is stuck struggling to figure out where the show can go from here. Which is maybe why it's a decision (but not much of one) that the execs say Ryan Murphy has to make, which positions him as the bad guy who has to take the fallout from fans if he ostensibly ~just decides not to continue the story~ if renewal doesn't happen.

• So. With aaalllll that in mind, this is my Responsible Posting moment before the finale next week (and God I'm tired of having to write this type of post. But this ain't my first rodeo):

• If we do end on some fuckass "Avery chooses Max in the love triangle and Tristan's heart is broken" type of worst case scenario story, and especially if we don't get renewal after that, it will suck so fucking bad. SO bad. It'll be a tragedy after all the potential. In my stubbornness, even as I type this, I still have some level of belief that won't be the case and that even if we don't get explicit throuple we'll somehow get a secret third thing lol. But I'm preemptively holding up the Hot Tub Week episode (and these words from the director of it) and shaking it like a rag doll to remind everyone that that episode was crystal fucking clear and given to us as a gift that works as an optional "I've decided the story ends here" if we need it to be. That is not an accident, or queerbaiting, or whatever-the-fuck-else people will start calling it (and the threesome, and the multiple explicit poly relationships we got on network TV, and all the other queerness this show gave us) if this goes south. I'm saying this now in advance in case it ends up being needed: You aren't insane, this show wasn't stringing you along maliciously, what we did get was still beautiful, shit happens when it comes to network TV even in the big year of 2025, yes we can and will crash out but we can do so with nuance without blaming creatives who fight for the stories we love rather than the people above them who limit their work, Goddammit.

• And! And. If we do get a fuckass ending, I will personally also be perceiving and witnessing and pointing to whatever throuple crumbs we may get in between the fuckery. Because if NOTHING ELSE, I do have faith those crumbs will be there despite any bullshit. The creators of this show knew what they were making, and if they weren't allowed to make it properly anymore, then... it may be a situation where they did what they could, and so I'll be doing what I can to glean the hints at that.

• I hope this makes sense.

• TL;DR: if they leave the throuple behind for a love triangle "resolution" type of ending in the eleventh hour, remember how we got here and understand how we got here and know where to direct your ire.

• Thank you for coming to my TED talk. This was written out of caution and minor foreboding but hopefully it'll all become unnecessary.

• Now let's get this ODY3 + renewal anyway despite it all. Yes? Yes.

[r0manceplanet]

My first mashup thing!!! Hhehejhhh!!!!!!

—-

Anyways ,,

Fandom : forsaken

Pronouns : she/her but i also go by it/its ^_^

Gander & sexuality : im a female!! And im pansexual :33

Personality : I’m a shy person but I’m very sweet and nice to others people!! I really don’t get angry tbh …. I’m really funny when u get to know me hhejjhhe.. i also might be VERY clingy to people i love the most since of some issues that happened.. hhhj 1# day dreamer bttww, alsooo im emotional… , overthinking too…

Hobbies : honesty, only drawing and day dreaming…(i know THATS not a hobby but still!!!) and maybe writing too.. and listening to music..!!! Hhehko

other stuff..

Love language : CUDDLING!!! Kisses and maybe gifting ^_^ i love showing physical affection very much!! And non-physical affection too!!! I heart cuddling 😭😭

Like & dislikes : i like drawing and talking to people most of the time but also watching movies or just cuddling.. i dislike VERY creepy things since does make me VERY uncomfortable. Scary movies out of the way… i would be straight up be crying since I’m emotional about does things

That’s all!!!!! Runs away

FORSAKEN MATCHUP #2

Holy cow I got so many requests which was unexpected— I am super grateful for these requests!! Enjoy your matchup, Anon! I think who I matched you with was perfect so far, and I hopefully wrote a lot too.

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Press “Keep Reading” to see who you’ve been matched with!

You have been matched with… 007n7!

• When I read your information my thoughts immediately went to 007n7 — I have an amazing feeling that he would be in love with you so much, and for so many reasons too! You would’ve met him before the game happened and before c00lkidd turned insane.

• You were so sweet towards him when he met you… he’s never really experienced many interactions with other people like you since many people disliked him due to c00lkidd’s actions— but you didn’t care, why would that stop you from being kind to him? That’s how you got him wrapped around your finger.

• He felt comfortable by your calming presence and you both always got along together, and always held respect towards each other, including when you are both dating each other, and when you guys are in the games you both have each others back, you can tell he’s easily scared from the killers, especially when one of them is his son and your there to comfort him and protect him, as he is as well, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

• Before the games every happened, you guys used to be co-workers at one of the jobs he had so he can raise c00lkidd, and you both usually talked everytime, saying “good morning” everyday, and then that turned into hanging out together, and leading to you babysitting c00lkidd for a short period of time to get money, and c00lkidd loved you so much, you would always play games with him and you were there to comfort him and bring him to the park and do so many fun things. 007n7 dates you because one of the main reasons would be because of how much c00lkidd likes you and is able to listen to you.

• When you guys start dating you would have to wait before you tell c00lkidd— but before you did you guys would hang out at your house and watch movies while 007n7 is hugging you and whispering sweet words into your ear, and he always watches what you wanna watch, you’ll never have to worry about watching “scary” movies, he’s the type to like more action movies in my opinion.

• Once you guys date after a while, I feel like he would ask you to move in with him and c00lkidd as the next big step into your dating life, and once you do, it’ll be the best decision ever as the trio of you three are always having fun, like dancing with 007n7 and c00lkidd, or taking him to the park while you both watch him, and sometimes you both join him (one time you had to get 007n7 unstuck out of one the slides— I won’t be going into that though…).

• 007n7 is always bringing tiny trinkets home for you, and they have a lot of thought put into them, and don’t get me started on the kisses… he’s gonna kiss you every second of the day if he possibly can… c00lkidd always whines whenever he sees his dad kissing you in front of him, causing you and 007n7 to laugh and then give him kisses on the cheek (he stops complaining if you do that).

• 007n7 always catches you daydreaming, and teasingly asks you if you were daydreaming about him— which results in you lightly slapping him on the arm, and you both always have such entertaining conversations, anything that has drama in it is the most top tier, he’ll tell you all the tea.

• He loves seeing your drawings, he’ll compliment on them everytime, and it’s even better if you draw something with him in it, and I feel like you would also get him into drawing as a healthy habit to do together— also you guys have a playlist you share together with your favorite songs, and you never fail to get him into more new bands and singers.

• If you were to ever overthink he’ll be there to help you out any way he can, whatever it is you’re worrying about you will be reassured by him, and will try to get your mind off whatever you’re worrying about, and will try to solve it for you if you wanted.

• You guys would be the best couple ever — no matter how bad things turn out you guys will always have each other through thick and thin, you will always have each other.

Round-Ups: Dusekkar, Azure, Guest 1337