#bury the grimace deep within

[ladynamida]

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, kidnapped reader, murder of nameless side characters

♡ fem reader

Thinking about that moment of violent change you’re forced to go through when your loving boyfriend becomes the terrifying man you don’t recognize—and how it completely eradicates the reality you’d grown so comfortable in, realizing it was all some perfectly orchestrated lie.

Rope burns on your wrists and ankles, tears streaking your chunky cheeks, and a poor soul’s blood on your pretty face belonging to some guy who’d gotten a little too close for comfort.

He’d cut him down like it was nothing.

The knife is held still by his side, a shining red murder weapon, dripping on the floor in the growing pond by his feet. He sighs heavily, casts his head back then looks behind him, beholding you through slim eyes, clicking his tongue, “Look what you made me do…”

He wouldn’t be the only one… several victims followed in his bloody path—witnesses who’d seen him struggle with you, kicking and screaming for all your worth, trying anything to get away. You were all too easily manhandled into the car, and could only watch behind the locked door, banging with bound fists on the glass while he gutted other passersby who’d threatened to call the police.

Driving off, he growls at you, first to shut up and then, “That was your fault—if only you’d been a good girl, none of those innocent people would have had to die.” His knuckles whiten on the wheel, wringing it in his stained grip—scarlet on ivory. “If you don’t want any more blood on your hands, you better sit pretty and not cause me any more trouble.”

You sob uncontrollably and inconsolably despite the threat—you can’t stop yourself—you can’t even comprehend his words. None of it makes any sense. You’d seen it all, and yet you can’t understand it—any of it. You’d watched the sweet guy you knew shed his skin and become a monster right before your eyes. It must be some bad dream, some terrible, awful, horrible nightmare.

But even if it is, you don’t want him touching you ever again. It makes you physically sick to your stomach to think you’d ever shared a bed with him—exchanged sweet nothings in the damp heat of each other. No, no, no, it’s not the same person—it can’t be. It can’t be true. What about the smiles you’d shared over breakfast, those times you’d surprised each other at lunch, all the dates, all the gifts, all the kisses, the future you’d talked about?

You’d fallen in love. But you’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t even exist.

He makes sure the door to the bedroom’s under lock and a key he stores somewhere you won’t find it. You squirm in your bonds on the bed when he approaches, shivering with whimpers under his hands, flinching at his touch while he unties you, then cringing as he angles your face to look at him—wanting to pry free, anything not to look into those changed eyes.

You hadn’t thought his build was imposing before, it hadn’t struck you as lethal. Naively, you’d thought him cozy—a big chest and a warm embrace he would scoop you up in, a safe place you could live. He’s cold now, menacing and filthy from his crimes—the body of a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. He’s so big it makes the room feel too small for the both of you. Claustrophobic.

He forces your gaze to him, and it’s all you see, those eyes, those unrecognizable eyes, with that look within you can’t understand, beholding you with burden.

“I still love you,” he states, though it angers him. “Even though you broke my heart. I still love you.”

You shake your head, or you try to, but it results in only tiny tremors caught in his hand where he keeps your chin, bloody fingers buried in your plump cheeks, squeezing so hard you wince.

“But it doesn’t come for free,” he seethes with an awful sneer. A type of grimace you’d never thought him capable of, overfilled with disdain. “My love is earned. And after all you did today, you’re in deep debt.”

He lets go of your face with a nasty shove, taking a mean grip on your shirt instead, using both fists to tear it down the middle. You yelp and cover yourself, but that only angers him further—causing him to grab your wrists and pin them to your side. You think you feel your joints popping.

“Test me, and I’ll hurt you,” he growls, his teeth bared at your ear where your face curls to hide itself in the pillow. “I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes to make you sorry, then so be it. Be good, and I won’t have to take it that far.”

You lie as still as you can muster while he removes the rest—roughly as he goes—your bra, your skirt, your underwear. You only snivel and toil with the sheets in weak little fists, making your joints cramp up—feeling raw under him, at the mercy of those blood-dried hands.

You understand what he’s about to do, and yet it doesn’t really dawn on you before you hear the sharp ringing of his belt buckle being undone. You don’t look, but you don’t close your eyes either—the room is already dark enough that closing your eyes would make you feel too close to death. So, you keep your gaze fixed to the side, to the stale wall.

The bed bounces you as he shuffles. The urge to run bubbles within, but you know it wouldn’t be to your advantage. So your mind spins, thinking of other possibilities, growing ever more panicked when coming up empty.

He spits on your slit, then rears it with his spitefully erect shaft—pushing in without further prep. And you lose all sense of control.

Twisting at the attack, you scream again, “No! Stop—”

Your hands barely touch him before he’s answered the protest with a tightening grip on your neck. Unrelenting, your throat instantly snares, and you choke on any further outburst.

“I told you,” he chastises. “Why do you have to force my hand, huh?”

You gasp for any sliver worth of air, sipping through the cracks of his chokehold, but it’s very nearly sealed completely shut. You try lifting his grip with your own, both hands holding onto his wrist, wanting to pull loose but achieving nothing.

It’s so pitiful that he ignores the effort. Using his remaining hand to continue what he’d set out to do. Planting his tip at your unprepped entrance, he wasted no time before surging forward.

Your vision starts to spot, and your hands grow weak, barely hanging on.

“That’s good. Lie still and take it,” he groans—his lips on your cheek as he bullies through your dry walls, only aided by his spit. “And I might consider once’ enough.”  

You don’t have a choice, feeling your body go numb. He picks your thigh up over his hip and drives deeper—starting a steady pace without letting go of your throat, squeezing the life out of you. Your hands finally drop, lying limp, and still, you feel it deep within—the thrusting as he beats your sorry cunt into an aching mess, then fills you up with awful warmth.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[charliemwrites]

Bark, bark, snort, grrr

(The ex idea comes from @st-el-la-luna, absolutely brilliant darling ❤️)

Content: Voyeurism, Mild Injury, Possessive/Protective Behavior

Johnny, for all his quirks and… weirdly human tendencies, is an incredibly good sport. Particularly about letting you put him in Santa hats and wreaths, ugly sweaters and snow socks. He poses for every picture so dutifully, looks so serious and annoyed up until you plant smooches on his head or cheek and that silly lupine grin comes out.

He’s been your perfect little heater ever since the heater started to go on the fritz. It keeps shutting off or turning itself lower than it’s meant to be, leaving you shivering before you realize something is amiss. It’s not so broken that you’re willing to interrupt your solitude to have someone come fix it. But you’re grateful for a big fluffy body laying on your feet or snuggling under the blankets with you.

As the winter sets in, you tromp out with him in the snow a lot. Often use his sturdy shoulders and better footing as a crutch to navigate without slipping. He always gets fussy when you do, dancing in his feet and snuffling at your coat, urging you up.

One morning you wake up after a fresh snow, expecting that you’ll have to clear the driveway and porch - only to find it freshly shoveled and salted. It would spook you, except you’re sure Johnny would have woken you up barking his head off if it was anything to worry about.

Your mother calls about holiday plans in mid-November. You hedge around any commitments, hand buried in Johnny’s fur, saying that you don’t want to leave your precious pup at home.

The combined efforts of both your parents, your sister, and a cousin you actually like makes you cave eventually though. They promise it’ll just be family, that you can even bring Johnny. You grimace at that - debate getting him some meds from the vet…. But he’s been doing better on walks in town.

The weird assurance that it’ll “just be family” should have been a red flag.

When you arrive at your parents’ place, several gift bags and Johnny (with a bow tie on his collar) in tow, you find your ex there. On the couch. Next to your least-favorite cousin and your sister.

“What’s he doing here?” you ask sharply.

“Well, you two were engaged—”

Johnny’s ears shoot straight up as you tense.

“Yeah, and then he cheated.”

“People make mistakes. If you would just hear him out.”

“I don’t care what he has to say. And I don’t care what you have to say either.”

You drop the bags in a heap and click your tongue for Johnny. He falls in with you instantly, leaning up against your side. You get all the way to your car before you hear your ex’s voice calling your name.

You try to hurry, but there’s ice and the last thing your dignity can take is slipping right now. Luckily, you have the perfect deterrent before you ex can even get within arm’s reach.

Johnny snarls, so deep and loud you feel it in your own chest.

“Jesus!” your ex cries, coming up short. “Where did you get that thing?!”

“Johnny picked me. More than I can say for you.”

“Don’t be like that, I’m picking you now.”

“Oh, did your girl best friend lose all her daddy’s money?”

His cheeks light up neon. Huh. Got it in one.

Then he dares another step and Johnny lunges. You just get a hold of his harness but it’s enough ward your ex off a bit more.

“He’s very loyal,” you add. “Also more than I can say for you.”

“Baby, just listen—”

“An upgrade all around, I think.”

You round your car, climb into the driver’s seat with Johnny standing guard, then let him clamber over you into the passenger’s seat. At the front door, most of your family is gathered and staring. You flip off your ex one last time before peeling out of there.

The tears come after you’ve gotten back home. Johnny licks your face until you stop crying, then leads you inside. The two of you curl up on the couch together, his face buried in your stomach. You fall asleep there and dream of a man’s voice whispering love and comfort in your ear.

—

A week later, your ex shows up.

You’re out in the yard with Johnny, watching him zoom through the snow and laughing as he speeds by. Your ex must hear you because he comes round the side of the house.

And Johnny. Goes. Ballistic.

Literally, he hits your ex like a missile, taking him into the snow and snarling like something from hell. He’s got his teeth in your ex’s designer coat, ripping it to shreds. It’s frightening; you’ve never felt safer.

“Johnny!” you call. A growl. You walk closer, kick a bit of snow at both of them. “Johnny, down! Leave it!”

And he does, finally does, though not without taking a good chunk of fabric with him. Your ex, wide-eyed and pale, panting, doesn’t bother to say a word. He scrambles away while Johnny barks after him, all canine and spit.

You hum as he returns to you, fabric in his mouth, tail wagging.

“What a good boy,” you coo, taking the partial sleeve and inspecting it. Louis Vuitton, it looks like. “Very good. My perfect boy.”

You drop his prize into the snow and snort as he wastes no time peeing on it. Well, that’s gonna stay there. Forever.

“C’mon bud, you deserve a treat.”

Johnny follows you happily inside, a new pep in his step.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[quizzicalwriter]

hi lovely! i was wondering if you could do fluff w dally where the reader and him go on a coffee/tea date? i just think it’d be cute since he’s so tough but he’s going on a date in some small and tacky café🤍

Coffee in the mornin’

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hangover induced diner visits count as a date, right?

Warnings: None! Cute and funny moments with Dallas.

A/N: Thank you for the request! I love picturing Dallas doing stuff like this, you know he totally would if he loved someone enough.

Word Count: 3.1k

Tequila was not your friend, that much was certain whenever the sun poured through Dallas's bedroom window, spilling onto the bedsheets with a glow that would've been welcomed if not for the persistent pounding within the confines of your skull. 

No matter where you began drinking the night before, you always wound up tangled in the mess of thin blankets and covers that shrouded Dallas's mattress. Some were stolen, others he had paid for - either way, none of them were younger than a couple of years. 

A ceiling fan swirled above, churning the once stagnant air into something breathable, something that didn't remind you of lime, salt, and tequila. 

You buried your face into Dallas's pillow, inadvertently pushing your skull into the flesh of his bicep, the sudden move pulling a disgruntled groan from his still-sleeping form. 

You murmured an apology, or at least you had in your mind as you breathed in his musk, letting the scent settle deep in your lungs as you settled your hazy mind. Drinking had been easy once, when you were all teenagers with no obligations to rouse you before the crack of dawn, but tolerances seemed to slow and dwindle once your internal clock struck twenty-two. 

So, you inwardly cursed your hungover self and began the lazy task of kicking the mess of bedsheets off of your sweltering frame. Whether it was the liquor seeping from your veins, or the summer heat, you were left wiping your brow before you could wipe the sleep from your eyes as you finally broke free from the chamber of sheets.

Dallas's hand sought you out, patting along the falling sheets. His eyes never opened, but the irritation grew apparent on his face as his brows knitted together, lips pulling up into a grimace. You would've thought you'd offended the man when all you'd truly done was rid him of his human body pillow. 

"C'mon," You whispered as you tucked your hair back from your focal line. "Need to eat somethin', Dal." 

A groan, followed quickly by another as you brushed the back of your fingers along his cheek. You didn't bother to hide your amused laughter, the sound light and sweet enough to pull Dallas from the depths of his hangover-induced slumber. His eyes slowly flitted open, squinting and flickering about the room, but open nonetheless as he leaned into your familiar touch. 

"Time is it?" He rasped, wetting his chapped lips. "Morning?"

"Fuck no." You replied through another laugh as you leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. He always smelled perfect whenever he woke up, before he applied cologne, the scent was him and it reminded you of home. "Nearly four in the afternoon." 

“Fuck.”

Sunlight poured through each window, coating the interior of the Thunderbird in warmth, the familiar scent of the outdoors lingering on the leather interior, somehow settling the nausea in your stomach. You sunk into the passenger side, hands sluggishly clicking your seatbelt into place as Dallas keyed the ignition, the engine roaring to life mere seconds later. 

"Want me to drive until I see somewhere?" He asked, suddenly snapping you from your daze. You hummed in response, softly nodding your head as you rested against the warmed passenger side window. 

Dallas reached over as he drove, planting his hand atop your upper thigh, giving the muscle a gentle squeeze before rubbing tender circles along the seam of your jeans. You smiled at the sensation, attempting to sync your breaths with each pass of his thumb. It was nice, oddly enough, the breeze pouring in through the barely cracked windows, Dallas's familiar touch, it all made you almost forget about your pounding headache - almost. 

Tulsa wasn't full of places you'd find yourself comfortable in, not with a smoldering hangover. If y'all had woken up any earlier, you might've beaten the after-church crowd. No such dice, not that you found yourself capable of caring too much when your stomach churned, whether from hunger or nausea, you weren't too sure.

A quick squeeze of your thigh called your attention to the windshield, a semi-dusty and welcome sight, one hell of a hole-in-the-wall diner. You smiled over at Dallas, a nonverbal appreciation of his skill in having found a nice, quiet place for the both of you.

The coffee shop was quaint, with barely enough tables to house any gathering of over fifteen people. It appeared more residential than it did commercial, it quelled the residual apprehension your mind had harbored earlier on the topic of visiting a place dedicated solely to coffee. 

Reluctantly, you pulled yourself from your manmade cocoon, legs tucked up near your chest, cheek pressed to the warmth of the window. You had been in the position for all of fifteen minutes, but as you stretched your legs and moved from the passenger seat, you couldn’t help but groan. Dallas’s head swiveled toward you; disbelief-riddled amusement written clearly across his face.

The bastard couldn’t even pretend to take pity on you. 

“Really? Are you going to keel over and die? Need me to carry you?”

You thwarted his sarcastic remarks with a wave of your hand, although each sluggish movement seemed to tie itself around your stomach, heaving the muscle into the back of your throat, begging you to spill your guts in the empty parking lot. You weren’t worried for yourself, no, instead you took pity on the imagined owners of the place, how disgusted they’d be rinsing off such a mess in Tulsa heat. 

With eyebrows furrowed and a hand clasped to your stomach, you finally removed yourself from the car. Dallas was strides ahead of you, hands on his hips, eyes squinted from the overhead sun as he took in the state of the diner. He hadn’t noticed your state until you made your way beside him, and only then did a flicker of genuine worry cross his face.

“Hey.” His hands reached for you, one gentle against your back as the other braced your shoulder. “We can go home, y’know. I can make you something.”

It was sweet, truly, it was. But your mind quickly stilled all feelings of affection as the faint scent of coffee wafted through the air. “Yeah, no.” You shrugged his touch, mindlessly walking toward the refreshing scent that promised relief from the pressure within your skull.

A cowbell hung above the front door, announcing your entrance for whomever was indoors. You winced at the sudden noise, quickly moving yourself closer to the front counter. 

Pastries sat in a woven basket, and upon closer inspection, you realized that they were plastic. Decorations, you thought, dust-covered decorations. 

Bemused, you reached out to touch them. A scone sat toward the front, polished to look fresh from the oven. It reminded you of play food, and you turned to your side, expecting to find Dallas beside you.

Dallas, however, stood a few paces behind you, completely captivated by the nearby curtains. You turned halfway, the body still facing the front counter as you watched him swish the fabric between his fingers, a palpable look of confusion on his face. 

"This place a house?" He asked after a beat, continuing to play with the curtains. "These curtains, too homely for a business."

You shrugged, figuring it was better to leave it as a question than to impose something on a business you knew nothing of. All you truly knew was the building had a calming atmosphere, not unlike the way a relative’s house felt like home. Wafts of coffee and freshly baked pastries lingered in the air and any true questions you had vanished along with the passing scents. 

Dallas's conversation with himself must've caught the attention of whoever was in the next room over, or what you gathered to be the kitchen, as within the minute an older woman ducked into the front with a bright smile upon her face and enough flour on her apron to bake a cake. 

"Hello, you two." She greeted, her hands working nearly autonomously for two paper menus beneath the counter. "Sorry, I usually hear the bell. I'm in between batches, so I can get you both settled and get your orders in."

Before you could even begin to read, she ushered you and Dallas over toward a corner booth. The seats were worn, the age of the leather made apparent by the faint groan of the material as you seated yourself. She stood by your side, hip resting against the wooden border of the booth. To grant you both a bit of privacy, she kept her attention fixed on her notepad, which you were certain was devoid of any writing, but you internally thanked her for the gesture. 

Last week’s sermon echoed from a nearby radio, filling the silence shared between you and Dallas as you scooted into the seat across from his. A distant breeze flitted through cracked windows, bringing with it the dust of summer, the heat surprisingly pleasant underneath the hum of overhead fans.

Dallas drummed his fingers against the table, teeth biting his bottom lip, unconsciously picking away at the skin as his eyes scoured the menus. They were old, and used, but beautifully written. You envied the writing, as close to print as you could get with handwriting. The only tell for the pair having been handwritten was the pacing of certain letters and different arrangements of refreshments. 

"This place is as old as dirt," Dallas noted, lifting his menu, the midday sun reflecting off the notebook paper. You couldn't help but laugh at Dallas's bluntness, he never could keep in his thoughts.

"Dallas." You whispered through your laughter with a swat to his forearm. His brows furrowed together at the swat, and with a childish and feigned pout, he rubbed his hand against the already fading mark. You shook your head, returning your attention to the menu with a hushed, "Deserve it, y'know that? Can't keep in your thoughts for shit."

He snickered at your words, knowing the truth behind them well enough not to argue. It wasn't long before you both decided on what you wanted to drink, not that there was much to choose from. While the business was dedicated to coffee, there weren't too many brews to choose from. You decided on the house blend, while Dallas chose regular black coffee. 

"We're at a coffee place." Confusion was written heavily on your face as you handed over the menus to the woman you'd met earlier. "And you choose black coffee?"

"It's good." She interrupted, with a fair bit of laughter. "I don't blame him; my husband is the same way. He can't stand nothin' in his coffee besides the beans themselves."

"Can't stand any other types of coffee?" Dallas asked. "And you both own a coffee shop?"

"Dallas!" You chided. "Shut up!"

Whatever life she'd lived had granted her the patience of a saint, and you found yourself eternally grateful for it as she laughed, a genuine and kind laugh that took you by surprise. Not so much Dallas, however, who wore a cocky smirk on his face as he looked back at you. 

"You two crack me up." She laughed, taking a moment to wipe beneath her eyes. "I love how bold your generation is, don't take nothin' from no one."

Before you could utter an apology on behalf of your unapologetic counterpart, she departed from your booth with a fit of laughter. You were confused, but still grateful for her grace despite Dallas's blatant inability to process words before spewing them out.

"You're rude." You huffed, although your words came with a quirk up of your lips. "It's almost amazing how you don't think before you speak."

Dallas chuckled under his breath with a shrug of his shoulders, a careless and amused expression upon his face as he rested back against the booth seat. 

"Never claimed to be a thoughtful man." He replied with a lift of his hips, his right hand moving beneath him as he wrangled free a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. "You know, she never did answer my question." 

"No," You replied through a grin. "No, she did not." 

The sermon continued through crackling speakers, over the choir an older man spoke of the 'end times.' Dallas's attempts to strike his match were your only solace within the noise, and despite your enjoyment of his growing irritation, you decided to be kind. 

"Here-" You huffed as you leaned over the table, quickly snatching the match from his grasp before striking it against the table. Luckily, it lit, otherwise, you wouldn't've heard the end of it from Dallas. His eyebrows rose in nonverbal appreciation as you held out the lit match, igniting the end of his cigarette. 

"How are you goin' to taste the coffee with cigarette on your tongue?" You asked, genuinely curious as you waved away the plumes of smoke that left his lungs. 

"Just as I would normally." He replied, words dripping in sarcasm. "I'll drink it."

"Christ's sake." You sighed beneath your breath with a quick wave of your hand to extinguish the match. "Can't take pity on me even when I'm hungover?"

Dallas clicked his tongue against his teeth, a rough breath leaving him, a dramatic show of his pondering of your words. He rolled his head back, hand moving toward his mouth to hold his cigarette steady as he took pull, after pull. 

"I'll take pity on 'ya." He stated, pulling his cigarette from between his lips. "Just this once."

The thick scent of cigarette smoke permeated the air, mingling with the growing presence of freshly brewed coffee. It was an oddly sweet mixture, one you didn't entirely mind as you rested back against the booth, the soft material warmed by the sun pouring in from the nearby windows. 

You weren't left to wallow in silence for too long before the creaking sound of the kitchen doors echoed through the front of the diner. Dallas's head turned to the side, his eyes squinting, lips lifting into a smile at the sight of the woman approaching with her hands full of coffee. 

"You need help with that?" You quickly asked, hardly giving her a second to answer as you moved to stand. She shook her head, uttering a quick, "Aht!" 

The noise caught you off-guard, it was something you'd grown used to hearing from your parents as a child, whenever you got into something you weren't supposed to - not from a woman you barely knew. 

Dallas, however, found it hilarious. His head fell back in laughter, genuine, almost stomach-hurting laughter. You couldn't help but laugh along with him as you raised your hands, a sight that pleased the older woman as she sat down your coffee, as well as Dallas's. 

"Sorry, hun." She apologized, although you could tell she hardly meant it. Not that you needed an apology in the first place. "It's the only noise my boys ever listened to, got them to quit real quick. Didn't want you gettin' up for a service I'm providin' you."

“No, no. It’s fine.” You were quick to reassure her, laughter still threading through your words. 

Once you and Dallas were settled, albeit with occasional bouts of laughter, she made her way around the counter and disappeared back into the kitchen. 

The mugs weren’t commercial, yours wore the faded markings of an old Mother’s Day quote, while Dallas’s had a faded I-95-mile marker plastered on the front. You traced your fingers over the letters, wondering how old it was, and who had gifted it. 

Dallas spared no such thought to his, quickly lifting the heated ceramic to his lips with a murmured, “Finally.” 

You understood his plight, nothing quelled a hangover better than caffeine or a greasy meal – preferably both, but neither of you had the appetite, so coffee would suffice. 

Dallas groaned around his first mouthful, and you weren’t certain if it was due to the temperature or the taste until you watched as he swallowed back another, and then another.

“Jesus Christ, Dal.” Your eyes widened as you watched him. “That good?”

He answered with a hearty sigh, upper lip reddened by the sharp temperature of the coffee. You had yet to take a sip, your fingers flared against the ceramic, hardly able to stand the heat for too long. At his insistence, although nonverbal, you raised your mug to your lips. 

The taste was robust, flaring across your tongue in a flavor so soothing you couldn’t help but clutch the mug. Coffee, made by yourself, was usually instant. The jar toward the front of your local grocery store, the little granules permeating the air in your apartment before you had even begun to brew it. It was safe to say that neither you nor Dallas were used to home-brewed coffee, and it showed in both of your expressions. 

In a laugh filled with surprise, you lowered your mug from your lips. Dallas met your expression with a lift of his brow, his lips downturned. Conversation between you died down, replaced by the distant crooning of an old Johnny Cash song. 

It was comfortable, the silence you shared. You allowed yourself to relax, back pressed to the crackled leather of the booth seat as you held your mug close. 

Outside you could spot the afternoon traffic, people in their cars fixed with varying expressions of fatigue – and yet there you were, seated across from Dallas in a diner neither of you would’ve picked under any other circumstance. 

As though he sensed your thoughts, Dallas placed his mug down against the counter. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

The normal sarcastic tone Dallas took was no longer present, instead, he looked at you with a smile, albeit a lazy one. You nodded, “Yeah, yeah it is.” 

Neither of you had plans for the day ahead, and so you spent the better part of an hour in that booth, conversing over refill, after refill of your respective mugs. When your stomach grumbled for something other than coffee and pastries, you and Dallas decided to leave. 

Dallas vehemently swore that the surprise visit counted as a date. The argument escalated, playfully, while you both rustled through your pockets for whatever change you could muster up. As Dallas fingered through his bills, you grabbed a napkin, hastily scrawling down the address of the diner with a pen Dallas had stolen from a recent hospital visit. 

Whether it was a date or not, you and Dallas were certain to return - hopefully without a hangover. 

A/N: I live! Huzzah! I figured I'd surprise you guys with a cute lil' funny story with Dallas! I have several, and I mean several stories lined up. This one took precedent, which is kinda stupid considering I did a poll and everything. Life has been really stressful, but I'm slowly getting my groove back. I hope you all enjoy this, and thank you all so much for your continuous support. I love you all so much.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Nine: Time Mends the Broken

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: 9.2k words later and here we are! That's almost as much as the other Ch. The Long Night. Finally, Jace and his sister talk about what's happened to them! I know some of y'all have been waiting for that. We really go deep into the reader and Aemond's dynamic in this one too. As always, thank you for your patience and happy reading! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Chapter Warnings: ✨Targaryen queerness✨, melodramatic young adults, mentions of rape, Alicent being delulu, toxic relationships.

As your family arrived at the Red Keep, they quickly vanished, and your mother ordered your maids to repack your belongings. If you ever were, you were no longer welcomed in King’s Landing and planned to return to Dragonstone within the night. Part of you thought you would be relieved at the notion of ending your stay abruptly, seeing as you never wanted to return in the first place, yet you couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment in the pit of your stomach as you helped Edwina collect your belongings. 

The magnitude of the situation engulfed you, leaving you unable to carry on with your duties. While the other maids of the Keep merely cast fleeting glances in your direction, Edwina, your lady-in-waiting, observed your distress with sincere concern.

“Your Highness, are you feeling well?” Edwina asked as she finished folding a pearl and turquoise dress into your trunk.

As you nodded, you offered her a weak, forced smile, which resembled more of a grimace. Your eyes quickly darted towards your weathered, old wooden wardrobe. You couldn’t quite remember if it was positioned in the same spot as it had been six years ago.

“I am,” you sighed, walking to the balcony doors. These were not welded shut as you pressed the handle. “The day has been tiresome, and now we must depart after being here for a mere breath. I want to take a moment of solace.”

She gazed at you with a weary expression, her eyes filled with apprehension, as she observed you making your way to the overlook. As you breathed the fresh air, recollections of the last time you were on a balcony flashed before Edwina. Still, her anxiety gradually subsided as she noticed you choosing to sit on a stone bench rather than the railing.

The imposing walls of the Red Keep emanated a chilling aura that seemed to seep into your very marrow. The unknown secrets concealed within its ancient stones caused an involuntary shiver to run down your spine. You couldn’t help but wonder what tales they would tell if given the chance. 

Would they reveal the long-buried truths about your family’s past and confirm the whispers surrounding your lineage? Would they speak with a tender understanding as they recounted the night of your most profound sorrow? Or perhaps they would steadfastly guard their secrets, refusing to yield to any interrogation. 

It almost felt as if the walls were already whispering, hoarding their enigmatic knowledge until the distant future when they would finally crumble and release their concealed truths.

You longed for a glimpse into Aemond’s formative years and the events that molded him into the individual he is today, these red stone walls witnessed. Understanding the circumstances of his upbringing would clarify the questions that troubled your mind concerning the correspondence you penned. You held onto the hope that he read them, but uncertainty clouded your thoughts.

The heavy doors to the chambers of your childhood bedroom swung open with a resounding clang as the guard stationed outside announced the arrival of Queen Alicent. Your maids bowed as the formidable, angular figure of the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms entered the sanctity of your bedroom. You could not refuse her presence in this private space despite your reluctance.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted, rising from your seat. Refusing to give her any more pleasantries that would be customary, you observed the maids leave, Alicent’s round amber eyes focused on you.

“Won’t you come inside, princess? I wish to speak with you after all these years,” she humbly requested. 

You understood it was a command and acquiesced. A part of you wanted to be obstinate and force her to meet you in the cold late winter air, but the courtly manner instilled within you since birth prevailed as you gently shut the hickory-framed balcony doors. 

“Sit.” 

Alicent gracefully motioned towards the inviting, opulent settee in front of the crackling fire, asserting her ownership of the space with a subtle yet commanding gesture. Despite the prickling sensation of anxiety coursing through your skin, you obediently followed her lead, attempting to conceal your unease. With a deep, almost wistful sigh, she fixed her gaze upon you, exuding an affectionate warmth that reminded you of your mother, and tenderly placed her delicate palm on your hand. Struggling to suppress the instinct to pull away, you grappled with conflicting emotions.

The hush that filled the space between you stretched on, heavy and suffocating, yet the Queen remained oblivious to its weight. To her, your company was a balm after enduring years shrouded in darkness without her guiding radiance.

“I wanted to apologize for Aemond’s behavior this evening. ‘Twas unbecoming of him,” she began, a prominent frown on her plump lips. “These grievances from childhood have gone unjust for so long that his anger has consumed him.”

Nodding grimly, you focused on the hearth, the orange and blue flames dancing with the moaning drafts. “Indeed. Jace, Luke, and I were not always kind to him growing up, but we did not know any better. We followed Aegon around like newborn pups until...”

“I know, my light. Perhaps an apology could soothe Aemond’s wounds?” she comforted, smoothing the unruly strands of your updo. You apologized years ago for your part in his torment, but you didn’t believe your brothers would extend the courtesy, nor would you change Aemond’s blackened heart. “You’ve grown so much in years past. I mourn not being able to be there to guide you.”

You sat there, not saying a word, and responded with a noiseless, polite, yet uneasy smile. You carefully withdrew your hand from hers, and to mask the action, you casually scratched the back of your neck, noticing the sensation of the tiny strands of hair beneath your fingertips.

“My letters? Did you get them?” Alicent questioned, desperate to prolong any contact with you.

You were unsure how to answer, knowing it would be unwise to tell her outright that you did but didn’t answer out of malice. For six years, Queen Alicent was left to stew with her thoughts and illusions, and you worried that if you conflicted them, she would become as unstable as she did the night of Driftmark.

“I was worried what my mother would say should she discover them, so I never wrote.” You supposed telling her part of the truth wouldn’t be a lie. You were concerned about what your mother would do if she found out you wrote to Alicent, but you still had no desire to speak to her.

She looked at you with sympathy, coming to caress the plumpness of your face with her knuckle. It seemed as if she couldn’t become close enough to you. “I see. I’m sorry you must endure that, but you are here now. Together once more.” 

What could you say to her and still keep the pleasantries? After everything that happened, from Aegon to Driftmark, you no longer held Queen Alicent in the same regard. The conversation did not come easily, and you could tell she noticed. 

“Rhaenyra plans to return on the morrow once she sees your family home. I would like you to come with her. You’ve barely just arrived, and Helaena would enjoy more time with you. She and I would love for you to meet the twins,” she smiled, sounding so hopeful it caused a pit in your stomach. “You and Aemond were friends before he lost his eye. I understand he seems to have changed greatly since you last saw him, yet I feel that the goodness inside him will prevail over time,” the Queen retook your hand, disregarding your obvious discomfort, “with you by his side.” 

Stare growing wide, you turned to Alicent, feeling a panic beat inside your chest like the wings of a dragon. “What do you mean?” 

Was the Queen still so desperate to have you join her family? 

She gave you the briefest of smiles as she tilted her head, studying your countenance as if you were some holy text. You changed as much as Aemond in Alicent’s eyes, yet she knew you were still hers. No distance or time could break the cord that tethered her to you. You were back home where you belonged, and although she was happy to be united with Rhaenyra, she would not let her dream be taken from her once more.

“No person knows one’s child better than their mother. I saw how he looked at you, eye never trailing too far from yours, poised to protect your honor. I worried I would witness a fight between Aemond and Aegon when he took you to dance,” she confessed. Your breath quickened, and you felt relief knowing what you felt wasn’t inside your head. 

“You want me to return to King’s Landing so Aemond and I…” You couldn’t say it aloud; words stuck in your throat. 

“Yes,” Alicent grinned, showing perfectly white teeth as she brought you close. Instinctively, she pulled your head into the crook of her neck, smelling her distinctive scent as she rubbed circles across your back. It was still the same frankincense after all these years, and you felt the fond memories of time spent with Alicent come flooding back. 

The tea times filled with sweets, laughter, and smiles entered your mind until it was replaced with the sound of Aemond’s scream, blood dripping from your mother’s wrist. You could not bring yourself to part from the Queen out of fear of what she would do. Alicent seemed so happy, yet you could sense the undercurrent of instability should you suddenly reject her affections. There was no choice but for you to accept whatever she wanted if it meant that there would be no more animosity between your families.

“I will confer with the king before bed and inform your mother when you return. This is a joyous occasion for us, my light,” she said, pulling your body impossibly tighter as you felt your hidden face contort into a weary grimace. 

You loved Aemond after all these years, but you held an uncertainty about whether he would overcome his grudges for the good of your House, and that did not account for whether your mother would agree to the proposal. She refused for you to marry into the Greens before, and with you being her heir, she might use you as all people did to their daughters, though you hoped you would be allowed to have some choice. Even if this wasn’t one, you desired to wed Aemond, if not out of love, but to secure peace between the two warring factions and your mother’s inheritance. 

Suddenly, the shared door to your childhood chambers opened and unexpectedly revealed your twin. Jace stood there breathless, not expecting you to have a visitor as he observed you tucked within the Queen’s embrace. He noticed the uneasy expression on your visage, brown eyes flicking from you to her, unsure what to do. 

At the acknowledgment of Jace’s presence, Alicent released you without a word, smoothing her structured gown with an air of cold indifference that enveloped her as she stood. 

“Sleep well, Princess,” she dismissed with a gentle nod. The necklace of the Seven-Pointed Star resting on her chest glittered in the candlelight as she left, not sparing a glance at your brother.

You and Jace did not speak. He was too stunned to see you and Alicent in a shared embrace, especially after what happened in the dining hall. That person shaped Aemond into the man he is today, sculpting the fresh clay of his mind into despising his niece and nephews. 

“What did she want?” Jace finally decided to ask with a defensive stance on his thin body. 

Sighing, you held your temples in your palms, a dejected sensation coming over you like a shroud. What could you say to him? The truth, you supposed. You never lied to your twin, but this did not feel like something you could tell him, especially after what occurred tonight. He would be upset at the notion and run to tell your mother.

“She apologized for Aemond’s behavior at supper,” you answered with exhaustion, the day’s turmoil finally taking its toll. You faced the trauma of your past without preparation and watched a man’s head get sliced clean through. You deserved to take a moment’s rest. 

Jace’s dark brows furrowed, more questions than answers coming to mind as he approached your slouched form. Typically, you would lean into his presence like no others, seeking comfort only your blood could give. At this moment, it did not feel right to do so. The past, present, and future hung heavy on your soul.

“You were embracing her,” your twin stated, which seemed to disgust him. “Where do you think Aegon and Aemond learned their behaviors?” 

Standing with a groan of annoyance, you paced to your partially packed clothes trunk, attempting to find anything to distance yourself from Jace’s pointed interrogation. “Yes, brother. When one apologizes, they tend to form some connection to express their sincerity.”

Jace scoffed, his lean body swiftly following your steps. “Are you unwell? Since the hearing, you’ve been cold with me.” 

“And why do you suppose that is?” you spun with a bark, eyes wide with vexation. Jace said not a word, curling his lips to wet them in anxiety. You knew he knew the reason but couldn’t understand why your brother refused to act as if nothing changed. “The future we grew up believing together is now nothing but a childish fantasy. Do you not comprehend how that makes me feel? To live with one thing so constant in life only for it to be ripped away in mere moments?”

Silence decorated the room, leaving the only sound to be the crackling of the roaring fire and thumping of your broken heart. Tears burned your nose, flowing down your cheeks in a salty mixture of scorn and sadness. 

“I understand that you feel as upturned as I do, but you have someone to love and hold in your life. Something that can give you that certainty in your life only it can. I…” your voice broke, filled with emotions that threatened to drown you. “I now have to find that something—to navigate a world full of men who will lie, betray me, and think themselves worth more than they are so that they may reach ultimate power. I will become a prize to win rather than someone’s daughter, someone who lives and breathes and has desires of her own.”

Jace could see you spiraling, sinking into a pit of melancholy he feared you would not crawl out of. He realized he hadn’t stopped to think about what you could genuinely be feeling. It was given that you felt the same shock, rage, and disappointment he did, but beyond that, he hadn’t considered what this meant for your relationship or future. 

To have someone be your first in everything and grow up with the idea that they would also be your last stunted emotional and social growth with others. Jace was given the comfort of knowing who would be his new end, but you weren’t afforded the luxury. A selfish part of him hoped you would never find someone in this sense. You were his sister. He realized this was the ego of a self-centered man speaking, not the brother you cherished with your body and soul.

Not knowing how to improve this impossible situation, Jace brought you close, holding your sobbing form in his familiar arms. He felt your fingers clench his tunic as you attempted to ground yourself. Tears soon fell from his dark lashes and onto your crown. You looked at him with matching sorrow, instinctively stroking the soft bone of his cheek in the manner you knew simultaneously weakened and emboldened him. 

Sleep did not come easy to Aemond on this night despite the intense wine he drank at dinner to ease his soul. How could the Prince find sleep after what happened? After he was forced to sit and break bread with the people who altered his life forever? You were never his family, yet thoughts of your shared youth and camaraderie infected his mind like grayscale. It loomed over him like dark clouds beckoning a storm.

Alicent, his mother, whom he cherished dearly, cowered in her beliefs at the mere notion that her long-lost friend gave even the slightest acknowledgment. She impressed upon Aemond, and his siblings Rhaenyra’s flaws and the sins she called children were abominations unfit to inherit the Crown. Now, after merely six years, none of that seemed to matter. He felt angry—betrayed. Was this not what his mother wanted of him? For Aemond to stand behind Aegon’s claim and their family regardless of the web, Rhaenyra spun around her.

The sting of tears sprung in his violet eye, but Aemond quickly willed them to stop by replacing them with his fury. He was not weak. He held the family together, and you were not the family his mother claimed you to be. Had it not been for your kin’s unprecedented arrival, all would be as it should be. A father he longed for attention from but never got, on the Stranger’s door, his brother drowning himself in his cups instead of your presence, and you, far across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, living a life you were undeserving of. Aemond did feel slightly vindicated when he saw your ghostly expression when Princess Rhaenys stated Jacaerys’s betrothal.

The Prince understood then that your life was capsizing, but at least you still had two plain, working eyes.

His ire was no longer contained, and his mind continued to reel, boiling over until he threw the bedsheets from his tense body and dawned a nightshirt. Aemond hated you. He loathed you and was not one to leave a conversation without the upper hand as he left his chambers, slinking into one of Maegor’s secret passages. 

It was involuntary how Jace’s body responded to yours, your touch so familiar it was impossible not to succumb to the sins of the past as your moist lips met. Heat ignited inside your loins as it did his, your hands winding themselves inside his choppy hair, barely taking a minute to breathe. You were unsure who was the first to disrobe the other, grabbing one another’s buckles and strings until there was nothing but air between your hot flesh.

“We shall say goodbyes to our previous beliefs tonight, Jace. I shall not be your whore and sister,” you declared against his cheek as you lowered him onto your childhood bed. “Nor shall you be mine. I respect your union far more than that.” 

“And I yours,” Jace quickly replied with a strained grunt, settling his cock between your wet folds as you rocked yourself to full arousal.

It would be difficult for both of you to navigate new bodies for the first time again, to find what made the other person curl their toes in abandon. For Jace, you knew how he loved the way it felt to be inside you to the fullest extent and saw how his older sister rode him to take her pleasure. For you, Jace knew that the little nub at the top of your silt was the epicenter for the majority of your pleasure, teasing the thing with his mouth, tongue, digits, and whatever else he could to see you so grateful for him.

You suddenly longed for your twin despite being in his presence, reminding yourself of your torturous time apart as you leaned forward, devouring his pouty lips and balancing yourself to become one. Your slick walls welcomed Jace inside like they were his home, feeling the head brush against the sensitive spot deep inside, the pair of you moaning into each other’s mouths as you began to move with gradual and firm movements of your hips. Each grind and lift of your body slowly bloomed ecstasy between your thighs, using your hands and core to savor yet heighten the experience to reach that inevitable peak. 

Aemond expected you to be alone, or at the very least, with a maid when he reached the destination Aegon had shown him. He did not ask how his brother knew of such things, though the answer was clear. Whatever semblance of a plan Aemond conjured on his march through the damp tunnels was abruptly extinguished once he heard your girlish cries—loathing to admit it aloud, the Prince’s ire softened at the noise. He grunted, poised to open the wall and have him be the reason you wailed, but he ceased his movements at the deep timbre that comforted your sorrows. 

It was Jace. The beloved brother you would willingly give up your life for, holding you within his arms as you sobbed. The sight flared his nostrils and sent a burning sensation to his stomach that he tried to ignore.

It was expected that your twin would be in your bed chambers. Aemond knew of the rumors surrounding your closer-than-normal sibling relationship. While it wasn’t seen as taboo in Targaryen customs, the common folk who practiced the Faith certainly would see it as a sin if they knew. 

The One-Eyed Prince stood silently in the dim recesses concealed behind the rough-hewn stone wall. His breath barely made a sound as he cautiously pried it open enough to glimpse the unfolding scene. A flicker of annoyance shot through him at the thought of Jace unexpectedly discovering his presence. He stifled the urge to groan, focusing instead on the poignant sobs that echoed through the air. 

Before him were the illegitimate children of his half-sister, caught in their web of delusions, seemingly convinced that they could escape the relentless strains of duty that had ensnared so many before them. Aemond watched with disdain and pity, realizing they were blissfully unaware of the sacrifices the world demanded of them in exchange for power and prestige. You and your brother sat huddled together, your voices trembling thick with emotion as you expressed the despair of being forced into marriages with people you barely knew, let alone desired.

Aemond’s gaze narrowed as he observed your youthful faces, illuminated by the waning light flickering with the candles. Your immaturity was evident. The rawness of your feelings revealed how little you understood the harsh realities of noble life. It was a bitter irony, this burden, the necessity of sacrificing personal happiness for strategic alliances. The weight of such obligations pressed heavily on your shoulders, a burden that felt especially crushing in your youthful naivety.

Embraces soon turned to caresses, which morphed into kisses as he observed Jace untie the laces of your crimson gown. Aemond felt his stomach lurch, the involuntary fear of the events being nonconsensual guiding his sudden urge to protect you. He halted his movements as he watched you disrobe your brother, blood draining from his heart and into his cock when he saw your naked form.

The womanly figure he saw within the courtyard was able to be admired. The slope of your elongated neck that still held your necklace led down to your two perfect mounds of flesh, rounded and shaped almost to the teardrops that sparkled on your skin—a soft place to rest your head in comfort. Curves and rolls decorated the rest of your body as he watched you move in time with Jace, bestowing upon Aemond the perfect view of your hips that were sturdy and plush, housing a womb to bear your future husband’s children.

Your body was a picture of the Maiden, Aemond mused, feeling his cheeks heat with growing desire. You were a depiction of a woman, so soft and plump, a perfect contrast that would fit with his muscular and sinewy body. The Prince could imagine your stomach stretched with a child and breasts full of milk as they leaked through pert nipples and onto his tongue.

The shame Aemond felt at thinking such things of his bastard niece warred in his mind, logic battling with lust as his breeches became too tight. He refused to succumb to his sinful desires and embraced the pain of his longing.

A flicker of callow hope lingered in the shadowy corners of Aemond’s mind as if clinging to the possibility that the gossip regarding you and your twin was nothing but a cruel fabrication. He wrestled with the notion of you as a sensual being, a struggle deepened by the haunting memories of Aegon’s transgressions against you. Like the common folk, he had unknowingly fallen prey to a comforting illusion—seeing you as a paragon of virtue, a righteous martyr navigating the treacherous waters of adolescence with grace and fortitude. 

To him, you were a pure maiden, your spirit untainted, who had bravely borne the trials and tribulations that beset young women, emerging with a noble resolve. The small childish part of Aemond wanted to believe you had sworn off the temptations that often ensnared others, choosing instead a path marked by selflessness and a profound commitment to righteousness. This image of you, painted in broad strokes of light and virtue, had unwillingly taken root in his mind, making the idea of you as anything other than an emblem of purity feel surreal and disconcerting.

The Prince noiselessly grunted in agony as his manhood painfully beat against the confines of his trousers, only for it to be swallowed by the soft sounds unique to only sex. He childishly hoped that he would be the man to break his imagined vow of chastity you took, but now he realized how much of a fantasy it was as he watched you take your twin’s cock between your glistening folds. 

Jace was the only thing that felt right to you today, like the embrace of a loved one you hadn’t seen in years. Your hip movements were practiced as they held the knowledge of what made your brother’s abdomen clench in ecstasy. You could feel your brother’s hands on you, so gentle, tender, and loving, having nothing of the malice your uncle carried today. 

Seeing Aemond now a man instead of the wide-eyed boy you knew stirred something within you that you had pushed aside earlier, igniting a fire you had never known existed in your soul. You imagined him here now and what it would be like to feel his manhood nestled so profoundly within you that there was no end. While you enjoyed the recognizable feeling of Jace and his delicateness, now that you had gotten a taste for the depravity of your uncle in his place, you found your movements daunting. Your knees began to ache, and your thighs started to burn, abruptly extinguishing the pleasure that was blossoming in your core.

This had never happened before, and you pushed yourself to continue, crashing that high that was always promised at the end. 

Praying that Jace did not notice, you leaned forward as you attempted to lose yourself in his kiss, stroking the sides of his visage. The more you moved, the more discouraged you became, resorting to seeking your pleasure with your own hands as you rubbed at your pearl, but nothing worked.

Frustration overshadowed any fulfillment. Your ministrations and Jace’s cock felt like an intrusion into your walls. Faking your release would not end this once-enjoyed act, and you steeled yourself to ensure this would be over soon. 

You felt terrible for Jace. You knew he would stop at his detriment to ensure you were well, but you refused to utter the reason behind why your body had become so ineffective. 

“You feel so good, brother. I need you to…” The dryness in your mouth halted your lies as you concealed it with a look of satisfaction. “I need you to finish. I’m so close.” Jace was none the wiser, too lost in pleasure as he profusely nodded.

It was painfully evident to anyone who glanced your way that you had lost interest in the moment. Your posture was rigid, and your eyes were clouded with discontent. Aemond couldn’t help but feel a troubling sense of satisfaction at that realization as if he had uncovered a hidden complexity in the situation. 

Your brother, Jace—the very same person you always believed understood you on a deeper plane—remained blissfully unaware of the turmoil swirling within you. His gaze lingered on your face, but it lacked the perceptiveness needed to grasp the subtle but clear signs of your unhappiness.

Aemond’s thoughts raced. If only he were in his nephew’s shoes, he would have sensed the disturbance immediately. Unlike Jace, who seemed consumed by his emotions, Aemond had a keen intuition that allowed him to read the room with sharp clarity. He would not have focused on the fleeting pleasure of the moment. Instead, he would have delved beneath your act, seeking to uncover the reasons behind your discontent. Aemond envisioned himself beneath you, looking up at your flushed body with the intent of understanding the causes of your spiral, eager to address your needs and reignite the spark of ecstasy that once illuminated your expression.

If only…

Though it was mere minutes, it felt like hours, and you squeezed and loosened yourself around your twin’s cock, milking him in a way that would cause him fulfillment. He tried to stop you, taking hold of your plump hips as you continued. 

“Stop, sister. You haven’t… fuck…” Moving his palms to your breasts, you took control, sweat running down your neck from exertion as Jace struggled to keep himself from releasing. 

He was helpless. Toes curling and stomach clenching as you quickly lifted yourself off, stroking his pink shaft in place of your womanhood. Spurts of his pearlescent seed left from his pink tip and onto his waist and your hand, biting his lower lip in an attempt to silence his grunts of satisfaction as you slowed your movements so as not to overwhelm him. Jace’s heart raced inside his chest like a horse’s hooves as he came down from his high, fidgeting his legs and bringing your body up to kiss him. You did not mean to torture him, but it was finally done, and that was a relief in itself as you laid down beside him, stroking his hot torso. 

“You did not peak,” Jace began with a pout, moving himself to settle his body between your legs. “Let me make up for it.”

Inhaling a deep breath, you shook your head, pulling him up to rest beside you again. “There’s no need, brother. Your pleasure is enough to satisfy me,” you lied, stroking the choppy strands of his short hair behind his ear. He stared at you skeptically as you felt disgusted with yourself at the smell of sex in your bed chambers, causing revulsion to churn in your stomach. “Edwina will be back soon, and while I trust her, we do not need to risk another tongue-lashing from Mother. You are to be married soon and must be in her good graces. Come. Let me clean you.”

Jace sighed, slumping over his drying seed as you poured your drinking water into a bowl and gathered a cloth to wipe his stomach. You engrossed yourself in the action as you were too ashamed to speak, though your brother couldn’t possibly hate you more than you already did. 

Without many words between you, you helped him dress, throwing over an appropriate dress slip, smiling, and bestowing him fleeting touches not to have him worry. It was evident that Jace understood something was wrong, but the consequences for you and him, a betrothed man discovered in a compromising position, far outweighed any concerns. 

“Mother wants us ready to depart back to Dragonstone within the hour. We mustn’t waste any more time,” you ordered Jace in the way only you could, as he nodded.

Before he closed the door to your adjoining childhood chambers, he gave you one last kiss, saying farewell to the childish dreams of a future together. 

“I love you,” he stated. You gave him a bittersweet smile in return.

“And I you, more than the Gods allow.” 

Shutting the door behind him, you locked it, countenance dropping from the neutral expression to one of despair, sobs breaking from between your lips as you balanced yourself against the warm hearth.

The world around you felt utterly ruthless and deeply unjust, a suffocating weight pressing down on your heart. You couldn’t shake the bitterness that churned within you, directed at the memories of your past with Jace. It was painful to reflect on the years you spent entranced by the fantasy of life together, imagining the vows you would exchange and the family you would build. The reality, however, was a far cry from those dreams, each illusion crumbling under the harsh light of truth. 

Your mother’s actions echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain. It felt like she had orchestrated this betrayal all along, waiting for the opportunity to use her children. She wielded Jace and Luke as pawns, manipulating emotions to untangle her political complications, leaving you feeling forgotten and unutilized. In her quest to alleviate her burdens, your mother dismantled the very dreams you held dear, leaving you adrift in a sea of disappointment, grappling with the profound loss of a future you thought was within your grasp.

Through the haze of tears clouding your vision, you caught a glimpse of the wall beside your wardrobe, protruding ever so slightly as if it were hiding a secret. The air hung heavy with tension, and a chill ran down your spine. Only one person could be moving through the shadows of the Red Keep at this hour. Panic gripped your heart, tumbling down to your bare feet and leaving you frozen, an unwilling statue in the dim light. 

As you willed your limbs to move, you shuffled awkwardly across the cold wooden floor, acutely aware that Aegon was most likely watching you. The door to your brother’s room and the hallway felt painstakingly far away. The only option left was the balcony, its railing looming like an unwelcoming edge over the moat of spikes encircling Maegor’s Holdfast. 

The thought of plunging into those treacherous spikes sent a shiver through you. For now, hiding seemed your best chance. If you could buy yourself time, you might gain enough distance from Aegon to run to the hall full of guards.

With a whisper of dread, you crawled beneath your bed, the coarse dust and sticky cobwebs clinging to your dress and skin like the entrapments of a forgotten cellar. The muffled thud of footsteps echoed from the far wall, sending shivers down your spine as you watched Aegon’s boot enter your chambers, its polished leather glinting ominously in the dim light. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, a frantic drum of terror, as he paused at the foot of your bed, the air thick with unspoken tension.

With a sinking feeling, you covered your eyes with trembling hands, desperately praying to the Seven for Edwina’s swift return, but your silent plea hung unanswered around you. You heard Aegon grunt softly, the sound unsettling as he shuffled closer, his heavy shoes brushing against the stone floor. Every nerve in your body was taut with fear as you felt his gaze sweep beneath the bed, searching for you in the shadows.

A firm hand clamped around your arm, jolting you with a scream that echoed in the stillness. As your eyes fluttered open, you were met not with Aegon’s familiar, cropped hair but with a cascade of silver locks flowing down a lithe figure. Aemond knelt before you, his intense gaze focused and calculating as he studied your trembling form. The tension in the air hung heavy around you, amplifying the fear pulsing through your veins. You felt the warmth of his grip as he observed you, the world around fading into a blur, leaving only the sharp clarity of his presence.

Aemond found it almost laughable that you thought cowering beneath the bed, like a frightened child, could shield you from the world outside. He noted how a part of your gown, delicate and flowing, peeked out. In comparison, some of him relished his power to instill fear in you. A more profound understanding stirred within him as he noted your quivering lips, brows arched in fright. It wasn’t merely his presence that had regressed you to this vulnerable state. The haunting memory echoed in your mind whenever you lay in the stillness of twilight.

He recalled, in vivid detail, the night Aegon had violated you—a night marred by betrayal and anguish. You had confided in him, recounting how his older brother lured you through the shadowy tunnels with sweet promises of a secret just for you. The realization struck Aemond like a dagger. Your reaction was rooted in that traumatic experience, a natural response to the horror you had endured. Yet, as those memories surfaced, they ignited a fierce anger within him that dulled his compassion and overshadowed his instinct to comfort.

“If you’re here to hurt me, know that my Lady will be here any moment,” you whispered, tears glistening on your cheeks. The Prince felt transported back in time, seeing your girlish face before him like it had not aged from when you crawled into his bed and shared your first kiss.

“I have no want for depravity,” Aemond announced, releasing your arm. He rose from his crouched position but did not leave your room. This reminded him of the night you came to sleep in his chambers for this very reason, and he felt his black heart lighten at the tremble of your frightened voice.

“Then why are you here?” You were so weak and pathetic, nothing like the strong dragon you had portrayed yourself to be hours prior. 

Aemond sighed through his nose, seemingly exhausted from the conversation, sitting on the mattress above you as it creaked. “I’ve come to finish our conversation from earlier,” he declared casually with the cross of his leg. “Won’t you spare me the dignity of discussing such matters face to face?”

“I am quite content down here,” you quipped with a sniffle, fear still controlling your actions. “Say your piece.”

You heard him chuckle from above, a smirk no doubt on his features. “My brother will not harm you. He’s off to the Silk Streets at this very moment, drowning himself in wine and women,” the Prince offered in consolation. He hoped to get you out from under the bed, but he did find the situation amusing. 

“I pity them. Do you blame me for being so cautious after what happened tonight?” You wanted to prolong this momentary peace even if it was surrounding the gossip of another. “How Aegon so shamelessly flouted about the room? You saw how he acted, Aemond.”

“You are not innocent in the matter either, niece,” Aemond hummed as you covered an offended scoff. “If I recall, your dear twin took his wife and flouted about the room with her.” 

Your fierce sense of injustice compelled you to wriggle out from beneath the bed, carefully brushing off the dust and specks of debris that had settled on your gown. It was a soft fabric that now seemed to bear the marks of your hiding place, but you paid it little mind. Aemond lounged atop your rumpled bed sheets, occupying your space with an air of casual superiority as if he belonged there. 

His loosely draped clothing accentuated his figure, and you found it challenging to divert your gaze from the exposed expanse of his collarbones. The pale sheen of his skin contrasted starkly with the messiness of the room, momentarily captivating you and stealing your breath away. The atmosphere thrummed with an unspoken tension, drawing note to the uncharted territory between you.

“He-he touched me as if he did not tear my womanhood and make me bleed!” you exclaimed, a fresh wave of tears collecting at your dark lashes. “And you were there, uncle. You watched it happen. Do you not recall your promise made on a night such as this? Would you protect me from him so long as I was by your side? I am here before you.”

Aemond’s face was impassive, a blank stone carved with only his features. “You couple with your brother, and yet you are the one to lecture me? You’re a whore.”

You knew it was only a matter of time before he spoke about what he saw in the shadows, but having it brought to light did not ease the knot of shame within your stomach. 

“Whatever insults you have conjured up, know that I’ve already thought of them myself,” you braced, attempting to build a wall around your heart. Despite the difference in position, Aemond sitting in what would be a submissive manner, you felt like the lesser one, embracing your torso in self-consolation.

The Prince remained unnervingly quiet, his expression a hardened mask of arrogance. Shadows danced across his chiseled features as the dim light caught the high curve of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw. He tilted his head slightly, allowing his moonlit hair to fall just enough to enhance his regal demeanor. A deep, resonant hum emerged from his throat, filling the air with a somber melody that seemed to echo the weight of unspoken thoughts. His eyes, usually filled with a fierce brightness, now held an undercurrent of fear—a fear that crept in like a shadow. He was aware that if he broke this silence, his voice might waver, revealing the regret that festered within him. 

Aemond feared you would hear the tremor of the boy he once was, the dragonless child who had craved approval and affection and still felt the sting of past failures. The thought of you seeing him in such a vulnerable light sent a shiver of apprehension through him, driving him to maintain his proud appearance. 

“I have been told since birth that Jace was to be my husband, yet now the foundations of my life have been uprooted because of one man’s ambitions,” you argued, feeling your body flush with anger instead of this dreadful sadness. “I feel like a fool for doing such things. I understood it was wrong at the time, yet this part of me was so bent on taking back something stolen from me. To prove to myself that sex was not about pain and control but something to enjoy.”

“All people succumb to sins of the flesh,” Aemond replied. It was a bland reply that showed little sympathy for you, but you expected nothing less from him. You were grateful enough that he hadn’t closed the conversation off so that only his wrath spoke.

Inhaling a stuttered breath, you wiped away the water that soaked your skin, a futile attempt at returning your dignity. “Men can fuck as they please without the stigma that surrounds women. If they fault and dabble with the flesh, it’s considered nothing more than their culture. When I am queen-”

“Aegon took me to a brothel when I was three and ten,” Aemond interrupted your tirade, causing you to pause with dissatisfaction, coloring your features. “He said, ‘Time to get it wet.’ I didn’t want to, but he paid the brothel Madame good coin, and I was forced to endure to show my brother that I was a man like him.” The fire within you softened, the tense muscles of your body deflating in empathy at his confession. “You are not the only one subjected to hypocrisy. I was supposed to enjoy it like a man, but all I felt was disgust.”

Perhaps it was the rich, intoxicating wine that Aemond had been consuming, or maybe the insidious notion that he held a threat over your head compelled him to confide in you. His revelations were not born out of genuine concern for you but reflected your insignificance in his eyes. 

That was the reason, nothing more.

He did not regard your thoughts or feelings as worthy of consideration. After all, a Prince of his stature would not be so vulnerable as to divulge his most profound shame to his illegitimate niece, expecting that with her bleeding heart, she would offer him understanding or solace. 

Aemond carried the weight of the pig incident like a brand upon his soul, an indelible memory that refused to fade. The sting of Aegon’s words lingered in his mind, a fresh wound that festered even after losing his eye to Lucerys, a brutal reminder of his vulnerability. 

The image of Aegon loomed ominously in his memories, particularly the night in the brothel, where the air was thick with the stench of spilled wine and sweat. Aegon’s skin glistened with an unappealing stickiness, the remnants of revelry clinging to him as he towered over Aemond, his posture a hazy blend of mockery and drunken arrogance. Beneath the veil of alcohol swirling in his veins, Aegon’s cruel laughter cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving, each word a fresh dagger aimed directly at Aemond’s heart. The echoes of that taunting laughter haunted him, a bitter reminder of the pain inflicted by the very brother who should have stood by his side.

“Ensure that you stay perfectly still, brother. We don’t want you to miss it.”

You exhaled slowly, a deep sigh laced with a sense of melancholy as a rush of emotions threatened to spill over. The fresh start of tears hovered beneath the surface, their warmth urging to escape, but you clenched your jaw and willed them to remain hidden, trapped within your mouth. 

Aemond sat before you, his expression hardened and his stance resolute. He did not welcome sympathy or pity. Those sentiments would isolate him further, pushing him deeper into his turmoil. What Aemond truly needed—more than any platitude about family values—was someone who could listen and sense the heavy shadows lurking behind his guarded words. He craved understanding, a connection that transcended judgment, a safe space to unburden his heart without fear of condemnation or lectures. At that moment, all he needed was an empathetic ear, ready to hear him amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

“Aegon is vile. A part of me hoped he would spare you from his cruelty, though I should have known. His mind is twisted and barbarous and holds no honor. You know this as I do,” you preached. 

The longing to embrace Aemond was overwhelming, a fierce yearning that coiled tightly within you, causing your fingers to flex and relax in a restless rhythm. You understood the delicate nature of his emotions, aware that a sudden move could send him retreating into the impenetrable and cold fortress he had constructed around his heart. With that thought in mind, you opted for a tentative approach, positioning yourself at a respectful distance on the plush feather mattress, allowing the space between you to serve as a shield and a bridge in this intricate dance of intimacy and caution. The softness of the mattress cradled your form, yet your heart raced with the desire to close that distance, to reach out and let him know how deeply you cared.

“Your mother spoke with me tonight. She wants me to return tomorrow with my mother and finally propose an engagement to unite our House.” You steadied your breath as you felt Aemond’s piercing, violet eye on you, his face turning into a mask. You could see his mind reeling at your proximity and your following words, trying to decipher what would come next.

“I owe my life to you for what you did for me. You stopped Aegon from debasing me further and became my friend despite how poorly I treated you,” your voice cracked with conviction as you reflected on the regrets of your childhood. “Accept this betrothal, and we will live out those childhood times again. You’ll be my husband and I, your wife, taking to the skies together like I promised. We will rule the Seven Kingdoms, and you will be king. Aegon will no longer hurt us.” 

Your words were like honey in his ear, dripping from the comb full of its viscous sweetness and into his blood. The tension within your stomach began to morph into something different, something warm yet exhilarating, as you saw fierce emotion crack through the lines of his face.

Courage filled you, rattling your bones and lifting your muscles to cup the side of Aemond’s scarred cheek as you softly stroked the indented skin. 

The surge of boldness that once ignited within you flickered and vanished, leaving a feeling of vulnerability that wrapped around you like a heavy cloak. Memories of the heartbreaking tragedies that life had heaped upon both of you flooded back, causing you to instinctively pull away, uneasy with the weight of it all. Yet, before you could fully retreat, Aemond’s hand closed around your wrist, his grip steady and unyielding, anchoring you to that fragile moment. 

Your breaths hung suspended in the air as you found yourself lost in his gaze, two souls suspended in time, teetering on the brink of understanding. It felt as though you could plunge deep into the shadows of his thoughts, unraveling the secrets he kept buried within. The silence stretched around you, thick with unspoken words, and a part of you was terrified to break it, fearing that doing so might shatter the delicate tranquility that had settled between you.

Time ceased to exist. It was only you and your uncle, two souls that had once been connected and torn asunder by hate that erupted long before your conception. You felt the gravity of the situation pulling you towards Aemond, and he, you, no longer seeing the world around you. The candlelight shade danced across the aquiline sculpture of his visage, creating a haunting beauty compared to the soft, cherubic plumpness of your face, round with conviction and moist with tears.

The moment couldn’t last long enough as you felt your knee collide with Aemond’s, sending a jolt through your core that made your breath hitch. The hand on your uncle’s ridged thigh clenched, fingers digging into his muscle as you observed how the tendons rippled with the movement, sending a wave of heat to your skin. You were certain Aemond felt the same, too, with his cheeks and ears tinged pink, tongue poking out to briefly wet his lip as his violet eye flicked to your swiftly rising and falling breasts.

Without warning, the doors to your bed chambers opened with a clang, revealing the Lady Edwina you had prayed for earlier. You did not want to pull away from him but knew the consequences of being caught in an improper position with a man. Aemond gave you no choice, curling his lip in dissatisfaction as he tightened his grip on your arm, refusing to let you remove the warmth of your touch on his face. 

It had been an eternity since he had felt the soothing warmth of a feminine embrace, a gesture that had become increasingly rare from his mother as the years had passed and he had grown older. The absence of that nurturing touch left a hollow ache in his heart. He craved the security and intimacy that such an embrace offered, and when you tried to pull away, he instinctively tightened his hold.

Edwina gasped with a quick “My Prince” as Aemond begrudgingly loosened his grip.

“Edwina, thank you for returning,” you said, voice cordial and gaze misty, “though I wish you would announce yourself.”

She curtsied, her cheeks scarlet. “Apologies, Your Highness.” 

Sighing, you glanced at Aemond, who had a dark expression, half thinking he should order the maid away or have her quartered for insolence. Sensing his vexation, you stood, placing a hand on your uncle’s sturdy shoulder, and offered a weak grin.

“All is forgiven. My uncle and I just finished discussing, didn’t we?” Aemond grunted in response, following your movements and brushing off your kind gesture. “Sleep well tonight, Prince Aemond. Know that my thoughts are with you.” 

He remained silent, his mask of the ruthless Prince falling perfectly back into place as he strode out of the room, leaving behind an oppressive air and not even a hint of a farewell. You sighed exasperated, rolling your eyes at the heavy doors as they swung shut with a resounding thud. Glancing over at your Lady, you caught her gaze, which held a deep, understanding glance that spoke volumes without the need for words. She surveyed your attire keenly before returning to her task of meticulously packing your belongings, her movements graceful yet methodical.

“Shall we summon the other maids?” Edwina asked with an airy shift in her tone that she acquired when in a jesting mood. She finally knew the answer as to who you so ardently sent ravens to in the Keep.

You offered a subtle nod, your gaze drifting to the elegant pitchers that adorned the polished writing table, each glinting softly in the dim light. With a graceful motion, you poured the deep crimson wine into a delicate glass, the rich aroma rising to meet you as it filled the vessel. The thought of leaving this stuffy gathering behind ignited a thrilling hope within you, quickening your heartbeat at the anticipation of returning to Aemond. The idea of being reunited with him filled you with an intoxicating sense of longing and excitement, making your pulse race with the promise of what was to come.

A profound sense of satisfaction enveloped Aemond as he walked through the torch-lit halls of the Keep. The flickering flames cast a warm glow, illuminating the intricacies of the stone walls that had witnessed countless secrets and whispered promises. The air was thick with the scent of burning resin and age-old timber, enhancing the atmosphere of history surrounding him. 

As he stepped into his chambers, a serene calm washed over him, slowly releasing the tension from his muscles as if he were shedding a burdensome weight. A curious sensation flickered within his chest, akin to the rush of emotions he had felt when he first kissed you all those years ago—a moment forever etched in his memory. A grin stretched his thin lips, a blend of nostalgia and anticipation brightening his features.

He envisioned a future where you would stand proudly by his side as his wife, the thought filling him with warmth. The image of your hands intertwined and the promise of building a family together painted a vivid picture in his mind. In that profound moment, he realized that the sacred ties of marriage would firmly anchor your loyalties, binding your fates together in a covenant that would weather any storm, ensuring that your heart would forever belong to Aemond.

Princess Rhaenyra’s only daughter would be his. 

Aegon’s ascension to the Iron Throne was inevitable, and he understood that accepting such a fact would put your new marriage to the test. The Prince convinced himself that in the end, you would love him and stay by his side, and that was enough for him to forget the vexation at his mother’s schemes and agree to the proposal. Mors Martell and Queen Nymeria, at last. 

Though the war had not yet begun, Aemond felt a sense of victory swelling within him.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

The reader really couldn't catch a break in this chapter. It was literally one trauma after another. XD I've debated putting in some smut scenes with Jace and the reader in the previous chapters, but it never felt right. They've definitely done it quite a few times, tho. In my head, they've accidentally had a pregnancy scare like Rhaenyra did, and that was one of the turning points to separate them and send the reader to Dorne. Anyways, Aemond is at the beginning of his Prince Regent Era with his arrogance, but oh boy. The man won't know what hit him in the following chapters... (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n , @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna , @baybaybear1

[fanaticsnail]

Halloween: Eustass Kid

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word count: 3,200+

Themes: Eustass Kid x m!reader, werewolf!kid x human!reader, NSFW, 18+, smut, mdni, breeding, bondage, sub Kid x dom reader (switch both), love, feelings, emotions, term 'mates' used for coupling, romance if you squint, monsterfucking, you top Kid, creampie, Kid's werewolf form can only speak in one to two word sentences.

Notes: Happy Halloween! I hope you enjoy this fic!

The stare born by two tangerine orbs glared at you through a bowed head. Messy locks of scarlett cascaded over his lengthy lashes as his perpetual growl reverberated in the chasms of his chest.

Upper body bound in heavy chains of silver, a single cuffed wrist anchoring him to the floor by a thick bolt set within stone, Eustass Kid continued to raise his hackles up at you. Revealing sharpened canines, pearly and pristine as his left side scar rose with his grimace, you simply rolled your eyes and continued to read your newspaper without paying him any mind.

Plush pillows, shredded clothes, both his and yours, littered the surrounds of the bolt, forming a perfect nest around the creature. He could sleep if he wanted to, but the man now replaced by his alternate monster had different plans.

When Kid experienced his change on the lunar cycle, you were subject to more of a beast than the man you loved. The man who held your heart was buried deep within the belly, sometimes a softness depicted in the cool of the beast’s eyes. For now, the beast was simply just that: a werewolf bolted to the ground and bound in thick rings of silver.

“Don’t get all huffy with me, pretty boy,” you warn him, fluttering the pages as you straighten the curved edge. “Boss said you can’t be trusted around me when you’re like this. I don’t make the rules, I obey them: as must you.”

That comment was met with a roar, his teeth parting and salivating through the muzzle clasped against his snout. You huffed, slamming down your newspaper on the table, and turning your head towards the red-furred werewolf version of your lover and gave him a disciplinary look. He snarled at you, his upper lip tucked up at the corner in reaction to your glare.

“Really?” you scolded him, tilting your head to seek out his eyes with your own. “And here I thought you'd appreciate my company below decks.” You rose to your feet, brushing off your thighs and readjusting your shirt. As you began walking across the wooden floor, you continued your soft reprimand over your shoulder.

“I can hear you crying out, you know,” you spoke in absolutes, honesty being the only source found in your voice, “Not just howling at the moon, but true mourning keens, screaming for attention. As mate to your human counterpart, in my self-absorbed delirium, I thought that meant you wanted me.”

As your hand reached for the door, a soft whimper whistled through the back of the beast’s throat in a desperate plea to halt your motions.

“What?” you snap at him, turning back to face him once more. “Now you want me here? Which is it, pretty boy: I stay,” you gesture to the ground, “Or I go?” you point to the door.

The red-headed beast darts his muzzle from you to the floor in a bid to relay his desires. With a rumble in his chest and a soft snuff from his nose, you let out a groan in response to his motions.

“Fine,” you roll your eyes and remove your hand from the doorknob, “But if I stay, I need three things from you. First, sit,” you gesture strictly to the ground. The beast toppled down, sitting with its hind legs curled either side of its form. You smirked, shaking your head and walking just out of reach, should he desire to test the shackles.

“Second, stop snarling at me,” you scold him. His immediate reaction was a stuttered quiver of his upper lip as he hung his large tail tucked beneath him. He bowed his head low, peeking up through the auburn eyes reflecting his obedience. You chuckle, clicking your tongue and shaking your head at him.

“Third,” you approach the monstrous version of your lover, standing just on the perimeter should this overgrown pup decide to turn on you. “I know you can speak when you’re like this, pretty boy. Try to use your words, okay? That’s all I ask.”

“Mate,” the werewolf rumbled in a deep growl, “Me.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head and looking down at the seated werewolf maintaining an almost innocent air about him.

“Yes, I am your mate,” you nod towards the red-furred, overgrown puppy on the floor, “Good job using your words. Now that that’s settled, can I get back to reading the paper-?”

“-No.” The werewolf began to raise his teeth back, halting as he internally reminded himself that you ordered him not to snarl. “Mate, me.” You click your tongue, crossing over the perimeter line of safety towards the more feral, unhinged, and unpredictable version of your partner, Eustass Kid.

“We’ve established that, sweetheart,” you utter in empathy, tilting your head to the side and crossing your arms over your chest. “You and I are bound together as humans, and I love you in any form you take. You’re my mate, and I am yours.”

You knew it would be dangerous, you knew the consequences of stepping over that threshold. He could overpower you in a second, attempt to rattle and break out of his chains, and throw the muzzle off himself to bite, claw, and maim you. This is what you assumed your partner was attempting to protect you from.

What you weren’t expecting was Eustass Kid, sitting on the floor in his beastial form, looking up at you through pleading eyes while revealing his thick, hard, and weeping cock to you through his parted legs the closer you approached him.

Staggering a little in your step, your eyes immediately drew down to the angry, tapered tip drooling from the smaller slit at the top of his cock. Following along the bowed shaft, your gaze halted at the large bulb at the base of his cock above his fur-covered balls.

“Mate me.” The sound he let out was a soft whimper after such a request. “Breed.” His entire hulking form was submissive as he attempted to make himself lower to the ground, shielding his cock from your sight.

“Eustass,” you whispered, slowly reaching your hand forward as you drew ever closer towards the beast. “I can only just take your cock while you’re in your human form. It took us ages to even get to that point.” You gently pressed the flat of your palm on the top of his head, slowly carding your fingers through his coarse fur towards his pointed ears. “There’s not enough lubricant in the world for me to be able to take you within me like this.”

The beast whimpered, nudging his head into your palm while his huffed pants fell from his lips in rapid frequency. His cock twitched and pulsed the longer you made contact with his fur, his whines only growing in intensity as you began to scratch him behind his ears where the strap to the muzzle was located.

“Breed,” he desperately sobbed, his voice sounding like a mix of his humanity shining through alongside a beastial growl, “Me.”

“You…?” you pause, focussing on his eyes once more and darting your own between his. “You… Want me to breed you?”

The wolf emphatically bobbed his head up and down while whining, howling, panting, and heaving into your touch. Your lips parted and eyes rounded in shock as you peered down at the werewolf nudging your hand.

Immediately recalling the earlier conversations you’ve had with your partner in the past, you couldn't help but laugh to yourself about what words he used then, and what their intended meaning was now.

“When I’m him, all of my thoughts and feelings are heightened a hundred times over,” he spoke within your mind’s eye, “Everything is primal, all needs urgent, and I can’t control how my alter reacts. He’s still me, but my wants and desires will be without filter. Can't trust him.”

“What do you mean, Kid?” you asked him at the time, “You’ll want to kill, seek and destroy more than usual? Go berserk?”

“My inner monologue will be exposed, and I can’t trust how I’ll behave around you.”

What you thought he meant was his wolf would ascend to a more dominant and more authoritative stature: biting and gnashing his teeth at all - including you. As he shied away from your touch, immediately clunking down onto the floor with his ass raised and tail swishing, you knew that not to be the case.

Eustass Kid, your captain, partner, lover, and light of your life, was wanting you to mount him to claim him as yours.

When you first started this relationship as boyfriends, you thought to yourself that such a dominant man would never want to be topped by you. Most of your couplings involved him taking you from above, anchoring his metal hand above your heads while rutting into your body, his remaining right hand reaching between you and pumping your cock with every in-thrust.

He’d bite with his polished canines, mouthe at your neck leaving a trail of hickies in their wake, finish inside you while howling your name, before kissing your lips with professions of love. Kid was only ever dominant in his human form.

His werewolf alter was not.

“Breed me,” the werewolf said once more, his cockhead brushing against the ground and leaving a sticky trail of precum connecting between the floor and his quivering tip, “Mate me.” His cheek made contact with the floor as he turned his head to plead at you further.

His weighted chains rattled against the floorboards, causing you to empathetically wince at his display. You knew the silver was good for him, prohibiting him from getting too far away from the designated den he had made for himself. It didn't stop you from wanting so desperately to remove them and the muzzle from his features, but you know Kid placed them there for a reason. What reason, you were unsure of.

The way his puckered entrance pulsed alongside his bloated knot had your cock begin swelling within the waistline of your pants. You shook your head, taking into account that you had never topped him as a human, and you didn’t want to start something Kid didn’t consent to within the realms of his humanity.

“I can’t sweetheart,” you whisper with all the sympathy you could muster, “I can stroke your cock for you if you like? I could suck a little of it while massaging the rest to ease you through this.”

“Breed me-!” he whined into the floor, drool leaking from his lips and frothing within his heckles, “Want it-! Need it-! Trust you.” You felt your heart pound hard within your chest, truly desiring to heed your partner’s craving for you. It didn’t help that you were exceptionally hard and the constriction of your briefs was beginning to be uncomfortable.

“Eustass?” you asked your lover while cradled within his arms, head laid on his chest and fingers intertwined within his own over his stomach. “When you’re the wolf, do you still like me, or do you want me dead?”

“What kind of stupid-ass question even is that?” he scoffed, nudging your head up with his chin for you to turn towards him. “Of course I fuckin’ like ya. I’m still me, you’re still you, and we’re still mates. If anything, I think I like you just a little bit more. Can’t trust myself when I’m like that. Might gnaw your fuckin’ face off thinkin’ I’m kissin’ ya.”

“Okay, okay, sweetheart,” you coo lovingly down at the werewolf presenting his body to you, “I need to prep you-.”

“-NEED!” he howled needily, heavy tail swooshing to the sides as his cock continued to drip onto the floor beneath you. “FILL ME! BREED ME! LOVE ME!”

You growl in frustration at his lack of cooperation, thrusting your index and middle fingers in your mouth and dampening them with a thick engulfment of your saliva. You gripped his hip with one hand, immediately steadying yourself while pressing the pad of your index finger into his ass.

The werewolf didn’t flinch, instead arching his back lower, whining while backing up into your hand. Your eyes flew wide as his whimpers began sounding more human, breathy pants and heavy whispers of your name fleeing through his muzzle before he again began growling at the touch.

It didn’t take any longer for you to add a second finger to broaden the stretch, curling your fingers up to brush with his prostate the same way his cock did within you. His passage began clenching in a rhythmic thrum each time you thrust in and out of his ass, prompting your own need to began growing more apparent.

“Just hold on a minute, okay, love?” you cooed down at him, removing your hand from his hip to take your cock over your waistband, “I can't leave you in this state, I love you too much to see you suffer.”

You lined up your cockhead against his puckered hole, the pinch of the muscle broadening at the stretch causing your eyes to roll back in your skull. Nothing could’ve prepared you for how he felt like this around you: everything about him running more hot now shrouded in fur, with his monstrous body now attempting to back into you to suck your cock inside him all the way to your base.

“Mate-!” the beast’s voice split in perfect unison between beast and man as you bottomed out completely, complete euphoria being the only presence in his tone. You reached your hands around his fur-covered hips and held tight, rocking a few testing thrusts into his ass to ensure he was comfortable. The werewolf howled in delight with his tail swishing in front of you, behind him.

Hair from the swatting protrusion wagging at your face entered your mouth, causing you to spit out a few of the strays that landed on your tongue. You moved one hand from his hip to hold his tail in the middle of the muscle, using it as an anchor to tug you in in harder slaps of the front of your hips meeting the backs of his. Kid growled in delight, his muzzle leaking with saliva while his tapered cock drooled in unison.

Each thrust forward had his insides churning in ecstasy, finally feeling his mate claim him as he had been claiming you as a human. The wolf side of him felt accepted and loved, as you loved him while walking beside him in humanity. Feeling at one with you bottoming out repetitively had the twin souls within him thinking only three things.

My mate wants me.

My mate needs me.

My mate loves me.

Internally, Eustass Kid was taking the first-mate’s posting while his wolf captained and navigated his corporeal vessel. He felt everything the wolf did, and was moved to tears that you would ever do anything like this for his benefit. He was a hardened captain, bearing the weight of his whole world on his shoulders. While you were with him like this, he knew he would never have to bear that weight alone again.

“Doing so good, Eustass.” You took your other hand off his hip, reaching around to massage the bulb at the base of his cock, stroking it alongside your thrusting forward. Each pump hand him both rutting forward and arching backwards to aid you in fucking him the way his instincts needed him to.

Kid was feeling already so worked up, he could barely bark out a warning before painting the floor beneath his body in a large splash of milky ropes. His cum continued weeping out while he howled up at the ceiling, arching his back further while riding through his high.

He had never felt so full in his life, his entire twin-souls binding together by forging against your own. The love and acceptance he felt as the beast was overwhelming, causing him to whine and whimper against the chains of silver.

His puckered hole began to contract around you as you felt your abdomen tighten in a thick knot. The peak was right within your sight as he continued pulsing around your shaft and throbbing in your hand. Your thrusts grew manic as you felt your high begin to reach the pinnacle and bloom to a full release.

With one final tug on his tail to anchor your body fully into his, you cried out a groan of your own, filling the beast with your entire load as you thrust in and out of his body. His ass continued sucking you in as your abs tensed and heat overwhelmed your senses.

“K-Kid-! C-Cumming!” you called out for him, your thrusts growing languid before slowing to a complete stop. Fully still sheathed within him, you released his tail, which limply fell to the side, causing you to flop down onto his arched back and chuckle into his fluffy spine.

His fur felt comforting against your skin. From afar, each strand looked like a wired bristle-brush, but beneath your skin like this? It was plush and silky. You slowly removed your cock, prompting the werewolf to mourn the loss with a soft cry.

“Shh, it's okay,” you soothe him, sifting through his vibrant hair on his back with your fingers. “Everything is alright, pretty boy. I promise.” You replaced your waistband on your hips after tucking your cock within your briefs.

“Stay?” the beast called over his shoulder, “Den?” You sighed, glancing down dotingly at the monstrous form as he nestled down and invited you beside him. Considering how pliant he was being with you, presenting to you and claiming you completely as his mate, you saw no harm in indulging his request.

Slowly sinking to your knees, you were hastily stollen by two lengthy paws and ushered in like a giant plush being accepted claimed by a needy puppy. You relaxed in the embrace, feeling the beasts heartbeat bounding in a soothing rhythm.

“Goodnight, my mate,” you whisper up at him, feeling the cool if his metal muzzle resting on your head as he shook happily within your embrace. Sleep overcame you both, breaths and rumbled purrs morphing into more humanoid snores when the moon was eclipsed by the door.

When your human lover woke to find you cradled in their arms in the middle of their nest, Kid tensed immediately. His tangerine-colored orbs scoured you for marks and wounds as he replayed the events of the night before within the fog of his memory.

Feeling the crude squelch exit his asshole told him all he needed to know, his face immediately flooding with a deep blush as he stared down at you. He moved his human hand up, now easily slinking out of the cuff to cradle your cheek. Within your slumber, you unintentionally nuzzled against his palm.

Kid’s heart soared at the sight. His mate had claimed him in his wolf form, which means you truly accepted him for who and what he was. He could not have been prouder to find his home in you, your bond only growing ever stronger now he knew he could trust you to take care of his needs as the beast.

“I love you,” he whispered down at you, a confession more spoken for his own affirmation. “My mate.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @ane5e

🎶 Happy Birthday to Me 🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[artethyst]

~ Leaves In A Sky Full Of Stars ~

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister!OC/Reader

“Enjoying fatherhood Brother?” Came Lucien’s sarcastic voice at the sight of Eris- High Lord of Autumn, nothing less than dishevelled.

Eris offered him no response, the circles beneath his eyes telling his brother enough before you swanned in with a fluffy bundle secure in your arms.

If his son were not so cute, he might have cursed the boy for robbing him of sleep for the past week, a new habit he had seemed to adopt whenever he was left alone in his cot at night.

Despite the Healer’s advising against it, saying it was very much normal and the boy would only grow needier, Eris couldn’t stand to hear his child’s pained cries.

He knew how it felt to feel abandoned.

Unloved.

His son would never feel the same.

Even if his Mate berated him for turning soft or some of the more traditional- slowly withering branches of Beron’s Advisory circle scathingly judged him for it.

Motherhood looked good on you- a warm glow to your unblemished skin and new life within those once lifeless cheeks that had struck Eris with horror as he had been forced to watch you- lying there, bleeding out.

The Healers telling him neither you nor your babe would survive.

And whilst he did not tell you, the memory of it, even now, months later, left him sleepless. And despite trying his very best never to think of how you looked- the thought of you ever being taken from him, he still felt sick at the thought.

He might have envied how naturally parenthood had come to you- how beautiful you still were despite it all, but he loved you too much to ever care about his own troubles in comparison.

As you approached, Eris instinctively wrapped a strong arm around your waist, if he had been protective before and especially during your pregnancy, it was nothing compared to now.

It was as though he still needed visceral proof- feel the warmth of your beating heart next to his to remind himself you were well.

Well and alive.

Lucien didn’t have the heart to tease his brother about it.

Baby Silas began to stir against your chest, his wide amber eyes curiously blinking as his little fist moved to his yawning lips, slobbering over his knuckles with a guiltless, dimpled smile.

He made little cooing noises, small tufts of red hair delicate and curled atop his head as he snuggled further into the winter fur blanket Kallias and Viviane had so generously gifted him.

You couldn’t help but press a kiss to his rosy cheek, wishing you could stay clasping him close forever.

“He is a curious child,” you began, passing over the bundle to your brother-in-law who had come to visit his nephew, “though, grumpy like his father,” and as if on cue, Silas’ small brow furrowed and pink lips pouted when he felt himself being jostled from the warmth of his mother’s arms.

The pair of them ignored Eris’ scowl as Silas wiggled in his Uncle’s arms, the Emissary chuckling as the boy began chewing on a strand of his long hair, face determined as he dribbled.

“Brainless, just like his father too.”

You laughed as Lucien bounced the boy, pressing yourself into your Mate’s side further, placing a light kiss to the underside of his jaw.

You noticed his withdrawal, and whilst it was not unusual for him to be detached, it was not like him to be so solemn.

Especially with you around.

“Er, are you alright?” He tilted his head down to face you, your twinkling violet eyes marred with concern and was forced to bury the thought of the Mother snatching his happiness from him along with his childhood traumas.

“I am fine, My Love.” He mused pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, you weren’t convinced but did not push him. “Are you?”

“How could I not be?” You teased, fondly watching as Lucien spoke animatedly to Silas, grimacing as the child tugged on his hair in excitement as the man he viewed nothing more than the tall person with the same hair as his daddy and with funny deep voice spoke to him. “I have all I could ever want.”

Eris smiled- a real smile.

He couldn’t help but chuckle watching his brother and his son, heart overflowing with love as his wife stood beside him, flooding their bond with the same mirth.

Everything he had gone through- all that he had fought had been worth it.

For this.

And watching his baby- a near copy of him with the woman he loved most’s infectious smile, bringing a childish peace to his brother’s all so often annoyingly smug face reminded him of all his sacrifices.

And he knew he would do it all again.

-

With Lucien cutting his trip short, having felt a desperate tug on the bond from a freshly Mated Elain, the three of you were left alone.

You were absentmindedly sprawled over Eris, lulled into a light sleep by the warmth he emitted.

He didn’t have the heart to wake you.

Silas too was asleep against his chest, his little soft snores almost comically in sync with his mother’s.

Eris let his fingers run comfortingly along the back of his son’s head, relishing in the soft tufts whilst supporting his small neck with the other.

The babe whined contently in response, his drool pooling against his father’s tunic as the older male could only trace the boy’s perfect face with a calloused fingertip. Silas’ soft flesh a welcome sensation against his scarred skin.

The High Lord took a deep breath of his own, relishing in the scent of his beloved-a fresh jasmine and amber, and his son’s- a light cinnamon with hints of a fresh bloom.

A subtle mix of both of his parents’.

And with the two of you by his side, there was no longer a heaviness in his heart, but one in his throat as tears of relief and pure love gathered in his sharp eye.

[chimielie]

sun seeker

summary: you are a princess, a future queen. somehow, this is still not enough.

word count: 1.5k

cw: fighting, oikawa’s an asshole (sorry), arranged marriage/royalty au, fake history stuff, angst to fluff (i guess), i’m not telling you who the love interest is but like. Guess, misogyny, ambiguous ending

a/n: if i tell you that i imagined a whole other side for oikawa will you forgive me? also this was supposed to be a short drabble related to between lightning strikes but it very much was not. my bad

Your betrothed is unexpectedly quiet.

It had only been a few days since you met the crown prince, having been sequestered in your father’s court in the country for most of your life, learning to fill the seat of someday-Empress. The capital is huge, bustling with people, always noisy—or so you surmised from within your veiled carriage. You had thought, as you bowed before the Emperor and Imperial Heir, that your life was finally beginning, finally growing beyond the narrow confines of etiquette training and religious rituals.

Instead, you felt your dreams shrivel and die as your daily routine proceeded exactly as it had for close to two decades. The only difference was time mandatorily spent with Tooru, who seemed… less than enthused by your match.

You had dreamed of someone who chafed against authority as you had, who felt as bound by propriety despite the privilege of your positions. Alas, you found him to be both sullen and arrogant, eager to rule but in denial of his own dissatisfaction with a noblewoman such as yourself. It made you want to scream. You had not chosen the circumstances of your birth, the path which you had been led to walk. It was not your fault that fate had pushed you two so forcefully together without regard for your desires, ambitions, or personalities.

“I was told you visited the temple this morning,” you say, watching your fiancé pause a long sip of tea, his brown eyes temporarily widening. Your face slips momentarily into a frown; you cannot conceal your frustration with his clear disdain for such small talk but unwillingness to bring anything more engaging to your table.

“Yes,” he says finally, setting down his cup. Light brown liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his fingers; he wipes them on his robes without care for the expensive fabric. “There are many rituals that must be done to ensure the most auspicious wedding possible.” His voice catches noticeably on the word wedding. You take a sip of your own tea to hide your grimace.

It is lukewarm. How long have you been sitting here, trying to force civility?

“Did it go well?” You ask in turn, your pitch straining. Behind you, one of the imperial guards snorts. When you try to discern which of them broke character, they have all returned to a stoic, uniform position. You straighten your posture.

“It was satisfactory,” Tooru says. You hear the snort again, and the crown prince’s lips twitch, just barely.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, though, bound by heavy fabrics and scarlet ribbon. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere for the air to go.

“What did you do this morning?�� He asks, and you throw the cup at him.

His Imperial Highness is athletic beneath his aristocracy, and he dodges it easily. It bounces off one of the silk screens behind him and lies, cracked in two, in a puddle of lukewarm tea on the floor. You bury your face in your hands and scream through your teeth, a short, guttural noise that carves a little more space in your chest to breathe.

When you look up again, he stands over you, his perfect brows pulled into an expression of concern. You know without looking that two of the Imperial Guard are standing behind you, hands on their weapons.

“You have asked me that,” you say slowly, fighting to push the words out through the red haze of rage, “twice now. And you asked what my plans were yesterday. And the answer is always the same: wait in my rooms for you to call, because I am a painting of a woman waiting for you to walk in and criticize my form and decide that I am satisfactory.”

“I didn’t—” he says, and for a moment you become a fairytale heroine instead of a scorned princess, sitting on the floor looking up at him with despondent eyes that betray your desire to be loved. “This is what we are,” he decides finally, expression no longer concerned. “I think perhaps you need some rest.”

“You cannot be serious,” you seethe, pushing yourself to your feet. One of the guards puts a hand on you, ready to restrain you.

Tooru turns, his back facing you. He glances back as he exits, tone bored, eyes cold.

“Do not worry yourself,” he tells you, “I still find you satisfactory.”

You lunge after him, but two strong hands clamp down on your arms, hauling you back. You writhe and kick, but when you look up at your guard, his face is impassive, his eyes distant.

“I hate you,” you snarl, and watch as his eyes flicker down to your face. Seeing you. “I hate you,” you say again, but it sounds much more like a sob.

You can’t sleep that night.

The moon is full, high and bright, and every time you close your eyes, you see visions of your future. A glorified concubine, living in an expensive sanitarium, surely to be driven to insanity before your husband can ascend the throne.

You sit up, wild-eyed, and throw your door open with more force than you realize.

“Princess,” says your guard, startled.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your heart thrumming in your chest. “Hajime, please, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t let you out of your quarters,” Iwaizumi Hajime, head of your security detail, says.

“I don’t want—” you start, and he gives you a knowing look. “I know. Please just come and—talk with me. A little.”

He sighs, deeply, a rush of wind through cypress trees, and follows you into your room.

“Sit,” you order him, and the moonlight affords you the ability to see his green eyes flash with panic. “I am your future queen. Sit.”

He sits, trying to maintain his stern, professional face, even as you peel his helmet off and run your hands through his flattened hair.

“You lied to me,” you hum, and he jerks under your touch, façade breaking. “You told me Tooru never shut up.”

“I knew him a long time ago,” says Hajime. One of the few who had come with you to Kyoto, he had been raised here and come to your father’s court as a youth to learn to fight. “He’s not—he’s stubborn. He’ll soften eventually.”

“I don’t care,” you say bitterly. “Why did you hold me back?”

“He’s the prince,” Hajime says, his voice rasping with exasperation.

“I am the princess,” you say, and his lips press together into a straight line.

“My princess,” he murmurs. Hajime has always run warm, much more suited for Kyoto’s climate than your hometown’s. When he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, you can feel his body heat through his armor.

“You let him say horrible things to me,” you say. His hold on you tightens.

“He is my oldest friend.”

“I am your—” you sigh heavily, pushing away from him, looking out at the moon. “I am nothing to you. I will live, though I am ungrateful. Many would say I am the luckiest woman in all the land.” The air is very cold without his touch.

“You are not nothing to me,” Hajime says, and you smile wistfully at his selective hearing.

“At least I am satisfactory.” You don’t see what happens, but Hajime’s helmet clatters loudly on the floor a moment later. “What—”

“He is my oldest friend,” he repeats himself, but his voice is low, so deep in his chest you can barely hear him. It does not matter; you can feel his words. “I wanted to kill him.”

Your lips part on a silent gasp, and he leans in close, so close that you can nearly taste him. You’ve always loved the way he smells, something base that relaxes you instantly. You haven’t been this close to him since you left home.

“He’s the Emperor,” he continues, “I can’t hurt him. I held us back.”

“Us?” You ask, his fingers suddenly tightly intertwined with yours.

“Ask me to help you leave,” he says, and you shut your eyes against his gaze, frightening and familiar all at once. “Ask me to take you away from here. I had—I have plans, and you will not be happy with him, Princess. You will be more than satisfactory, satisfied—you will be loved.”

Something knotted tightly unspools in you, red threads laying themselves out in perfect lines. You duck your head and nod against his shoulder, face rubbing against the metal of his armor.

You aren’t likely to succeed, you know, no matter how thoroughly Hajime has planned. Your fiancé will look for you: a stubborn man, like he had said. You do not know if his disdain for you or his love for Hajime will protect you. You could both die.

“Take me away,” you say, voice ringing out like a queen’s.

The moon, at its fullest cycle, chases its estranged wife into the day. The crown prince wakes without his betrothed. The world only spins forward.

[shomatoriashi]

08/12/24; 09:40pm

sung jinwoo x fem.reader

{ request - drabble - 18+ thirst post }

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

anonymous asked: r u gonna hear me out if it's a sjw thirsty ask. k so… what if his neck's starting to hurt lately from being too tall, smh he always has to look down most of the time bc he's a tower and instead of healing himself like he always does, an idea came to his head: he makes you ride him. his face. for hours. to take the pain away. he says it's like an exercise. he does it until you're crying and shaking from (it all)

your legs were trembling, with jinwoo keeping his hands on your waist while forcing you to grind your slick heat against his hot mouth.

quite some time ago, jinwoo came home with complaints of his neck hurting so much. he grimaces while trying to ease out the kinks from his sore neck. when you appear before him, you asked if there was anything you could do to help with mitigating the pain.

you should have known something was amiss when jinwoo flashes you a wolfish grin, not disclosing how you could help him when he takes your hand and leads you back into your shared bedroom. it’s while you were in the comfort of your locked bedroom that jinwoo strips you of all your clothing. as his eyes rake down your naked form, he gets on the bed first while snapping his fingers, practically demanding that you straddle his face and suffocate him with your thighs.

despite how you felt the heat against your cheeks (further accentuating your embarrassment), the ache and moisture that was quickly beginning to mount was far stronger than any inhibitions you once had. so, with your body practically trembling with need for him, you climb on top of him and place your pulsating sex over jinwoo’s lips, barely putting your weight on him when the man suddenly snapped forward, burying his face within your soaked core.

you lost count of the sheer amount of times you had came on his tongue, feeling the wet muscle prodding and exploring at your center, drinking up each drop of your honeyed arousal like a man starved. with your legs practically trembling, you found yourself quickly losing focus-

yet still, jinwoo remained relentless.

his mouth was felt tracing at your pussy lips, lathering it with the evidence of your prior release with his tongue as you felt his teeth lightly grazing at your hardened bundle of nerves. your clit had long since hardened into a stiff pearl, and yet despite the slight pain you felt each time jinwoo brings you to heaven, you couldn’t help but crave for moremoremoremore!

time was lost when all you could feel-

all you could comprehend-

was the sheer amount of pleasure the shadow monarch had given you.

once jinwoo had his fill and finally removed his face away from your trembling legs, you were dimly aware of the way your thighs felt wet and sticky, your legs shaking at how they had gotten numb from how long your beloved had kept you in place. a lingering smirk paints his handsome expression when he leans down closer to you, his full lips still shining with the evidence of your release-

needless to say, such a sight was enough to make a painful pang shoot across your veins and into the spot between your legs, feeling your cunt aching once more. as if reading your mind, jinwoo lets out a growl of your name before surging forward, capturing your lips within his in a deep kiss, (making you moan as you tasted yourself against his lips.)

he manages to distract you with his heated kisses, and you were dimly aware of the shifting of fabrics when something velvety and hard presses into your thigh. your mind was still in a haze due to the onslaught of pleasure jinwoo had given you, making you momentarily forget about how thick his erection was straining against his pants the entire time he had been devouring you-

however, you quickly remember it all the moment jinwoo successfully thrusts inside of you, sheathing his cock to the hilt as you arched your back against the bed in response.

“j-jinwoo!” you gasp, hands already gripping at the ruined sheets below you. your lover’s dark chuckle was all you could hear when he works on tirelessly pounding into you, his stamina seemingly endless.

jinwoo’s eyes were dilated when he takes a hold of your leg and tosses it over his shoulder, pistoning his hips faster against you all while biting down on his bottom lip. the pleasure had taken over for him as well when he admits to you in a guttural groan, “my neck finally stopped aching… but now, it’s time for you to help my cock cease aching as well.”

feeling the way he slams his cock inside of you, the squelching sounds being evident of your sensitive cunt being pounded into, you could only manage to let out a whimper while burying your face within the pillows.

if it took him several hours of eating out your pussy to help his neck feel better, then you could only imagine just how long it would take for him to get rid of the ache within his pulsating cock-

however, you suppose you had already resigned your fate as being unable to walk the moment sung jinwoo was finished with you…

end notes: i was thirsty for jinwoo and finally did something about it 🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[fastcardotmp3]

welcome to dot drops something that's been sitting in her tumblr drafts for 4 months Saturday I hope you enjoy your visit mwah! Steddie; Ballet AU; Dancer!Steve; mentions of cancer treatment; 1.5k words

Dress rehearsal is supposed to be a mess.

That's the point of it, really, to get all the mistakes out of your system and start the actual show run with a clean slate. Or at least, that had been the point of which they'd all convinced themselves when Steve was the one performing.

Bad dress meant good show, or so the old adage went, and so at least there was some ease of worry with the collective understanding that it won't happen on the night within the company.

That was the case when Steve was a student, when he was an apprentice, even during his time in the big leagues at Joffrey, but right now? At the end of a truly abysmal dress in this run-down theater on the edge of a town from which he'd once run away?

Steve is not the performer. He's the guy in charge.

And so he spirals.

He'd never wanted to be a director or an instructor or the head of a studio like this. It had never been in his plans. Steve was a man of action, where the people who do these jobs are the brains behind the operation.

Steve knows how to work hard, how to force his body and even his mind into submission until he gets the steps just right, but this? These past six months back in Hawkins temporarily helping out?

(God, please let it be temporary.)

He's not built for this. He's sitting center stage after everyone has left with only half the house lights to illuminate his misery and he's not. Built. For. This.

Not built for being a mentor or a leader or a role model; not built to handle the strenuous nature of his mother's legacy; not built to carry the name she's made for herself as a teacher and a choreographer and a shaper of young dancers.

Steve's not built for it!

They'd had a shitty fucking dress.

"Hey, uh, you gonna be a while? I kinda need to close up for the night."

The voice echoes across the empty space, bouncing off the high ceiling and straight up to land on the Marley floors at Steve's feet. The stage isn't built for dancers, much like Steve isn't built to be here, so they'd had to pull up the floors from the studio and drag them halfway across town just to roll them out here.

"Hello? Are you, like, alive up there?"

Steve sighs. "Yeah," he calls back, catching sight of the figure talking to him at the back of the theater, the young guy who runs the place and who Steve met a grand total of three days ago. His name is Eddie and he dresses more like he's running a music venue than a local community theater, but he's mostly stayed out of Steve's way so far. "Sorry, I'll get outta your hair."

"Sure," Eddie says, but he's just sort of leaning against the back wall by the window to the sound and lighting booth without an ounce of urgency to him as Steve drags himself to his aching feet and lugs his three separate bags of show stuff onto his shoulders.

There's an energy to an empty theater, one which has held a performance and one which now holds the ghosts of that performance, which tugs at the anxieties sitting buried deep beneath the more immediate ones.

Fears about his mom's health, about what will happen to the studio if she doesn't win this particular battle, about what will happen to him.

There's an energy here in the creak of the steps which lead down off the front of the stage and there's an energy to the plod of Steve's sneakers up the long, racked aisle between the seats.

There's an energy, but it's also not empty, is it.

"Hey, good show, dude," Eddie says, pushing off his wall as Steve grows nearer. "Like, talented kids you've got there."

Steve scoffs before he can help himself and then pinches the bridge of his nose in a grimace for not being able to help himself.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," he grits out, thinking about his bed. Thinking about how he never made time for dinner and he has to be here early again tomorrow.

"Wow, resounding confidence on this one," Eddie snorts, and when Steve opens his eyes it's to genuine amusement, genuine curiosity in the tilt of a head and furrow of a brow.

"No, just," he shakes his head, "you should see 'em when they're really on their game, y'know?"

Eddie hums, and when did Steve come to a stop right in front of him? He's leaving. He has to leave. Go home. Think about all the spacing corrections he needs to fix tomorrow and run through with the girls before show time.

"Bad dress, good show though, right?"

Steve startles. Maybe a little too visibly because Eddie is actively holding back laughter at the sight of him.

"What, I've worked at a theater for four years and I'm not supposed to pick up a thing or two about the ballet?" he snarks good-naturedly. "Caroline, the lady who did your job before you, she was a chatty one, taught me everything I know about Giselle."

It's a knife between the ribs. It's a soothing sort of heat, like from a roaring bonfire.

"You--" he clears his throat, "you know Caroline?"

"Highlight of the job honestly, before she retired," Eddie shrugs.

"She didn't retire."

"Oh. She...?"

"Chemo," Steve doesn't know why he's saying it all so willingly, why after months of trying to run the studio without having to talk about how's your mom doing, sweetheart? he's opening up to this stranger with the curly hair and curious eyes. But he knows her. He's-- Well, he knows her. "I'm just here to-- to fill in until she can come back. So."

Eddie is studying him now. Curious eyes turned intelligent, knowing, sad with the weight of realization.

"You're the wonder boy," he says on a breath like oh, I get it now.

"The what?" Steve balks.

"Her kid," Eddie says like it's simple. He's leaning against the wall again, like he's not planning on getting back to work anymore, "she was-- Shit, man, she loves the hell outta you. Oh, you should see my son, he's in Les Corsaire this season! Oh, my boy, he's just gotten promoted to soloist, he'll be a principal in no time! Oh, the talent on him, the--"

"Okay, okay, Jesus," Steve cuts him off, a half-hysterical laugh bubbling up out of his chest in the process.

"You should tell her I say hi next time you see her," Eddie isn't remotely deterred by having his little, lilting performance derailed. There's a softness to him that deserves a smaller space, walls less prone to echo.

"I will," Steve nods. His bags grow heavy on his shoulders.

"And you should chill out a little bit," he says, this time with the kind of glint to his eye that needs a bigger space, needs to be up on the stage to the point where it has Steve floundering, "y'know, about the the shitty dress that, between you and me," he leans in conspiratorially, close enough to feel the heat of his breath, "wasn't really all that shitty."

Steve sucks in a breath.

It strikes him somewhere old, the reassurance, somewhere young deep inside of him. The comforting from a mother that if he just works hard enough he’ll land that double tour in fifth some day soon, the unbroken promise that she would never give him special treatment as the son of the studio owner, but that she would never hesitate to reward him when he’d earned it on his own.

It strikes him because no one tells you how little reassurance the guy in charge is ever offered and it strikes him because it’s been such a long day and it strikes him because—

“Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

Eddie’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead and Steve sees it, the attitude on this dude that his mother absolutely would have loved in an instant. There’s a performer in there, even just in the brief interaction they’ve shared so far. There’s a spotlight pointing inwards and a show begging to be dragged out.

“No,” Eddie drags out slow and curious, “you offering, ballet boy?”

Steve needs a sounding board and he needs another set of eyes and he needs his mom to be okay and the show tomorrow to prove that he can handle this for her if she’s not, but maybe what he needs most right now, on the other side of a spiral in a dark and echoing theater, is this.

“Meet me at Benny’s in thirty,” he says simply as he makes his way for the door. “Since you’re such an experienced test audience.”

Eddie’s responding laugh is bright and his eyes glitter with curious amusement and maybe this is what Steve needs because maybe all of this is one big rehearsal at a big new life in and old small town.

And maybe this is his chance to make a mess of it. At least until the real show starts.

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Stuck in the Middle with You

A Halloween modern AU Fic - Azris/Reader throuple

Warnings - sweet tasty fluff and a literal ton of sexual innuendo

Word Count - 1.8k

Author's Note - this contribution to @erisweekofficial did not come about without help. I would like to send my heartiest gratitude to my co-author @nocasdatsgay for not only giving me the idea and letting me run with it but also for her help with deliciously witty banter. Everyone say "Thanks nocas!"

Another big shout out to my main divider designer babe @tsunami-of-tears who kills it as always with her amazingly beautiful dividers.

ALSO - Gold Star 🌟 for the first person who DMs me and can tell me who Nessian and Feysand’s couples costumes were. 😉

“First off, let me just say that finding costumes for a throuple isn’t the easiest thing ever ok?” You fidgeted nervously, shifting your weight between your feet as you stood before your partners in the living room of your shared apartment. “But as soon as I saw it, I knew this was the one. So please try to keep an open mind, alright?”

Two sets of eyes met yours as you glanced between them. One set of hazel eyes regarded you curiously while the other set, deep golden amber, narrowed on you suspiciously. 

Here it was, two short days before the much anticipated Halloween party at Rita’s bar and grill and here you stood nervously clutching the bag in your hands. 

“Well,” Eris’ smooth tone drawled. “Let’s see it then.”

“Open. Mind. Eris, please,” you pleaded. His eyes remained narrowed and your fortitude faltered for a moment. Eris was the more rigid of the three of you. He could certainly be soft and dare you say even silly, within the comfort of his home with his beloved partners, however in public was something he was still mastering. Asking him to do so in a costume was another added layer outside his comfort zone. 

Slowly, you pulled the garments from the bag and draped them over the couch cushions for inspection. Just as you turned back to face your jury, Az let out a breathy chuckle, eyes alight with amusement. Before either of them could say anything, a loud crack of a laugh rang from the open kitchen.

“Ha! Oh, that’s genius. I can’t wait to see it!” Cassian cackled from atop his barstool at the counter.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Eris sneered.

It wasn’t exactly part of the plan to have an audience during this reveal, but it was your turn to host the weekly family dinner and your trip back from the store had left you short on time before your guests began arriving. And wherever food was involved, Cas was always early. Shooting Cassian a withering glare, you turned back to your partners, softening your gaze.

The mirth in Azriel’s eyes danced brighter. “I’m the chocolate,” he claimed. His lips quirked up at the corners in a sly smile as he reached forward to snatch up the costume. Without wasting another second he slipped the printed tunic over his head and pulled it straight.

“How is it that you get first pick? What if I wanted that one?” Eris grimaced, eyes scanning over the length of Az’s body. 

“You couldn’t be the chocolate anyway,” Az chuckled. “It would clash with your hair. Besides, this goes better with my skin tone.” Stretching his arms out wide in an exaggerated pose he showed off those rippling arms. Deep toned skin glistened deliciously even under the harsh lighting of the living room. 

Cassian gave an appreciative hum of agreement from his perch on the barstool just as Nesta strolled in the front door and leaned up against the counter next to him. Her gray eyes scanned the room assessing before quipping, “Eris should be the marshmallow.”

Eris whipped his head towards her, burnished hair swinging wildly as he did. “I swear if you are about to insinuate it's because I’m soft – I will leave right now.”

Reaching a hand out slowly, Az landed his palm on Eris’ shoulder. All the while biting at his lips to keep himself from laughing. Cassian wasn’t nearly as successful in hiding it as he buried his face behind Nesta’s shoulder and let loose a strangled noise. 

You ignored them both, grabbing Eris by the elbows gently as you stepped closer to him. “Eris, please. It’s one night. It’s a costume party, we won’t be the only ones looking silly. I just want to have a couple’s costume like everyone else.”

You hadn’t planned on a guilt tripping plea, but in reality, you really did want this badly. Those amber irises swept up to your gaze once more before softening from their hard glare. Uncrossing his arms, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll be the marshmallow.” 

He didn’t smile as he agreed. His face remained held in that pinched manner as he leaned forward to grab his puffy costume, but he had agreed. And that’s all you had hoped for. 

“Oh, thank you!” You held the squeal in your throat at bay as you peppered his freckled cheek with kisses. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”

Scrambling your arms into the last choice and pulling it straight, you watched with rapt attention as Eris’ shock of red hair poked through the top of his rounded tunic and he settled his arms at his sides peering down at the toasted marshmallow costume.

“Very fitting,” Cassian quipped with a smirk. “Crispy on the outside, gooey on the inside.” He dissolved into more barely contained laughter. Even Nesta’s frosty veneer cracked at the joke.

“Don’t say it like that,” Eris grumbled.

“Burns your tongue but the payoff is worth it,” Azriel piped up with a smirk of his own and a gentle pat to Eris’ backside. 

“Please. I’m begging you. Stop.” A flush of pink crept up his cheeks.

“At least you guys get to be something fun,” you stated as you peered at the rather bland tunic. “Graham crackers aren’t even that good without the toppings.”

“So – you are saying you like to be topped then?” Az tossed out with a smile.

“I thought that was obvious.” Eris proclaimed, this time a smile of his own graced his stately features. 

It was your turn to flush. “Ok. I don’t like this game anymore,” you bantered as you slipped off the tunic and folded it back into the bag. Eris quickly followed suit, eager to be rid of the ridiculous thing. Everyone began milling about, claiming their seats for the impending dinner.

“Wait!” Az pleaded. “No one has even mentioned how I melt in your mouth yet!”

“More like melt in your hand but – sure. Whatever,” you flashed him a devilish grin as you shoved the coffee table out of the way.

“Hey! It. Was. One. Time.” Az countered loudly.

Cassian sidled up beside him with a chummy pat on the back as he snuck in to claim the seat next to him. “That’s all it takes, brother.” 

This time the whole room broke into giggles, Nesta’s being the loudest. 

The party at Rita’s was still going strong even as the wee hours of the morning were approaching. Even though you were nearly dead on your feet from dancing the night away, you were having the time of your life. But those feet still needed a break.

“I need to sit for a little bit,” you half shouted over the music to Az, who was gripping your waist tightly as he shimmied against you. A quick nod of acknowledgement and his large hand slipped easily to the small of your back and he guided you off the dance floor through the crowd. 

Your group of  friends had claimed a table along the furthest wall, far enough away to be able to hold a decent conversation without shouting while still being in sight of all the action. The majority of your group was gathered around the small table, sitting or standing. Rhys and Lucien approached from the direction of the bar, drinks in hand. As you stepped close, Eris’ arm slipped around your waist as his other hand smoothly offered you a beverage.

“Having fun?” Eris silkily crooned in your ear as he pulled you close.

Swallowing the large gulps of ice cold water you replied with a laugh, “So much fun!” Trailing your free hand along his collar, you pulled at the ribbon now hanging there and palmed the lightweight medal that was attached. “I still can’t believe we won,” you beamed.

“They created a category just for us as a threesome, love,” he grinned slyly as he kissed your cheek. “We won by default.”

“A win is a win!” Az exclaimed from behind Eris, pulling you both into his muscled arms. 

“Hear, hear!” Cassian cheered. With his perfectly slicked hair and pinstripe suit, he really did cut a dashing figure. Nesta’s back leaned against his front, both of them sported similar medals. The long black wig that Nes was sporting made her gray eyes even more enchanting and the tight black dress hugging her curves left little to the imagination. “It’s all thanks to you mia cara,” Cas said with a feline grin as he ravished Nesta’s neck with kisses. 

“I knew I should have picked something more people would know,” Elain pouted from her seat at the table. Lucien quickly swooped her into his arms and deposited her squarely into his lap. “No pouting, Princess. I think you make a fine Buttercup. It’s not your fault there are so many uncultured heathens around here.”

Elain let out a squealing giggle as Lucien’s fingers danced up her sides. “You’re right,” she stated firmly. “And you certainly make a devilishly handsome Wesley. I think you should keep the mustache.” Lucien’s eyebrows raised as his eyes gleamed with delight and he nipped at Elain’s ear, eliciting another squeal. 

“At least there weren’t multiples of you guys,” Feyre whined in jest as she swung out an arm to showcase the room around them. “I figured the hype from the movie would have died down by now.” Nearly every other blonde in the bar had their hair teased to perfection and sported some shade of shocking pink, feet adorned with sky high stilettos. 

“There’s always next year, darling,” Rhys cooed as he tugged her closer.

Plopping into the chair you pulled from the table, you groaned as you kicked off your own high heels. Eris quickly joined you, sliding a chair in front of yours and sliding his hand along your smooth leg, raising it to land in his lap.

“I don’t know why you insisted on wearing those,” he frowned as his warm hands squeezed deliciously along your arch. “It’s not like graham crackers are known for their footwear.”

You chose to ignore that jab as you moaned at the soreness being massaged from your sole. “Mmmm, keep doing that,” you insisted as you brought your other leg up to his lap. 

“Anything for you, my treat.” Eris smiled softly at you as his hands worked their magic on your feet.

“Oh Eris, you really are gooey on the inside,” you cooed with a giggle as you poked a toe at his costume. 

His whiskey glazed eyes sparkled with mirth. “I’ll show you gooey on the inside,” he retorted loudly enough to be heard over the thumping bass of the room. Unfortunately also loud enough for the whole group to hear as well. 

Your eyes shot open with shock and delight at his joke, a laugh caught in your throat. Az’s bark of a laugh cracked through the shock as everyone else’s ringing laughter joined in the merriment.

“Wait – that’s not –,” Eris stammered as the pink color flushed at his cheeks. “I don’t like this game.”

@mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @chairofchaos @pit-and-the-pen

@prythianpages @c-starstuff-man0

[owlespresso]

ais/reader. warnings: spice beneath the cut, dubcon, predator/prey

You don't remember what you said. 

The conversation is all hazy, stuffed in the back if your mind behind the memory of his sharp smile, the cold glower he gave you before you ran. Something had shuddered in between the air between you, and whatever it was awoke some ancient instinct within you. Long forgotten fear spurred to life by the sight of those sharp fangs, bared to you by his displeased grimace.

Your body decided the rest for you. A cold sweat broke over your skin as you tore from the Seaspring's towering double doors. The grey skies above remained unbroken. Blood thundered in your ears with each frantic step you took, bumbling down the stairs and onto the flat, empty stretch of land which laid between the slope of the Seapspring and the borders of Eridia. 

At the edges of your vision, blackened shapes squirmed and writhed on the crests of nearby hills. Soulless—the decrepit army Ais had at his command. While you heard them—low snarls and inhuman, moaning noises which echoed through the valley, they didn’t seem to give chase. They remained still, merely watching, as if keeping some sort of solemn vigil.

Behind you, heavy footfalls kicked up dirt and slammed through cakes of brown-grey mud. You could hear Ais’s heavy pants, his thudding steps as he came closer and closer, the sound of your own pulse as it ricocheted through your body. If he caught you—if he caught you—

But there was no time to think, not with him breathing down your neck. No thoughts but momentary flashes of his big hands wrapped around your neck, his teeth buried in the column of your throat and your blood—your limbs splayed out in a gruesome trail from here to the hills, to the Seaspring’s gaping maw. Your body caught itself with frantic wheezes, cold breeze rolling hot, fat tears from the corners of your eyes. Your lungs rattled, the back of your throat burned, and your aching muscles howled for some sense of relief.

His hand fisted in the back of your hood, leaving you to squirm and flounder and kick up dirt as he reeled you in. The world whooshes by in one muddled vision of grey as he tossed you upwards and over his shoulder. The impact knocks the wind out of you, fingers feebly scrambling for purchase on the fabric of his kimono.

You’re shocked frozen, vision dipping in and out as he ferries you back to the Seaspring. You don’t even realize you’ve returned until he drops you onto the planks. He handles you with a swiftness and an indelicacy of a wolf bent over a fresh corpse, undoing your cloak and bringing his open maw straight to your mouth. He gives a quick nip to your bottom lip before he’s delving downwards. 

He lays wet, open-mouthed kisses across your throat. They’re more bite than kiss, and you shove at his shoulders as he sinks home particularly deep, sucking on the crook of your neck, lavishing his hot tongue over the stinging patch of skin. He noses your jugular, and your pulse rockets, the extra surge of adrenaline renewing your struggles. You’re shaking, you realize, trembling as he pulls you open.

“Ais,” you rasp. 

He digs his hands into the sides of your waistband and shoves down, shoving your panties aside. The chilled air of the Seaspring ripples a shudder down your spine. Humiliation warms your cheeks, and you buck underneath him, curling your hand around his wrist as he lowers a hand to the crux of your inner thighs. The muscles of his forearms flex taut, but for a moment, he freezes.

And then he runs his palm over your inner thigh, like he’s petting you, He warms you, cold and panting on the floor, held there by the heavy weight of his body. You’re ashamed of how it makes you clench up. Your fear, your the metallic sweet of adrenaline, the feeling of his hands and his tongue and his teeth—all of it rushes straight to your cunt.

“It’s pretty,” Is all he has to say. Indignance flares beneath your skin, hot as iron, and you open your mouth to tell him to go fuck himself—

But then calloused fingers pet at the core of you. Your cunt, already wet and wanting, flutters at the prospective touch, forcing you to smother a moan. He pauses. His hungry eyes twitch wider, just for a moment, before he leers at you, corner of his lip hooked into a smug sneer.

“You got wet, just from that?”

You feel like you could die. You want to disappear into the Seaspring, want to be swallowed whole by its smoky waters so you never have to see his stupid, smug face again. “It’s a natural response—!” you spit. It’s just the adrenaline. The rush of fear running straight to a part of yourself that’s never been in proper order. You want to tell him as much, but he’s already looking at you like you’re pitiful, like he adores you. 

“Sparrow,” he tuts, honey sweet with false sympathy. His red eyes bright with twisted mirth. “If I’d known a little run is all it takes to wind you up, we could have played sooner.”

[birrdies]

Sorry to give you 80 options but you know me haha 🤩🤩🤩🤩

Scar rehearsed it twelve times.

Once for each step it takes to cross the rotunda. He can’t tell if it’s the building that’s not so wide or if it’s his own desperate steps that make it seem like such an inconsequential distance. Either way it’s stuffed to the brim with people and their wandering hands, fingers loosely grabbing at his biceps and drunken congratulations on strangers lips like a baited fish hook nudging his cheek.

It’s an inauguration after all— a hard-earned, highly anticipated one at that— so Scar can hardly blame them for their excitability. Any other time, he might bite that hook, just to see what comes of it, eager to taste something fresh. But tonight is not any other night.

Tonight, his sights are set elsewhere. A clear target— albeit one that’s spent most of the night on the opposite side of the rotunda, as if keeping a thirty foot radius from Scar at all times is necessary to his survival.

Grian.

He’s standing there, tucked against a marble column with one foot propped up behind him and donning a deep maroon suit that couldn’t have fit him better. He isn’t drowning in it, nor does it dwarf him either. The tightly-tailored jacket hugs a set of broad shoulders, muscles Scar never knew existed beneath the loose button-ups and sweater vests Grian drowns himself in when he’s at the office, too busy with his nose buried in blueprints to notice Scar’s wandering eyes.

Only now his nose is tucked in a flute of champagne that makes his lip curl when he gets a taste. His hair, frizzy with the summer’s heat, curls around his face and cheeks. The bridge of his nose is covered by a black matte mask studded with feathers around the edges, like some kind of showman corvid. But even with the mask, even six paces away, Scar can’t miss the coy tilt of Grian’s head. An avoidant gesture that’s betrayed by the way he keeps his chin high, his nose upward. He must feel Scar coming from a mile away.

So, when Scar gets within ear-shot— closer than you might think, given the crowd only growing rowdier as more and more empty flutes are collected on trays and replaced with full ones— he says it. Just as he practices, the words as smooth as honey but still somehow drowned out beneath the noise.

Thirteenth try is the charm.

“May I have this dance?”

Grian doesn’t turn to him right away, but he does flinch. Like he’s trying to decide if he can get away with pretending he hadn’t heard Scar.

Luckily, he comes to his senses quick enough to jerk his head Scar’s direction. Even with most of his face covered he can feel the dubious raise of Grian’s brow— his skepticism a palpable thing.

“Why?”

Scar tilts his head. “Why else would you come?”

“I don’t want to get fired,” Grian says, grimacing after another sip of champagne from the flute he’s barely made a dent in it.

“You think so little of me?” Scar gasps, clutching his chest in a flare of dramatics that has Grian’s lip traitorously curling— this time with amusement. “I’m wounded, Grian!”

“I dunno,” he says. “the message you left on my answering machine saying that if I didn’t come you’d fire me was pretty damning. Gonna fire me if I don’t dance with you too?”

“No, but I’ll pout about it loudly, Scar says, and with the way Grian groans, tossing his head back, you’d think it was a worse threat than unemployment.

He huffs, a small, frustrated sound he makes so often Scar’s not convinced he’s even aware he does it. But Scar savors it, the grin stretching his face almost painfully as he holds out a hand and waits for Grian to take it.

It doesn’t take Grian long to. He abandons his glass on the ledge at the base of the column and pushes himself off of it, straightening the slightly rumpled collar of his suit jacket and tossing a hand through his hair. Only when he’s rightfully fluffed, like a bird preening its feathers, does he take Scar’s hand.

Scar leads Grian to the center of the rotunda by the hand, the curious crowd splitting to make way for the mayor and his special guest. Grian shrinks under their gaze, head ducked and hand tightening around Scar’s, a reaction Scar doesn’t fully understand because he’s never wanted to show anything off more.

Grian, squeezing Scar’s hand. No one else’s.

For a moment, when he holds Grian’s waist with one hand and folds their palms together with the other, he can almost pretend like it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“You’re gonna have to lead,” Grian mumbles after a moment of awkward buffering, his fingers relentlessly twitching in Scar’s hold. He then adjusts the hand resting on his waist, forcing it up higher a few inches. “And don’t get any funny ideas.”

Scar chuckles and takes the first step forward, bringing Grian along with him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Grian hums skeptically. “Yeah. Sure.”

Scar's ideas are anything but funny, but he knows Grian well enough to keep his mouth shut and not push his luck. Not now anyway, when he can feel Grian's nervous pulse all the way through his palm. Sure, Grian's always been relatively allergic to parties and sequins and general fun most days, but he seems especially squirrely now. Even as they dance, Scar leading him through the shifting tides of the crowd, it's like his mind is elsewhere. Hands jittering, eyes skirting, feet shuffling and nearly tripping on Scar's shoe every other step. It's hard to get swept up in the music when Grian keeps him so relentlessly tethered. Corporeal.

"You alright?" Scar asks after the first song, making no move to let Grian go. "Y'know, having fun is kinda a prerequisite for dancing with Mayor GoodTimes."

"I'm fine," Grian says with a small scoff, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when he pauses his hypervigilant gaze-sweeping to glance back at Scar. "You look like a turkey."

"Peacock," Scar corrects, lifting his hand from Grian's waist to brush the multicolored feathers layered over his own fine piece of velvet. Bdubs really is a genius, coming up with this whole masquerade idea. He's always been better with a mask to hide behind. Even if he's not the other guy right now, he can pretend he is. He can borrow his strength, his confidence, his charm.

"Of course. Plumage," Grian says with an thin, airy laugh. He lets Scar pull him back in as the next song sweeps them up. A slower tune that has Scar pulling Grian closer to him.

This close, beneath the glitter of the crystalloid-diamond chandelier, Scar can't help but stare back. His usual fanning of freckles are hidden beneath that black, feathery masquerade mask.

"You know," Scar says with little thought. "You kinda remind me of someone."

Grian's paranoid eyes dart everywhere but Scar's face when he asks, absently, "Hm? Who?"

The resemblance truly is uncanny. Those dark, paranoid eyes framed by dark black fabric, making every dark or nervous thought crossing them twenty times heavier. But it's not possible, no matter how bad Scar wishes it to be. His extra-curricular coworker wouldn't come ten feet within Scar willingly, let alone let one hand hold him at the waist and let himself be lead with the other. But a man can dream. Scar can fantasize about a time or place he can reconcile the two people inside him-- the mayor and the vigilante-- and have the two objects of his affection:

Grian and CuteGuy.

Scar parts his lips to respond before he thinks better of it.

He's here tonight as the mayor. Grian is here as his coworker, a part of his campaign. Nothing more.

Though these days, the lines are getting far blurrier.

"Aw, nevermind," Scar dismisses with a soft smile as he pulls Grian closer. "Must just be a trick of the light."

[cringemesstickles]

Howls Of Laughter

(TickleTober Day 8: Nuzzles)

Summary: 18yo Dean decides to grow a beard. 14yo Sam thinks he looks ridiculous.

Word Count: 1456

A/N: Another SPN fic because I want to 🤭

———————————————————

The Winchester boys were growing up, but some things never really changed… except for Dean’s facial hair.

Dean, now eighteen, had made the impulsive decision to grow out his stubble. He pitched the idea to Sam randomly one day at a diner, insisting he needed a new look. Sam however was quite positive that it had little to do with self expression, and more to do with impressing girls…

A few weeks later, Sam hadn’t really paid much attention to any new features since he didn’t think Dean would actually go through with it. He thought his brother would grow it, hate it, and shave it all off without ever acknowledging it.

The younger had been in his own world, his nose predictably buried in a thick book as he lounged on the worn-out couch in the motel room.

The older Winchester was standing on the other side of the room, looking in a mirror and inspecting the new facial hair. It wasn’t as thick as their father’s by any means, but it was fairly scruffy. He had never really tried to grow a beard before… it definitely different from the light stubble he was used to, but he figured the ladies were into the rugged look nowadays.

He let his gaze wander from his face, seeing Sam in the mirror. He could see that his little brother was deep into whatever he was reading, but that never stopped him from bugging the kid before.

He turned around and sauntered over, perching himself on the arm of the couch.

“Hey, Sammy. How do you like the new addition?”

Sam looked a bit irritated about his reading time being disturbed. He didn’t really care about whatever Dean was blabbering about… he just wanted to enjoy some peace and quiet for once. Nevertheless, he sighed, looking up to acknowledge the elder.

What he wasn’t expecting was for his brother to look like a damn wolverine.

Sam’s eyes widened slightly as they landed on the new beard, and he had to do a double take.

When the hell did that happen?

“Uh… Dean?”

Dean smirked, stroking his facial hair. “Yeah? Lay it on me, little brother.”

Oh, Sam would lay it on him alright.

The shorter boy set the book in his lap and covered his mouth with his hand.

“You look like a werewolf.” He said with a snicker that was bordering on full laughter as he saw the offended expression on his brother’s face.

The older Winchester’s expression faltered but he quickly gave a smirk, trying to recover from the blow to his ego.

“A werewolf, or a handsome lumberjack?”

That was all it took for Sam to fall over on his side, clutching his stomach as he burst into loud, mocking laughter.

“A-A handsome lumberjack?! You’re such a dork!!” Barked the younger, unable to control his amused reactions.

Dean grimaced and crossed his arms. “Quit laughing, Sammy! You’re just jealous that I can grow a beard and you can’t.”

That only drew more laughter from the boy, tears starting to prick at his eyes.

“Oh, please… I’d rather be able to enjoy a full moon!”

Dean’s eye twitched as his little brother continued to cackle, a hint of annoyance growing within him. Y’know what? If the kid wanted to be a sassy little shit, so be it.

“Fine! You wanna see a werewolf?! I’ll show you a werewolf!”

With a growl, Dean lunged at his younger brother, pinning him down with little effort. Sam gasped, eyes widening as he processed the threat.

“W-Wait, no, don’t! I-I didn’t- EEK!”

The kid fell into fresh laughter when his older brother dove down and began nuzzling at his tummy with his scruffy face, the scratchy whiskers rubbing against his soft skin, which immediately quivered on contact.

“Dehehehean, nooo! I-I’m sorry! Hahaha!”

A wicked grin spread across Dean’s face as a low chuckle rumbled deep from his chest.

“It’s a little late for that, kid. You hurt this werewolf’s feelings and now you have to pay!” He gave a playful growl, shaking his head back and forth, making sure the boy felt every bristle on his face.

Of course he wasn’t ACTUALLY hurt. He was just being a goof for the sake of it. Besides… he hadn’t seen Sam laugh that hard in what felt like forever. That uncontrollable belly laughter was the type of sound that he usually had to tickle out of him, but he didn’t have to this time.

It was just a bonus.

The nuzzles continued with full force, drawing squeal after squeal from the poor boy. He shoved at his brother’s head to no avail, kicking his legs and twisting his sides. But no matter which way Sam wriggled, Dean followed, making sure the soft belly got an appropriate amount of torment.

“No escaping, kiddo! You poked the beast, now you face the consequences!”

“Noooo! I’m sorry! P-Please stohohohop!”

Sam’s pleas were becoming more desperate and Dean could tell he was legitimately running out of breath, so he decided to give him a small break, pulling away and giving a cheeky grin.

His heart melted when he saw his brother’s cute, smiling face.

“Aww, is little Sammy too ticklish? Should’ve thought about that before provoking the werewolf, kid!”

Sam’s cheeks were bright red and only seemed to darken at the teasing. He panted for air, trying to glare at his big brother, though it was quite difficult to look angry when there was a goofy smile stuck on his face.

“Y-You’re a jerk… I hope you- AHH!”

The threat was cut short as Sam squealed once more and let out a shrieky guffaw, tossing his head back and writhing with renewed vigor. Dean had swiftly bent down again, but this time, he blew a big raspberry on his brother’s belly.

After each raspberry, he went straight back for another. It wasn’t long before Sam was gasping again, cherry red and struggling to breathe. When the laughter went silent, Dean decided to stop for good, ruffling his brother’s hair and helping him sit up.

Sam clutched his stomach, panting and giggling with tear stained cheeks.

“T-That was mehehean…” he mumbled, slumping into the couch.

Dean just snorted at that and lightly shoved his brother, giving a sly smirk.

“You loved it. But you might’ve been right… maybe I should leave the bearded look to dad.”

Sam nodded. “Definitely… the werewolf look doesn’t suit you, jerk.”

The elder scoffed and jabbed the kid in the shoulder “Bitch.”

The familiar banter made Sam smile, but he quickly regained a snarky tone.

“Now, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“For the love of all that is holy, go shave that thing off… unless you want dad to mistake you for a werewolf.”

Dean rolled his eyes, hopping off the couch and starting for the bathroom.

As the older Winchester stood up to head to the bathroom, Sam’s giggles finally started to die down, but he was still watching his brother with that impish grin.

Dean paused in front of the bathroom door, turning back with a raised brow.

“You got somethin’ to say, nerd?”

Sam bit his lip, trying to suppress the teasing comment forming on his tongue, but couldn’t resist. “You sure you’re not gonna howl at the moon before you shave that thing off?”

Dean gave an exaggerated eye roll, but his lips twitched into a smirk.

“You’re just begging for a round two.” He glared playfully as a warning, causing the younger to widen his eyes and raise his hands in surrender.

“N-No! I’m good!” Sam’s laughter bubbled up again, the thought alone making him nervous. “I don’t think I could survive another werewolf attack…”

Dean snorted, but his expression softened a bit.

“Don’t worry, Sammy. I’ll let you off the hook this time… But, next time you make fun of me, you’re screwed. I may not be a werewolf, but I am part tickle monster. Consider yourself warned.”

Sam’s cheeks flushed a bit, but he was still smiling widely. He huffed and leaned on the armrest of the couch, giggling at the silly threat.

“Duly noted, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

And with that, Dean disappeared into the bathroom. And when he re-emerged, he was no longer a scruffy werewolf… just regular old Dean Winchester.

“There… ya happy now?” Asked the older brother, stroking his face which was back to its regular stubbled state.

Sam grinned at the sight. “Very. You look like a regular old dork again.”

Hearing yet another sassy insult, Dean huffed with exasperation.

“You’re never gonna quit sassing me, are you?”

Sam simply smiled cheekily, giving a quick, “Nope.”

The kid was a brat… but at least he was honest. And Dean frankly wouldn’t have him any other way.

[delicatebarness]

good graces: a cry baby story | prologue

Summary: A new threat is on the horizon for our favorite bikers.

Warning: Mentions of Violence and Law Breaking.

Word Count: 459

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: You didn't think you'd get rid of the gang that easily did you? - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Cry Baby: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez | @am-3-thyst

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan

In the heart of the city, where the sound of engines roaring echoed like the growl of a guard dog, the Avengers rule the streets. They were more than a biker gang– they were a family forged in the fire of rebellion and held together by a shared disdain for the law. For years, they hung from the edge of chaos, their criminal acts shielded by the invisible hand of corruption. That hand belonged to Officer Nicholas J Fury, a man whose badge was as tarnished as the brass it was made from.

Officer Fury had been their guardian devil, a man who wore the blue uniform of justice yet, whose soul was sold to the highest bidder. With well-placed bribes or whispered threats, he kept the Avenegrs’ transgressions buried deep beneath the layers of bureaucratic red tape. The gang’s leader, Steve Rogers, trusted Fury’s greed almost as much as he trusted his family’s loyalty. Fury’s retirement, then, was an unthinkable disruption, a thundering storm cloud on the horizon that threatened to expose them all.

The news broke in the smoky bar that served the Avengers’. It was a dimly lit sanctuary, where the smell of stale beer was mixed with the tang of gasoline and the slightest hint of vanilla. The walls were adorned with the scars of countless brawls. Steve stood at the head of the back corner booth, his face etched in a grimace as he read the headline: “Veteran Officer Nicholas Fury Announces Retirement.” 

Silence fell over the gang as Steve’s voice cut through the din. “Fury’s stepping down,” he announced, his words heavy with apprehension. “In a month, he’s hanging up the badge for good.” 

The booth erupted into a cacophony of curses and anxious murmurs. The Avengers knew what this meant. Without Fury to protect them, every illicit deal and violent act would be exposed to the unforgiving light of day. Their shadows would crumble, and the hounds of the law would be at their throats.

The gang's minds raced, calculating their next move. They had a month to find a new ally within the force or to straighten out. The clock was ticking, and the stakes had never been higher. 

Worried glances and hushed plans were exchanged throughout the booth, and Steve felt the weight of leadership bearing down on him like never before. They had survived countless fights, but this would be their greatest challenge yet. The game was changing and they must learn to adapt or face obliteration. 

As the night wore on, the Avengers laid out their strategy, their plans hinging on precarious possibilities. Steve’s mind was swirling with thoughts and fears, but one thing remained clear– he would protect his family, especially his sister, no matter the cost.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[ma1dita]

my love, mine, all mine

based on this drabble : mean!remus

words: 2.8k

summary: Sometimes is not enough for someone who loves Remus this much. 

warnings: mean!remus x fem!reader !!!! mentions of sex; much angst they both cry, a lot of kisses & a very open ending, situationship blues, remus is a self-deprecating piece of shit!! 

a/n: thank you for the request anon!  i watched the eras tour movie and thought of mean!remus and reader during ‘tolerate it’.... sooo don’t blame me for what you’re about to read. title is from a song by mitski <3 always down to flesh out mean!remus and lovely!reader more if yall want--feel free to send in more requests and comments <3

(posted & edited: 10/15/23)

—

Sometimes he lets you down easy. You’ve memorized his face by now, every minuscule detail and the way it hardens when he makes up his mind. Remus is very deep set in his ways, a creature of habit forced by the resolution of hiding in the nighttime, waiting for the darkness within himself to find him under the light of the full moon. You know the whisper of a smile that dances across his face when he sees you, the way a scar kisses his brow when you surprise him, the mechanical tightness of his jaw when he dissociates himself from your embrace.

There’s a particular way his eyes drop that resembles falling snow and it tells you that he’s about to let you down again, buried under him and his excuses. It’s heavy. You wonder how someone so gentle, so fragile can leave you feeling cold, but you bare yourself to him anyway, trudging through the hope that whatever is between you can be more than sometimes. You know him intimately, wholeheartedly. But does he know you? Sometimes is the keyword here, and yet it is tiring, all of the time.

Your breaking point had to have been something big, something explosive. It had to, or why else would this facade have lasted so long? Why did you let him? Perhaps it was when he kissed your neck after Potions, asking to meet up after dinner. He moved away before you could follow him out into the corridor and joined his friends instead. The boys looked back at you, wanting to wait but Remus kept walking on. Or maybe it was when you woke up in his bed again, his side cold and your clothes folded properly at the edge. Remus was propped against his desk, mumbling that he had a very busy day ahead, and the silence that followed was enough to make you leave. Always good enough to bed, but never wanted by morning. It’s best to act like he wasn’t the one who asked you to stay.

—

None of those moments ruined your perception of him though. It was the lightest feather touch of a reaction that shattered the glass. He was walking you back to your common room after prefect duties, and you squeezed his hand gently, swinging it back and forth.

“D’you want to study for midterms tomorrow in the library? We could try to get that little table in the corner you like…” you said nudging his shoulder. He sighed, and his breath was hot against the crisp winter air as it landed on your cheek. Remus’s silence was your answer, and of course, it hurt. You’d do anything for a half-assed utterance to fill the shrill noise of your hope filling the space between you right about now. But this time was different though. This time he truly didn’t care. Remus looked at you with dead eyes, his mind somewhere far from where you were standing with him.

“Not this time, lovely.” The boy was tired, and so were you. The physicality of it was apparent in the way his posture hung low, and the way your shoulders fell from the emotional avalanche that his lack of effort pushed down on you.

“It’s okay. I hope you get some rest then.” Your eyes study his face, gliding from the crinkle of his temples to the scar on his nose and the freckles across his cheeks. He grimaces at your response. You wonder if any part of him hurts like this too. 

“Will I see you before we leave for winter break? Maybe you have time during the holiday.” Remus speaks quietly as if he’s the one being inconvenienced.

“Maybe,” you say. He makes a noise in recognition of that, nodding with his eyes closed. Stepping away from him, you turn to walk away before he’s behind you, lips against your hair.

“M’sorry.” He mumbles, breathing you in like wafting amorentia. His hands are shuffling through his pocket before he pulls out the wool mittens his mother knit for him the year prior. 

“Shouldn’t let your pretty fingers freeze in the cold.” He puts them on you daintily snapping the buttons closed, his nose against your ear. The corridor is silent alongside the slow thud of your heart. You walk away wordlessly, shoulders pinched like a chill has traveled down your spine.

—

Remus doesn’t see much of you in the days before winter break. Between studying for exams and his monthly run-in with the moon, there isn’t much time to catch his breath. He knows the hold he has on your heart is a devastatingly gory scene. You’ve let him in deeply as he burrows in every fang and claw he has to offer you. And in turn, he takes what he can grab with his razor-sharp touch. He tries earnestly to be gentle but the more of you he caresses, the more blood he has to mop up. 

His fingers are tapping on his forearm methodically as he waits for you outside of Transfiguration. Sorting through his thoughts as he waits for the rest of the class to finish the exam, Remus’ mind always falls back to you. Love is difficult, like many other aspects of his life, you see. He knows he loves his parents and his friends, but it makes him uncomfortable, much like someone undergoing anaphylaxis, to be honest with you. To lay himself out vulnerably to someone like you…He’s worried he’ll scare you off.

Students trickle out of McGonagall’s classroom, and you step out with your friends in tow, babbling about the exam. The feeling crawls up his throat as he tries to say something, but air and any coherent thought escapes him. What he feels for you has been making him do that a lot lately.

“Hey lovely.” he blurts out, body turning as he pushes off the wall in an attempt to catch your eye. But you keep rambling with your friends, throwing an arm over your roommate as you hardly spare him a glance. It’s not until your group reaches the end of the corridor that you look back at him for half a second, lashes fluttering as you turn back to your friends. And his heart is growing desperate, swelling, sighing as you continue to walk away.

—

You left for winter break without saying goodbye. The letters that he made his owl Nougat deliver to your bedroom window almost every day had you running out of treats to give her when she’d try to nip you for sending her back emptyhanded. Poor thing is getting fat. 

Your mother is so intrigued by your behavior that one night as you feed your baby brother a spoonful of mashed potatoes, she asks you something you’ve been wondering yourself.

“Honey, do you have a boyfriend?” The silverware clinks against your plate as you contemplate the answer. How do you explain this to your mother? How do you explain him? Has he hurt you so much that you bare your soul to her in hopes that she’ll put her work away and listen? Yes, but you let him, the little voice in your head says, so the guilt inside you keeps your response prompt.

“I don’t think so,” you say, your lips drawn tightly. Your brother spits out some mash and it dribbles down his chubby cheek as he laughs at the sight of you making faces at him. 

“What a mess, darling. Best clean it up.” You watch your mother’s eyes flit across your face instead of his before she says no more and goes back to cutting into her roast chicken. The napkin across your lap is wiped across his tiny face as you swallow hard.

What a mess, indeed.

After washing the dishes and excusing yourself, you crawl into bed staring at the ceiling. The moonlight shines brightly, a beam of light reflecting on the pile of unopened letters on your nightstand. Turning towards the wall, you shut your eyes and try to fall asleep.

You dream of him often. And in your dreams, he’s always just a little bit out of reach, always running away as you trip over snow-covered cobblestone, arms extended toward him. Though these dreams plague you, the realization hits that dreaming of him is better than your reality. In your dreams, your love is still pure and untouched. When you close your eyes you let yourself be the girl who was hoping at the beginning of it all. 

—-

The day after Christmas a pair of tiny hands shake you awake. Your eyes shift open to see your three-year-old brother peering up at you, hands tangled in your duvet.

“Your fwend is outside,” he whispers almost comically loud as you rub the sleep from your eyelids.

“What?”

“Your fwend is outside. I saw him in the window. He looks cold, sissy.”

You scoop him in your arms, carrying him back into his room and tucking him under the covers before you shuffle out front, watching Remus lean against his beat-up car. Throwing your coat on, you walk down your driveway, meeting him in a flurry of hot breath and cautious smiles.

“You’re not Nougat,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him as you stop short at his feet, crossing your arms.

“She’s almost too fat to fly now. Thought I’d get a message to you myself.” he chuckles, and it makes you remember why you liked him in the first place.

“Fancy a ride?”

He props the door open for you, hand ghosting the curve of your back. As you step past him to take a seat, he pulls you in for a kiss. It makes your knees tremble, having deprived yourself of everything about him for the past few weeks. The kiss sucks you in deeper as you anchor yourself onto the nape of his neck, and he’s moaning into your mouth. You hope your little brother isn’t watching through the window.

He drives you around in silence, neither of you knowing what to say. The heat is on high as he finally stops at the park, and he looks over at you. This time last year, he taught you how to drive here, both of you anxious for two different reasons—you trying not to crash and him discerning if you like him back. You both had sex in the backseat after you got the hang of it, windows fogged up and steamy. 

“Did you read my letters?” he starts, and you sigh before the end of his question. “No,” you mutter, looking out the window.

“Hey…What’s on your mind?” His fingers pull at your chin for you to look back at him, and you jolt back like he hurt you. You lean forward, pressing your palms into your eyes, breathing hard. He’s looking at you like he knows what’s coming, but he still hopes it’s not true. A boy made from Hope and of hope, that’s all he is. But it hurts to hope though. It hurts to hope for more when he knows he’s pushed you past your limits.

“There’s only so much you can expect of me, Remus. I’m just not sure I can do this anymore,” you whisper.

“Do what?” His voice is desperate and he’s hoping you won’t end this, even though you’re well in your right to do so.

“This. Whatever this is. Sometimes it feels like we’re together, but I know we’re not, and um… I’ve lost the plot. You’ve cut me too deep, Remus.” Your bottom lip is trembling as you croak out the words feeling sorry for yourself.

Remus leans his head against the window, knuckles white as he clutches the steering wheel. He’s going to lose you, and he’s petrified. 

“Look, if this is because I haven’t spent time with you at sch–”

“It is. But not just that. There are many reasons,” you cut in, your head tilting as you look at him. “You don’t make time for me, you’re embarrassed to be seen with me half the time. You act like I’m your girlfriend and Remus, you lie, constantly. I can’t keep up with what you throw at me and it’s too much, okay? I’ve let you hurt me for too long.” You get through most of it without hiccupping, but he can’t do anything but watch as you wipe your tears away.

“Do you love me?” he pleads, and if he’s ruined it all by asking that, he can’t tell. His hands run through his hair and he thinks he’s ripped to you pieces at this point. The carnage of the truth sits in his passenger seat as you sit there motionless, staring out the windshield.

“That doesn’t make me yours, Remus. It never has. My love is mine. That’s the only thing you can’t take away from me.”

Remus chokes on a sob as he watches your resolve harden. The windows are fogging up and it’s getting hard for him to breathe.

“I’m so sorry…I just don’t even know how to tell you th—”

“That you have lycanthropy?” Somehow hearing it from your mouth doesn’t scare him. This confession and your candor makes the shame he’s carried with him all these years feel lighter.

“You can say it how it is, lovely. I’m a werewolf. I– The moon shows me who I really am. A monster. I-shouldn’t…I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”

Your hand brushes against his cheek, pressing the tears into the indents of your fingertips as you wipe away his sorrow. He does hurt like you do. And you’d take it all away if you could. 

“A monster doesn’t worry about if they hurt people they love. You didn’t mean to hurt me, did you?”

He sniffs, wiping his nose with his sweater as he shakes his head. Both of you brush over the notion of love. There is a time and place for that, and it sure as hell isn’t right now. He’s being vulnerable to you for once, so you tell him what he needs to hear. 

“You’re not a monster, Remus. You have a big heart, and you’re wonderfully sweet, but sometimes your actions hurt. I know….everything about you. And from the reasons I can’t do this anymore, lycanthropy isn’t even in the top 10.” You lean towards him, noses touching.

“But I never said I regret it.”

You wish you could find better words to tell him he’s not as damned as he thinks he is. That anyone is deserving of love, especially him, but it’s hard to convince him that. Remus surges the small distance to meet your lips, and you can’t help but indulge, because if he’s damned then so are you, pulling him over the console as he sighs in relief. 

—-

Later, he drives you home, one hand on your thigh rubbing circles as you watch his side profile, less taut, but without a smile. The secret’s out, and there’s not much left to do but navigate the bloodbath. He hopes that he’s able to pick up the pieces and do you right. Remus pulls into your driveway and the car engine rumbles lowly as you sit, unmoving.

The door unlocks and he waits for you to make a move. Your hand glides over the door handle before you turn instead to look at him and his hand is extended towards you, a millimeter away from yours.

“I really am sorry. For treating you like shit.” he sighs.

“I know.” A smile graces your lips as you lean in and you kiss him again tenderly, once, then twice. It soothes the tightness of his jaw and he hopes you don’t hate him after all of this. The passenger door opens, and you climb out and look at the sky. It’s snowing. He watches you standing there, snowflakes sticking to your hair. 

“I do love you, Remus,” you admit, biting your lip. “Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” The laugh that follows is humorless, his eyes wide as you shut the door. Trudging your boots through the snow, a shiver wracks your body. You peek back at the car once you get in the house and give him a kind smile before you step in.

Remus sits there with the weight of your devotion. Brave in all aspects but love, he hopes you can wait a little longer for him to catch up. For now, his eyes fall to the passenger seat as he shifts the gear into reverse. His wool mittens occupy the seat. Your hands must be cold again.

—-

“Sometimes, home is not a home, but a claw lodged inside you. A river you step into because it holds light. You are waist deep, wading in what mauls you.”

-Athena Nassar

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing: my love, mine, all mine by mitski & sleep tight by holly humberstone

taglist: @jsjcue