#but then when he’s with the crows i’m back to where i started

[harmonicaorange]

idc i’m a hater seeing everyone adore freddy’s portrayal as kaz makes me wonder if you all read the same books i did

[the-dalseum-duet]

cra-chea-ing out

i’m. actually tweaking.

also on my period so that’s probably why I’m on the fucking verge of tears over this shit.  funny pun title tag (brief Kai name drop tag too) : @svwhssftr

Adrienne Lenker is an indie artist who does very much sad soft teenage lesbian music. The Phoebe Bridgers type. But GOD. SHE IS A LYRICIST. They’re very simple but so damn effective which is what always gets me good. It will kill me every time. I haven’t heard a lot of her discography but rn. But Always is getting to me

I tend to focus on a lot of the very flashy and entertaining aspects of Dalseum and I do this on purpose. Because I physically cannot bring myself to think about the more domestic aspects without FUCKING CRASHING OUT. kai must be there to soften the blow or else i physically cannot finish writing it because i will break down. i will hysterically sob. but I heard the lyrics

“I don’t want to be the owner of your fantasy, I just want to be a part of your family”

 and I was just like “sonnit che…” so. here we are. a spiel abt sonnet and noeul’s relationship bc i do not write nearly enough abt them

and the rest of her songs are VERY sonnet coded I just cannot bring myself to write abt it. cannot. I will sob. anyway. I very violently paced circles in my room over “I could be a good mother, and I want to be your wife. so I hold you to my knife and I steal your letter”

NOT A LOT. JUST FOREVER. INTERTWINED. SEWN TOGETHER I’M CRASHING OUT OVER THESE TWO I’M CRASHING THE FUCK OUT 

so of course. we gotta start w sonnet’s past. grew up very sheltered in a monastery and went to an art school in Britain where they met Adam and realized all that was out there in the world. something abt sonnet choosing to abandon their monastic practices for the glamour of Dalseum… something abt becoming someone who could never return to your family without them seeing you as a moral failure… hashtag relatable. back to sonnet 

so they’re desperate for human connection with people their age. which is why I think they get so attached to Noeul. he makes them feel special and physically loved even though he treats them like shit outside of their hookup sessions. bc sonnet doesn’t understand this yet. they just see the part of him that cherishes what they offer him.

sonnet’s also definitely has some form of personality disorder. theeeeere is something VERY wrong with them. probably bpd if I’m being honest but I’m just not educated enough about it. their behavior toward noeul is very similar to having a favorite person though. 

and ofc the whole Blaire thing happens after Sonnet leaves the Council to focus on healing after what happened with Adam. this really gets me tbh. bc they tried to fix what was wrong with them. they knew they could do better. they TRIED to do better so fucking hard but the life of the council was too enticing. and they gave back in. and they just… do whatever noeul tells them bc it’s easy and they don’t have to worry about being a good person anymore. they don’t have to focus on healing when they can just keep destroying their self image because it feels so much better to indulge in whatever Noeul does and his praise than to face the implications of what they’re doing 

and Noeul knows sonnet is doing this. and he really doesn’t care because it’s easier for him, too. he doesn’t have to think about what might have been if he tried to better himself for Charlie. (SPOILER: SOMETHING HAPPENS APX. NINE MONTHS AFTER THIS THAT FORCES HIM TO DO EXACTLY THAT FOR FIFTEEN YEARS!) but people know Sonnet, and Sonnet knows how the Council works and all the ways they bullshit their way to seem prestigious. They were who a Sang man was meant to marry, and Noeul is no better than the thousands of men who came before him. No matter how much he tried to change that. They both gave in to the easiest option. 

But here’s the kicker. Neither of their strategies work. Sonnet doesn’t fill the void that Charlie was, and Sonnet fucking knows this. THEY KNOW THIS. THEY KNOW THIS. DO YOU HEAR ME RN THEY KNOW THIS. THEY KNEW THEY WOULD NEVER BE NOEUL’S FIRST CHOICE. SONNET KNOWS THAT NOEUL PRETENDS THEY’RE CHARLIE the shotgun is in my mouth right now actually 

And they know that everything they do is for show. they’re Charlie without the rough bits. without the arguments. without the social awkwardness. without the small, unimpressive body. without the longing for more. WITHOUT THE LONGING FOR MORE!!!

and Sonnet is fine playing this part for a few years until Marie starts getting a little older. they see her love for her family and her love for them. and suddenly Sonnet has a purpose again, and that’s to be Marie’s parent. like, they enjoyed taking care of Crow as a baby bc that’s just the way sonnet is. they’re naturally VERY empathetic. they ALWAYS put others above themselves. which is incredibly tragic considering they’re the main antagonist for half of the entire plot

but Marie was different because Marie was their daughter. ofc they don’t really have that initial biological connection the way Noeul connects with Crow (and i could absolutely talk abt sonnet’s distress over their own inability to carry children. for a very long time. but not now) but Marie is the closest thing they’ll ever get. and by God is she more than they could have ever wanted and hoped for. Marie makes Sonnet feel like Sonnet again and not just some stand-in for some girl Noeul never got over

and Noeul and Crow have this parallel connection for a while. Crow makes Noeul realize that he’s more than just his job and that he can have meaningful connections with others that are just. meaningful connections. and not just business transactions. even if that comes in the form of his illegitimate son

(and yeah I could also talk abt Noeul always seeing Charlie in Crow and Sonnet doing the same seeing how he connects with Crow more deeply than connects with Marie but the gist of that is self explanatory. very angsty! but age old trope there)

But this is the key difference between them:

Sonnet raises Marie to be Marie.

Noeul raises Crow to be Noeul.

And this is evident over the course of Blackbirds and how Sonnet and Noeul react to Crow betraying the Court’s values. Noeul thinks Crow is just being immature and isn’t a legitimate threat because he assumes Crow has the same thought process he did at that age. He only takes him seriously when he realizes Charlie is with him.

But Sonnet sees Crow for all he is. They see that yes, he is just a scared and confused kid, but they know he doesn’t want to inherit the role of his father. He sees how his loveless marriage and alcoholism has destroyed him. They know Crow’s smart and driven as hell. They know he’s just like his dad at that age. 

That’s why they only intervene when Marie gets involved. Because Marie is their heart and soul. Marie is the good they gave to Dalseum. As the Court proves to be less and less stable, they confine themselves to their sacred room just. to get high and play music and shit. because they know everything around them is collapsing and there’s nothing they can do because their role on the Court has been reduced to Noeul’s arm candy. Marie is the only person left who truly sees them for who they are. 

and once Noeul announces that Marie is going to become empress and Sonnet will no longer have any say on the Court, they disassociate entirely. like the entire week before Marie’s coronation they just get stoned out of their mind and. I’m actually debating having them attempt to overdose on Crow’s leftover pain meds bc damn that shit has to mentally kill someone. they just fully embrace their dehumanization. but after none of that works they launch Operation Doehunt with Gale and we all saw how that went (spoiler alert: gale had a closed casket funeral)

I had a point here. Oh yeah.

Sonnet didn’t care that Noeul didn’t find them specifically attractive. They just wanted someone that made them feel important. They jumped through the hoops he told them to jump through to prove to him that they were EVEN WORTHY of his time and attention… even though Sonnet was worth so much more than that. But, after all the dust settled, they just wanted Marie to be happy. That was all they cared about once their entire life as they knew it was jeopardized. 

They didn’t want to be a part of Noeul’s fantasy. They just wanted to be a part of his family. 

Tune in next time for a potential “not a lot, just forever” analysis. that’s it for now. 

update: wrote this like a day ago but you called me in the middle of my crashout so I had to put it on hold. so here is the finished product that’s literally unintelligible bro what does half of this mean

[trevisos]

okay. god. i promise i’ll shut up soon but this line is rly…. the whole thing. “i’m here to bring you home” Is The Whole Thing. it’s all about the “i’m here to bring you home” to “tell me this ends with me asleep in your arms” pipeline baby. she thinks she’s here to bring him back to treviso and to caterina. he thinks she’s here to finally end the nightmare he’s lived for the last year. and she is but what happens when they figure out that’s not what home means? what happens when he realizes treviso is not home the way she is. the way they Both are. what happens when home was always the people who saved him and never the place he returned to.

[zaczenemiji]

Hi I hope you are having a lovely day my dear ♥. I was wondering if you could do a Kenji Sato x reader where the reader is an assistant manager to him and one day he like acts arrogantly towards her during one of his interviews when he sees a pretty journalist amongst the crowed of ppl interviewing him and he says some hurtful things to reader and collectively ignoring her and instead choosing to focus on the journalists girl. Ever since that day reader has been silent around Sato and he thought he didn't care but it bothered him because even though she is usually quite, these days she is *too* quite and then there is like a mini celebration for like a baseball game win and reader goes with a guy who is like an athlete but is not as famous as Sato. So the kicker is reader is absolutely DROP DEAD GORGEOUS and ppl at the party even think she is a model. So Sato get jealous and he acts all possessive and protective of her , while she is still angry at him but eventually he makes it up to her over time. If you have anything else to add please do.

Shattered Pride

Kenji Sato x AssistantManager!Reader

Word Count: 1,873

Genre/Warnings: Character Development, Eventual Romance, Forgiveness, Jealousy, Regret, Redemption

Author’s Note: The idea behind this was just fantastic! Thank you so much for the request, writing this was my honor.

MASTERLIST

Being Kenji Sato’s assistant manager is not an easy task. I repeat: Not. An. Easy. Task. Throughout his baseball career, he has had several assistants who quit as soon as they were hired because, for one thing, Kenji is stubborn.

Ghosted interviews, off-topic answers, and insults to other players were just some of the many things about him that gave you a headache.

You remember being referred to him by his last assistant saying that it was a high-paying job. However, you were skeptical at how quickly and willing they were to give off their job to another person.

You understood why the first time you met him. After the meeting, you asked him, “Is there anything else you need from me today?”

In response, he gave an irritated sigh. “If I needed something, I would have asked.”

Thankfully, you were more on the nonchalant scale, and how people respond to you didn’t bother you much. You were here to do your job—and excellently at that, not exactly to be friends with an arrogant baseball star.

Kenji’s behavior was… challenging, that’s the best word for it. He barked orders, rarely said thank you, and seemed to take your presence for granted. But in conditions like these, you thrive the most; you succeed where others have failed.

Today was a usual day with the usual crowd of journalists and fans gathering in the conference room. You stood by his side, ensuring everything was in order for yet another post-game interview.

It was going all smooth and well when Kenji suddenly paused mid-sentence. It was a very short pause that wouldn’t be noticeable to others but you, with all the time you spent as his assistant, noticed it.

Your eyes looked in the direction he kept glancing at. A girl, of course, strikingly beautiful with long sleek back hair that cascaded down in soft waves.

When it was her turn to ask, Kenji leaned forward to give her a dazzling smile. “Why don’t you ask me a question?” he said, ignoring the list of pre-approved questions you handed him before the interview started.

Kenji was holding court with this journalist longer than he should. You noticed that the others in line were starting to murmur in annoyance.

You stepped forward, maintaining your professional demeanor. “Excuse me, Mr. Sato, but we need to move on,” you said. “Other journalists are waiting for their turn.”

“I’m not done here,” he said arrogantly, not bothering to look your way.

You took a deep breath, wanting to handle this situation diplomatically. “I understand,” you said. “But we’ve exceeded the time limit, and it’s only fair to give everyone a chance.”

Whichever agency’s plan was it to send her here to get ahead of other journalists, it’s working. She gave you a polite smile, clearly enjoying the extra attention.

Kenji frowned and turned to you. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something important?” He asked. “If you can’t manage your job properly, maybe you should reconsider.”

Your eyes widened. You could feel others’ on you, their stares almost cutting through your professional facade.

Swallowing your pride, you nodded and stepped back, keeping your expression neutral. But as neutral as you looked, deep down you felt a mix of anger and humiliation.

From that day on, you remained silent around Kenji, only speaking when necessary. You remained professional though, and you made sure that your job was not compromised.

During meetings, you no longer offered insights unless directly asked. When you did speak, your tone was strictly professional. Well, it has always been, but the warmth that characterized your interactions was now gone.

Like that one time during a team strategy meeting. Kenji asked for input on a new play. The room fell silent as everyone waited for your usual insightful suggestions, but you simply looked down at your notes, saying nothing.

The coach glanced at you, surprised. "Any thoughts, (y/n)?" You shook your head. "No, Coach. Nothing to add."

At first, Kenji was oblivious to all of this. He was absorbed in his own world and the adulation of his fans, as always. But as the days turned into weeks, your silence grew too loud to ignore that even he finally noticed it.

A month later, the team planned on celebrating a recent major win. This time, they have decided to invite other athletes as guests of honor. The organizers wanted to have a mix of established stars and up-and-coming talents from the sports world.

You decided to take this as an opportunity to have yourself pampered. You have been working hard, after all. Despite the obvious tension between you and Kenji, you were still able to do your job well.

That’s why at the party, you were stunning. Drop dead gorgeous, as the team said. Though the lights were dim, it seemed as if a spotlight was following you as everyone you passed by turned their heads to look.

You decided to settle by the bar for drinks. “Hey there,” came a familiar voice. You turned to see Jake approaching. He was one of the promising young athletes and a rising star in the sports world who was invited to this party.

He plays as a forward for a popular soccer team and has recently garnered attention for his impressive performance in the league. This wasn’t the first time you met as Jake and Kenji ran into each other a couple times before at different events.

He leaned against the bar, signaling the bartender for a drink. “It’s nice to see you again and this time, enjoying yourself,” he said. “You looked like you needed a break at the last event we were at.”

You chuckled softly, appreciating his observation. "Yeah, it's been a bit hectic lately."

Jake's drink arrived, and he took a sip, his eyes studying you with genuine interest. “Well, you look incredible tonight,” he said. “Have you been hearing what the others are saying?”

Jake turned to glance at the crowd, then back at you. “They were all asking if you were a model or something,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the same.”

“Thanks, Jake,” you replied, smiling. “You clean up pretty well yourself."

He laughed, a warm, infectious sound that put you at ease. "So, how's work been treating you? Still managing the chaos that is Kenji Sato?"

You hesitated, the memory of Kenji's recent behavior still fresh. "It's been… challenging," you admitted. "But I manage."

Jake's expression softened with understanding. "I can imagine. He's got a reputation for being difficult."

Unbeknownst to both of you, the baseball star you were talking about has finally arrived. His presence commanded attention as he navigated through the crowd, exchanging greetings and handshakes.

As he made his way deeper into the club, his eyes caught sight of you. At that moment he froze. Or was it time that froze? He didn’t know. All he was sure of was that for a little while, he couldn’t breathe.

You were stunning. Your outfit, a sleek, form-fitting dress that accentuated your every curve, made you look like you had just stepped off a runway. Your hair was styled to perfection, your makeup highlighting your natural beauty.

Suddenly, he noticed the man you were talking to, Jake. “That rookie soccer player,” he thought. Gosh, you deserved so much better. At that moment, with firm resolve, he declared upon himself that he would work to be the better that you deserved.

Kenjl's jaw clenched as his own possessive instincts flared up, a mix of jealousy and protectiveness surging through him. He made his way over to you, his eyes never leaving your form.

On your end, you noticed the crowd parted slightly, and you saw Kenji making his way towards you.

Turning slightly, you met Kenji’s gaze with a cool, indifferent look. "Kenji," you acknowledged, your tone polite but distant.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion.

Jake looked at you, his gaze asking if you were fine with it. You smiled at him, a genuine and warm expression, something you haven’t given Kenji in a while. “I’ll go on ahead,” you told Jake. “See you around.”

Kenji led you away from the crowd, finding a quieter corner of the club. As soon as you were out of earshot, he turned to you, his eyes dark with jealousy.

"Why didn't you come with me?" Kenji asked, his frustration evident.

You scoffed. “First of all, you didn’t ask me to.” You crossed your arms, fixing him with a hard stare. "And you made it very clear where I stand with you. Or rather, where I don't."

He winced, the memory of his hurtful words coming back to haunt him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now. "I was wrong. I was an idiot."

You remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I've been a jerk, and I know it,” he continued. “I was arrogant, dismissive, and I took you for granted.”

You watch him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. Yet you looked away, the hurt still fresh. "You hurt me, Kenji,” you said. “You made me feel worthless and unimportant."

Kenji steps closer, his voice filled with regret. “I know, I'm so sorry. I was so focused on myself, on my career, that I didn't see how much I was hurting you. Your silence has been killing me. I miss your insights, your presence.”

He paused for a while before continuing. “I miss you.” He reaches out, gently taking your hand.

“You're more than just my assistant,” he said. “You're the reason I can do what I do. You make everything better, and I've been too blind to see it. Please, give me a chance to make it right. I want to earn back your trust.”

You met his gaze, searching for any sign of insincerity. All you saw was genuine regret and a longing to make things right. "This isn't something that can be fixed overnight, Kenji."

"I know," he said quickly. "I'll do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. I just... I can't lose you."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. "We'll see," you said. "But it won't be easy."

He nodded, relief flooding his features. "I understand,” he said. “Thank you, (y/n)—for giving me a chance.”

As you walked back to the party, Kenji stayed close by your side, protective and possessive. arm subtly wrapped around your waist, a clear signal to everyone around that you were with him.

As the night came to an end, Kenji offered to drive you home. To which, you agreed. The drive home was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything else, it was rather hopeful.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Kenji found you alone in the office. “Hey," he said softly, "I was thinking we could grab dinner. Just the two of us."

You looked up, surprised. "Dinner?"

He nodded, a hopeful smile on his face. "Yeah. To thank you for everything. And to make up for being such an idiot."

You smiled at him for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Dinner sounds nice."

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie

[d0rothydraws]

After a night out things get heated and Sylus can't control himself, revealing a new side of him.

content: f!reader, monster cock, porn without plot, public sex, multiple orgasms, Inappropriate use of Evol, after care, just a lot of smut idk

w/c: 3.7k

Ao3: Here

a/n: This took so long i'm so sorry works been wearing me out so much I haven't been able to post much. I hope this satisfies all the monster fuckers that wanted this from my one post.

Tonight had been.. A lot. You and Sylus were at a dinner banquet. Apparently a very important man was hosting the event and Sylus was looking for information about something. You didn’t really know or ask. You don’t really ask many questions these days. Sylus had custom fit you one of the most beautiful dresses you had ever seen. It was made of the softest silk, the neckline was low yet tasteful, showing enough to catch some looks but not enough to feel exposed. The skirt had a high slit that went to the top of your hip, exposing your leg once in a while. As you walked, the long skirt looked like it was flowing around you like water. You wore matching blood red heels that looked like they were carved out of ruby. The light catching them in a mesmerizing way. Your hair was done in a way where it framed your face, pulled in an updo that bounced slightly every time you took a step. And on your neck was a crow pendant embedded with a ruby. 

To say it simply, you looked beautiful. Elegant. 

And Sylus couldn’t keep his eyes, or hands, off of you.

As you walked, his hand was draped around your waist, hand on your hip. Or his hand was on your lower back, or when you sat his hand was on your thigh, fingers drawing patterns that sent a chill down your spine. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, meeting yours once in a while. You almost could feel the hot breath that left him when this happened, exhaling every time as if he was trying to control himself. 

You couldn’t lie, it felt good to see him like this. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what you would look like in the dress, it was custom fit, custom designed just for you. He had seen it on you before. And yet when anyone looked over at you, giving you just the smallest bit of attention, you felt his hand tighten, body pulled closer. Your hip flush against his. You could feel heat radiating from his body.

Part of you wondered if he was going to end up dragging you into the bathroom. A couple times you thought he was considering it, especially as his hand moved to the inside of your thigh halfway through the banquet. His rough fingers trailed higher, brushing against your panties. He leaned over whispering in your ear, his voice thick as honey. 

“You look delicious.” His words sent a shiver through your body as your hand tightened on the fork you were holding. You looked around, everyone was talking about something you didn't understand. Nobody knew what was happening under the table. And in a bold decision, you parted your thighs just a little bit more. Moving your hips to press against the fingers that were tracing your folds through your panties. You heard his breath catch, his hand pausing for only a second, Sylus’ lips returned to your ear. 

“Try not to squirm too much, kitten. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold back.” He said as his fingers dipped under the fabric, calloused fingers grazing the sensitive skin. You took a bite of food to hide a moan, your face red as a shaky breath left your lipsticked lips. You wanted nothing more than to ride his hand. To throw all caution to the wind and thrust your hips against his fingers until you were clenching and twitching around him, begging for more. 

And suddenly, his hand was gone. Your disappointment must have been audible because he chuckled, bringing his finger to his lips. Swiftly he liked them as if he was licking off a stray drop of sauce that fell onto his hand. You caught the look in his eye as his right eye started glowing slightly. Glancing down you seen the red and black tendrils of his power snake its way around your leg. It felt warm and you tried to not shiver or make a sound as you felt the weight of it move between your thighs. Your panties pushed to the side and as a reflex you tried to close your legs. The tendrils pushed your legs back open gently, like a pair of hands and as you felt the warmth against your core, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching a hand out, putting it on Sylus’ thigh, nails pressing into the thick meat. 

It felt as if it was Sylus himself between your thighs, just a different version. The feeling was like a warm tongue licking at you, lapping up every bit that you provided as you tried your damndest to not moan, or at least, too loud. You never felt anything like this before. You almost forgot you were in public until you heard his voice in your ear again. 

“Quiet, kitten. You’ll get caught.” His voice was low, strained. A rush of adrenaline flooded your veins as you choked back a whine. The energy pushed inside you, curling exactly where you needed it. Licking your sensitive, throbbing clit. Your hand on his thigh tightened, nails digging in more making him give a low groan deep in his throat. 

“Sylus-” You said, trying to be quiet, but the sound was choked out. Your breathing was heavy, face red and eyes were starting to get glossy. “I can’t. P-please, I-” You let out a choked gasp, louder than you wanted as your orgasm rushed through you. You clenched around the thick mass of energy inside you as you panted, blushing so dark that you probably matched your dress. A few people turned to look, eyebrows raised in curiosity as they saw your out of breath expression. 

“We will be taking our leave now.” Sylus said, the energy around your lower half dissolved as if it never happened. Your legs felt numb as you tried to steady your thoughts, your heart pounding and blood rushing. Your body moved on its own as Sylus stood, as if being willed by him to follow. You had no complaints about this, your anticipation was as high as ever to get him alone. His hand was firm on your lower back giving you much needed support as you walked to the car.

The drive home was quiet but the tension was thick. His body was tense as he pulled into the driveway and before you could even open the door, the red-black tendrils of energy embraced you again. Your body was moved by a force you couldn’t fight even if you wanted to. A thrill ran through your body. He had never used his Evol on you like this before. 

You were placed in the middle of the bedroom, Sylus following you through the door as his eye glowed. His hands in his pockets as he looked at you with a hunger you never saw from him before. You let out a slow breath, feeling the energy dissolve into the air as he towered over you, a hand moving to your chin. 

“Sweetie, you almost made me lose control, looking like that in public. It’s dangerous, you know.” He said, fingers trailing your skin as his other hand trailed down the curve of your waist, admiring the figure hidden under the dress he picked out. 

“I guess you could say I had a good stylist.” You said with a half laugh, he chuckled, a low sound that warmed your core. His hand moved behind your neck, fingers making quick work of the tie that held the light dress on your body. With a flick of his fingers, the fabric fell to the floor around your feet. Your hand moved to his chest, trailing up to wrap around his tie. 

The tension broke as you pulled him down into a rough kiss, one of his hands curled in your hair while the other moved to your hip. He guided you as you felt the bed hit the back of your legs, one of his legs coming to rest on the edge of the bed as you fell back. His kiss was hot, hungry. Teeth bite your lip, tongues pushing against each other as your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. He took your hand from his tie, his fingers wrapping around yours as he pinned it above your head. 

“Do you trust me?” He breathed in your ear as he pulled back, panting softly. You could feel the hardness of his cock against your thigh, straining his pants. You arched your hips up to apply some pressure, making him groan. You knew there was only one answer to his question.  

“Yes.” 

The grip on your hand tightened as it was pushed harder into the soft mattress, his other hand moved to your face bringing your lips to his as he kissed you. Slow, deep. Different from the kiss you just had. You felt hot breath on your cheek as he breathed out through his nose asif he was holding his breath waiting for your answer. In turn, the kiss took your own breath away as you pulled back, your lips slightly red from how he bit your lip as you pulled back. His fingers traced the outline of your lower lip as his eyes stared down at you, red orbs swirling.

“Darling,” His voice made a low sound as his eyes looked into you. A serious look that brought you back to reality for a moment. He didn’t give you that look often.  “I’m not sure if I'll be able to hold back tonight.” Sylus sounded just as breathless as you felt. “If you need me to stop at any point, tell me. Promise me.” He said, the hand on your cheek gently tracing the skin under his fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Your heart fluttered as you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed as you took a deep breath, processing his words. 

You two had a safe word. It was well established when you started becoming physical. There was one time you did have to use it, not because of anything horrible but you weren’t in the right mindset for what he had planned that night. So instead of putting yourself through it, knowing that he wouldn’t want you to do that, you said it. He stopped instantly followed by a warm bath, snacks, and your favorite show. 

“I promise.” You breathed, looking into his eyes as he stared down at you. There was something that you couldn’t tell, that you never had seen before. “I trust you, Sylus.” You whispered, bringing your free hand to pull him into a slow kiss that matched the last one. You put your whole soul into that kiss, as if hoping he would understand just how much you cared for him. How without a thought you would put your life in his hands, knowing damn well that he would do the same for you. 

As the kiss continued, the energy began to change. Once soft and gentle was becoming something more. His lips were hot, hungry as he straddled your hips. His clothed cock grinded against your thigh making your body twitch and shiver with need. His hand on your face became rougher, holding your jaw firmly as his kiss devoured you. He pulled away with a soft growl, licking his lips. 

“You’re like a drug to me.” Sylus said as his hands moved to pull at his clothes, buttons unfastening to reveal his chest. Your mouth started to salivate at the sight.  Your hands moved up to help him, guiding your palms over the surface of his skin. Sylus let out a low sound, watching you as you made your way to his belt. He didn’t stop you as you undid the fasten. The sound of metal was loud in the room as it fell from its hold as Sylus pulled the belt and tossed it on the floor. 

His lips were on you again. Hungry, hot. You felt your breath be taken from your lungs as your hands were pinned above your head. His tongue pushing into your mouth, devouring you whole. He pulled away with a low growl, looking down at you, his eyes dark and his lips red from the kiss and the stain of your lipstick. 

“Roll over kitten.” Sylus purred as he let go of your hands and instantly you followed his direction. You felt the slick of your arousal as you moved, making your need even more known to you as you turned. Now with your ass to him, arched as your cheek laid against the pillow. You felt his fingers wrap under the lace of your panties, pulling them down to your knees. You looked over to him, your view obstructed but still managed to match his eyes. 

No words needed to be said, both of you needed the same exact thing and he wasn’t in a mood to tease you, at least not at the moment. His hands worked on his pants, letting them fall to the floor as he stood off of the bed, his boxers following. Your mouth watered, moaning into the pillow at the sight of him. Hard, dripping. His hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly as his thumb brushed against the angry red head. You felt your pussy clench as if trying to draw him in. He was beautiful. He didn’t even look human. No human could be this beautiful. 

As he climbed back onto the bed he wasted no time in positioning himself. He kissed your back, one hand on himself to adjust while the other was on your ass, sinking into the soft flesh. He kissed your back again before speaking into your ear, his voice was rough, deep.

“Remember our promise?” He whispered, his voice strained. Reminding you that you would use the safe word if you needed. You felt his tip slide against you, eager for the final confirmation. You nodded into the pillow, shifting your hips as you grinded against him. He groaned, the hand on your ass getting rougher as he held you still. 

He began to push into you slowly. You felt your body stretch to accommodate him, your moan loud as your body felt like electricity was pulsing through your veins at the feeling. Fuck he always felt so good. So thick, so heavy inside you. Your eyes rolled as he bottomed out his hands gently rubbing your back, your ass, the back of your thighs. He waited a moment, his breath strained as he tried to contain himself. But as he started to thrust it was a lost cause. 

You cried out moaning as he pulled out, thrusting back in. Your body shook as you felt him fuck you, his thrusts started to get faster the louder you moaned as if the sound of your cries edged him on, which was very much the case. You tightened around him, gasping as you felt his hand coming to rub against your clit, his rough thumb brushing the sensitive skin. 

“You sound so beautiful darling. Let me hear how you sound as you cum on my cock.” He purred in his ear. His voice sounded.. Different. Deeper somehow, more primal, needy. It drove you wild. You moaned gasping as you moved your body against him, fucking yourself on his cock while he pressed his thumb against you. You felt the sensation take over your body as Sylus hit that spot inside you that made you cry out and see stars. Your orgasm flowed through you as your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, pushing him to the brink as he filled you with his hot cum. 

You caught your breath, your forehead sticky with sweat as you felt your body tremble from the release. Sylus on the other hand, was still inside you. Cock hard, twitching as if he didn't just cum inside you. His hands gripped your hips, his lips moving to your back as he kissed your sweaty skin. You could hear his heart pounding, as fast as ever. 

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetie. That was a warmup.” He said as he started to thrust again, slowly at first. Your body shivered and moaned at the sudden movement, sensitive from your orgasm as he stated to fuck you. You felt his cum inside you, being fucked deeper. You blushed gasping, your head spinning with pleasure. 

As he fucked you, you swore his hands on your hips felt larger. His nails were digging into your skin as if they were talons. Not cutting into you, but more noticeable than before. You gasped, your mouth opening against the pillow, eyes widening as you whimpered. 

“Sylus!” You cried out as you felt your pussy stretch more than before. You felt his cock, which was already big and thick, get even bigger. The girth stretching you out more to the point your legs were shaking. You felt him hit places inside you you didn't even know existed. You felt tears fall from your eyes, sure it hurt a little but god you never felt so good in your life. You felt his tongue lick up your spine, long, thick. His mouth moved to your ear, sharp teeth nipping the skin. You could hear your heart pound. What was he? How did he become… like this? 

“Wow kitten, you took me so well.” Sylus purred. He wasn’t even moving yet and you were a whimpering crying mess. “I bet you love being stretched out on my cock like this, don’t you? I’m not even moving and it feels like you’re about to cum again.” He teased as you felt a rough, larger than normal thumb brush against your clit. “Careful, if you do, you might boost my ego. I could get addicted to this.”

Your head spun as you whimpered and moaned. You couldn’t see him. Even if you tried to turn, he was pressed against your back. But he wasn’t wrong. You were close. So agonizingly close that when he touched his thumb to that damn spot between your legs it was instant. You cried out, clenching around him and he hissed at the feeling. His cock twitched inside you as he felt you cum on his cock from nothing more than just being inside you. Filling you up completely. Stretching you to your limit to the point you weren’t sure if you’d be able to walk later. 

“Good girl. You’ve been such a good girl for me, haven’t you?” Sylus purred into your ear as he started to move. Your eyes widened as you cried out, hands clawing at the bedsheets as you felt how massive he truly had become now that he started moving. Your legs shook as you struggled to keep yourself propped up on your knees. His hands came to grab your hips as you whimpered and moaned mindlessly into the pillow. His hands felt so big, so strong. He had always been strong but this was different, otherworldly. He held you exactly how and where he wanted you as he began to fuck into you. Your body bounced and shook as if you were a ragdoll. 

“That’s it, sweetie, just like that. You’re a perfect little slut for me, aren’t you. Taking anything I give you, no matter how big. You’ll stretch your tight little pussy for me, won’t you?” Sylus growled in your ear and you gasped, eyes rolling back at his words. You couldn’t control the sounds coming from your lips, or the drool that spilled out onto the silk pillowcase. You couldn’t stop the loud needy whimper at the things he said to you. His nails pressed into your soft flesh as he continued to ravish you. 

His thrusts started to get unsteady as he panted, one hand groping your ass as the other curled into your hair, turning your face for him to kiss you. His long tongue forced its way into your mouth, his teeth were sharper but it felt more like fangs now that you could feel him better. You opened your eyes for a second, catching a glimpse to see that he looked normal. As he pulled away and opened his eyes though, you noticed how both eyes were glowing red. It looked like orbs of the red mist of his Evol flowing inside his eyes. It was beautiful. If you weren’t getting your brains fucked out you would have more time to appreciate it. 

The hand returned between your thighs, drawing circles against your sensitive nub. As he felt you twitch and whimper, his hand continued until he pulled another orgasm out of you. Your scream was muffled by the pillow but the sound made him take in a sharp breath. Even when he was like this, the sounds you made affected him more than you could ever know. You felt as his cock twitched, his thrusted uneven before he came inside you. The feeling was different than before. It was thicker and it felt like there was more than usual. You gasped, moaning as you felt him thrust a few more times, the thick globs of cum running down your thighs. 

Slowly, you felt him begin to pull out. Your body was too weak and tired to turn around and look at him but that was the last thing on your mind right now. You didn’t care what form he took. He was still yours. And you were still his. You felt him shift around you, his arms pulling you into his chest as he kissed your head. The smell of him flooded your senses as a sense of calm you never felt before came over you. 

His hands were so gentle as he carefully checked for marks and scratches. You felt a warm cloth on your thighs. A cold bottle of water pressed to your lips. You opened your mouth and the bottle tipped so gently. His hands were still on you, gently touching and caressing you. As you opened your eyes gently you saw the oh so familiar black and red mist surrounding you. Cleaning you, giving you water. You felt a kiss on the top of your head as Sylus pulled you closer. 

“Relax, kitten. You’ll need to recover. I’ll take care of everything.”

~•~•~•~

some people on my post asked to be tagged or really seemed to want this so here u guys go i hope you dont mind the tag

@lunacielooo @in-too-deepspace @sefynarose

[urhoneycombwitch]

mean mouth

sub!Eddie Munson x Reader Eddie likes when you talk a lil' mean to him. game over once you figure it out.

foreword: n e ways. just a little exploration of that boy's early-day sub tendencies. I generally write Eddie as older but since this takes place in some nebulous time before s4 u can think whatever u want +18. ‘unnamed freak’ is Jacob. punk band name was not thought of by me but isn’t it great <3

cw: gn!reader w/breasts + V, oral (R receiving), unprotected PiV, soft!dom(ish) R, Eddie subbing from the top 😎, gotta-be-quiet-when-we-fuck trope my beloved

wc: 3.7k

____

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

Eddie’s a blur of motion in the little trailer kitchen, knocking against your knees where you’re propped up on the counter (not entirely helpful but, in his words, ‘much-needed eye candy for the chef’), closing cupboards with a bang and talking animatedly over the hiss of onions cooking.

Your boy is loud, always has been, and tonight is no different- he’s crowing and cackling, recounting a particularly genius foible that he’d orchestrated during last night’s campaign, wooden spoon dipping in and out of heated pots over the stove like some crazed frizzy-haired potions master. 

“And then.” He punctuates with a jab of the spoon towards you, a long drip of spaghetti sauce narrowly missing your leg- you flinch and squeak in alarm, but Eddie just grins wildly, eager to get to the punchline. “Red rolls a natural. Fucking. Twenty.” 

“Holy shit!” Your smile is wide, natural and easy for him- Eddie’s excitement is infectious. 

“I know!” Eddie spins back to the stove, plunking the wooden spoon back into the simmering sauce before opening the oven. Heat from the broiler rises in a mouth-watering cloud of herby smell, and Eddie reaches for the metal sheet of garlic bread, still talking. “Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. And then I- shit!”

You don’t put the pieces together until Eddie’s spinning away from the open oven, whole body moving with the force of his hand being shaken in the air- he’d touched the roiling-hot metal with his bare hand.

“Oh, shit, babe-” Sliding from the counter, you nudge the oven door closed with a foot, reaching out to assess the damage- but Eddie’s a whirlwind, jumping up and down, swinging his injured hand around in jerky movements, howling in pain.

It’s kind of freaking you out, ‘cuz you can’t tell if he’s playing up or if he’s actually got a third-degree burn. The voice that comes out of you is commanding, one that you rarely use, firm and louder than his hollering. 

“Eddie, for fuck’s sake- stand up and let me see it.”

That seems to do the trick. Eddie’s eyes snap to you, pausing mid-hop, and you take advantage of his semi-stillness to snatch his wrist and drag him towards the sink. The water runs cool and you turn his palm over in both of yours, breathing a sigh of relief when the pink welt across the bridge of his hand doesn’t have any blisters.

“Under the water,” you instruct, pushing at his silver-link braceleted wrist until he gets the memo, letting the flow from the tap ease the burn.

Eddie hisses through his teeth, and then goes quiet for the first time in ages.

There’s a few moments of this strained silence as you watch his hand carefully, color leaching back into his palm until you notice Eddie’s looking at you sideways.

Your shoulders hunch in a bit, arms crossed over your chest as you take a step back, misinterpreting his look as wounded. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just-”

“Hey, whoa, no-” Eddie’s hand automatically reaches for you, dripping water on the floor until he remembers his injury with a wince and plunges it back under the tap. “You don’t have to apologize for that. At all. Um.”

His left hand, the uninjured one, braces against the linoleum, ringed knuckles creaking as he shifts his stance. He sounds uncomfortable, and you’re about to start apologizing again until he lifts his head, eyes twinkling- “You were so bossy. It was totally hot.”

A shocked laugh burbles out of you, unsure if he’s joking or not- when he shifts his weight again, your gaze flickers down to the zipper of his dark jeans- he’s fully hard. 

“Oh my god.” Split between amusement and mortification, adrenaline from seeing him get hurt fizzing through your veins, you laugh again- this time, sardonic, into your hands, shaking your head. “Jesus christ, Eddie.”

“Can’t help it.” He’s close to whining, hips pressing flush into the cabinet, partly to relieve the ache in his groin and partly to toy with you. “Goddamn. Sound so sexy when you tell me what to do-”

There’s a teatowel hanging from a nearby rack; you snatch it up and whip it at Eddie’s shoulder, playful and irritated as you snap, “Shut up.”

“Oh, yeah, just like that, baby-” Eddie’s fake sultry voice earns him another towel-whip, this time at his neck- he squawks, ducking to avoid another blow while still keeping his hand under the water.

“Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous,” you announce with finality, slinging the towel over your shoulder and turning on your heel. “I’m gonna get the burn cream. Try not to cum or die while I’m gone.”

His bright laughter follows you all the way down the hall.

___

The next time it happens, it’s sort-of on purpose.

Eddie’s glowing with a post-show rush- a local business convention meant Corroded Coffin got to play for a nearly-packed room. Nevermind the fact that their Bruce Springsteen cover was the one bringing in the most applause; Eddie’s always been able to feed off the energy of a crowd, and tonight was a riotous success.

The Hideout is loud but your boy is louder, as per usual. There’s sweat curling the baby hairs at his temples, bright spots of flushed pink in his cheeks from the round of whiskey you’d bought the band as a congrats. 

He’s making a toast to his laughing bandmates, to beautiful you, to any nearby drunk who will listen, proclaiming his lust for life with one boot on the well-worn table in noble pose.

“And to Bev, the best of us-” Eddie tips his half-empty glass towards the nearby bar, shouting over the din of the jukebox and lively chatter, “-may your sharp-tongued wit live on!”

Bev pauses service to flip him off, and Eddie collapses back into the comfort of your arm over the booth’s top, grinning when the band trio of Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob nearly fall out of their chairs with laughter.

It’s always hot to see Eddie in his element, and tonight’s not an exception. He turns to lean into you, looking down the slope of his pretty nose like he knows why you’re staring.

A charming wink precedes, “Come here often?” but his flirting is interrupted when Jeff gets up for another round and bumps the table- whiskey sloshes over the side of Eddie’s cup and coats his hand in stickiness. 

He swears viciously, yanking out his bandanna to wipe at the mess while you laugh over the rim of your own glass at him. “Real smooth, babe. Good thing you killed it on stage, otherwise I might not take you home.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, inhaling for another cheesy line to wow you with when his gaze flicks past you and his face falls. 

Across the table, Jacob mutters, “Oh, shit,” and Gareth glowers.

Following their eyelines, you look over your shoulder to see Nico Hawley, frontrunner of Hawkin’s own punk band (the Scumshots), enter through the front door in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

When you turn back to Eddie, he’s already twisting the damp bandanna around his rings. The usual softness of his doe-brown eyes are now flint-sharp, and with a rush of panic, you remember the last time Eddie and Nico ran into each other; the night had ended with you back at the trailer, holding a cold pack to Eddie’s split lip, which he’d received from engaging in what he referred to as “friendly fisticuffs”.

There was nothing friendly about the way Eddie stood, then, to his full height, dark and imposing with his big mane of hair and leather jacket. The other Corroded boys won’t start any shit themselves, but will absolutely back Eddie up (fearless leader, resident shit-starter, instigator extraordinaire). 

Time’s running out for you to get a handle on the situation, Eddie already moving to slide past you out of the booth when you snag his left jacket sleeve in a tight grip.

The first yank you give stops him in his tracks; the second, more intentional tug gets his face level with yours, Eddie’s hardened stare giving way to confusion as you pull him into your space. 

In that same authoritative tone, you pin Eddie in place with a fistful of leather and command, low, right in his ear to be heard above the bar noise, “Don’t. Sit down and be good.”

At first, you’re not sure it worked, because Eddie’s just staring at you- slightly slack-jawed, pretty pink o mouth as his gaze flickers to your lips, back up to lock in your gaze again.

And then, by some miracle, Eddie obeys. Like a well-trained, marvelously-behaved dog. He’s back in his seat with a jolt to the booth, hand curling around his whiskey again. 

Curls spill and shift around jacketed shoulders as he shoots the rest of the glass, adam’s apple bobbing, other hand slipping to cup your thigh hidden from view. “It’s not worth it,” he announces to the rest of the group, sounding strained, staring at the bottom of his empty glass, knuckles white with force.

Jake sighs, relieved, but Gareth scoffs, tipping the neck of his beer across the table to point, goading Eddie with  “Since when have you been the one to take orders?”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoots back, blood returning and redistributing enough from where it had all rushed south, enough to defend you and himself against his drunk bandmate. “We’re already on Hop’s shit list, asshole, can’t be catching any more charges for stupid fuckin’ bar fights.”

Nico had disappeared into the throng of people at the bar while your group has been arguing- probably for the best that he’s out of eyesight. Unperturbed by Gareth’s comment (he likes you fine, he’s just grumpy from the alcohol and itching for a fight), you sip your drink and give him a shameless wink. 

Underneath the tabletop, Eddie’s palm flattens over your jeans, fingers dipping to toy with the denim seam hugging the fatty plush part of your inner thigh. You shift your hips, subtly, feeling flush with heat and power. Just a couple of words and you have him eating out of your goddamn hand. 

Jeff returns, setting a handful of beers in the middle of the table. “Saw that shitstain Hawley at the bar. What’d I miss here?”

Gareth swoops in with accusatory explanation, seizing another bottle out of Jeff’s hands. “What you missed is Eddie’s balls on a leash-”

“Jealous you don’t have someone at home to tie you up, Emerson?” Eddie’s dig comes swiftly, lips quirked in a smile around the rim of his drink. 

There’s a raucous burst of laughter, Gareth’s curly mop of hair gets ruffled playfully, and everyone eases back into celebration, all while Eddie’s thumb edges closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

___

The next time, though? Totally on purpose.

There’s a sliver of gold from the hallway light spilling under Eddie’s closed door, left on in case Jeff or Gareth needed to use the bathroom during the night. 

And despite the fact that two of his bandmates are passed out on the couch and floor just a short walk away, Eddie’s hands are exploring the length of your body under the sheets like he’s got plans to map you with his tongue. 

“We- ah- can’t.” Your whispering scold is interrupted with a sharp gasp when Eddie nips at your neck. “No fooling around. Not when we have guests.”

His left hand drips over the swell of your breast, squeezing and kneading, your nipples perking to attention (traitors) underneath the bra you haven’t yet had the chance to take off.

Eddie adopts your quiet tone as he speaks between kisses that trail further down your body, not outright ignoring your weak protests but not doing much to combat them, either. “Mmm. Got me so worked up. Been driving me crazy since the bar, y’know that? ‘S cruel, baby, can’t just talk mean and expect me not to act on it.”

“Wasn’t mean,” you counter, hands shifting automatically to wind through the soft locks of hair tickling at your stomach as Eddie continues his path downwards. “Didn’t wanna have to patch up a split lip. Had to make you behave somehow.”

The vibrating groan Eddie gives against the soft skin of your stomach tickles; when you squirm, shushing him again, his hands slide to your hips, pinning you in place. 

Nose to your navel, warm breath fanning across the strip of skin just above the band of your panties, Eddie sounds strung-out already, close to begging. “Please, baby. I’ll be good. Make it so good for you. I’ll be quiet-”

His head snaps up at your sudden gasping laugh, chin perched on your tummy as he scoffs. “What, you don’t think I can keep quiet?”

“Eddie Munson, you couldn’t be quiet to save your life.” Your hands migrate to his cheeks, squishing them together fondly as he grins around your touch, his thumbs working circles at your bare hips. 

“Ye of little faith.” In the dim light of the room, Eddie’s teeth are a flash of white before his mouth dips to press against the wet patch at your underwear.

“Fucking… shit-!” The expletives fly out harshly, only because you weren’t expecting the wet stripe of his tongue against your clothed folds. Head dropping back to the comfort of your pillow, you get one hand in Eddie’s hair again, the other finding its way to twist at the sheets.

You can feel his smile, equal parts smug and sympathetic as he coos saccharine to your inner thigh- “Now, now, angel. Gotta be quiet.”

Not willing to lose the fight, you focus on clamping your mouth shut, eyes closed in concentration- even as Eddie slides your underwear down and off, a quick flash of blue fabric before it’s swallowed by the floor’s darkness. Even as he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard like he’s been deprived of your taste for too long.

When his tongue breaches your entrance, a soft gasp escapes, one that has your head turning sideways to grab some pillow with your teeth. 

Eddie brings the wetness from your entrance up again, spreading it over your pulsing clit, nerve endings fizzing bright and hot in your stomach from the attention.

On instinct, your right leg kicks out, jolting with the spasm of pleasure- Eddie’s quick, though, taking advantage of the movement to find a new hold at the back of your thigh; rings biting cold, he pushes until you bend for him, your knee now pressed towards your chest.

“Gonna make it so good for you.” Eddie’s mumbling pussy-drunk rambles into your cunt that’s now on display, dragging his nose through the slick that weeps out of you, all for him- “So wet for me, angel. Fuck’s sake. This all for me?”

As if he doesn’t know. The hand that isn’t busy holding you open trails up your thigh, middle finger teasing at your entrance before slipping inside, no resistance thanks to the river of slick that rushes to greet it.

There’s a soft squelching noise as Eddie adds a second, curling them up, stroking against that tender gummy spot that always skyrockets your pulse. 

The noise is almost enough to give you pause; feeling wild and flush with heat, your hand tightens in the crown of Eddie’s hair, eyes popping open as you prop yourself up on an elbow to give a strangled hiss of warning through your teeth.

Eddie senses your unease, pulls his fingers and mouth out and off (a travesty), softening the blow by giving a placating kiss to the top of your mound. “Shhh, sweetheart. S’okay. You hear that?”

Past the noise of nighttime crickets from the nearby cracked window, past the hum of the kitchen, you hear it as Eddie crawls back up- distant, tandem snores from the boys in the living room.

“They sleep like the dead. Like rocks,” Eddie promises, settling his weight into his hands planted on either side of your head, hair creating a curtain around your faces as he leans in. “So we can get our rocks off.”

“That was awful.” You kiss him anyways. He tastes like you, earthy and warm and wet, saliva mixed with your arousal as the kiss turns sloppy.

Eddie rocks his hips forwards, the friction from the fabric of his boxers making you both gasp into each other’s mouths. He’s achingly hard, cock leaking and smearing precum through the cotton; there’s a hurried, manic shift as you both work to strip the last pieces of clothing from yourselves, his boxers and your bra following your underwear from earlier into the dark of the room.

And then Eddie is sliding his cock through the folds of your pussy, slicking up the sizable length as much as he can before the tip nudges at your entrance; Eddie’s arms tremble with effort as yours wrap around his shoulders, soothing with a kiss to his cheek- “Lotta talk about keeping quiet, Munson. That’s all it was? Just talk?”

Now that his mouth isn’t intent on making you fall apart anymore, you’ve got some breathing room to tease. To be the one to work him up. Tucking a curly lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers trace adoringly over his temple before sliding to grip the back of his neck. “Gonna prove me wrong, hotshot?”

With this new proximity, you can see Eddie’s eyes- fixed intently on yours, black pupils nearly eclipsing the soft amber of his irises. He looks slightly feral, sweat sticking his bangs in place, lips parted, spots of pink staining his cheeks. 

As if he doesn’t trust himself to speak, Eddie’s near-silent as he slides himself in to the hilt, jaw dropping as the warmth from your walls encompasses him completely.

The chained guitar pick around his neck tickles between the valley of your breasts. He pants, chest heaving, not daring to move yet; your breath stutters. You can feel him in your throat.

“So big,” you murmur, an honest reaction but one that has Eddie’s brows drawing together, a little whine escaping as his hips jerk forward, reflexive to your words.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.” 

Eddie’s voice, strained though it may be, is on its way to regular volume. At the back of his neck, your hand flexes, a warning as he begins to rock steadily into your tight heat. 

“Gotta be good.” Biting back your own groan, you sling your leg over his waist. At this angle, you can press your heel to the dip of his lower back. “Be good and quiet for me and I’ll let you come in my p-”

His hips snap forward, audibly, subsequent wet noise obscene, filling the room. Eddie moans into the curve of your neck before your sentence is even fully formed- “Jesus, baby. Oh my god. Can’t say stuff like that, gonna come too quick-”

His cock fits along the contours of your cunt like you were made for him, ridged tip dragging against that same sensitive spot of your front wall with each pull and thrust.

Eddie’s forehead thunks into yours as he rolls it back and forth, mindlessly. All the tease has melted out of his voice: it’s been replaced with a lust-filled rasp, rock-salt and deep. 

Your voice, however, is all tease, still hushed but laced with mischief despite your mounting pleasure. “Yeah? Gonna come in my pussy?”

It’s almost not fair and you almost feel bad, seeing the way Eddie fights to make his gasp silent as the channels of your cunt clench in answer to his fucked-out expression. With his next thrust, Eddie loses the battle- a hoarse, blissful moan much too loud spills over and out into the quiet room. 

Moving quick, your hand slips from the back of Eddie’s neck to his mouth, palm flat over the plush of his lips.. The commanding tone comes easy this time (with practice, you’ll surely be a natural).

“Eddie. Be. Quiet.”

Usually, Eddie’s got stamina enough to prioritize your pleasure, making sure you’re taken care of at least twice before he even thinks of himself. Tonight, though, he’s already been straining in his jeans for hours, unbearably turned on from your earlier sharp words, pushing the limits of desperation.

Your words, once again, do the trick. Eddie’s cock pulses, and he comes hard, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your hand, chorus of whimpers successfully dampened. His dark brows knit together, eyes pinched shut, nostrils flaring with each stilted breath.

He’s so fucking hot when he comes, hair a riot around stormcloud eyes that open to take you in. Even prettier when he’s coming down, leaning into your hand for support before you take it away, guiding and encouraging him to lay down.

Eddie collapses, carefully enough that it doesn’t jostle you, but still with his full weight. The crown of his head radiates heat against your chin. 

His arms wrap solidly around your middle as he whispers (he’s learning) in croaky fragments, “Jesus fucking H. I think you just broke my brain. Smashed it into a million little pieces. Never come so hard in my life. I’m in love with you.”

The laugh you give him is quiet but golden, the rise and fall of your chest causing his head to bounce a bit (but Eddie could die happy between your breasts so he doesn’t mind). “See? It’s worth it to listen to me, sometimes.”

“You’re so smart. Gonna do whatever you say, forever and ever. Cart-blank.” And then he’s pushing up onto his elbows, keeping his face level with your left breast so he can suck your nipple into his mouth, gently worrying his teeth over the peaked bud.

Previously tangled in the sheets, your hand flies up to grab his shoulder, nails digging in. “Fuck. Fuck, Eddie. That’s good. And- ah- it’s ‘carte blanche’.” 

He leaves the comfort of your breast with a sigh. “Whatever you say, princess. Gonna let me fuck you some more? Your turn to be the loud one.”

[robynhoodwrites]

♛Within Reach♛

Expanding on the "Within Reach" Memoria, with smut at the end >:) (This is written from a first person point of view, with an AFAB and femme main character.)

Word Count: 6.5k

MINORS DNI! The following writing contains the following: smut, public sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, blowjob, Evol used during sex, mirror sex, half plot/half smut, jealousy on Sylus' end, mutual pining, he is possessive (in the hot way, ofc), kinda rough sex.

My fingers run across the fabric of the dress, the silk material sliding beneath my fingertips gracefully. “This is from our spring collection. I don’t know if you saw, but a few celebrities wore dresses from that collection to the Linkon Gala when it first came out,” the saleswoman says, her smile a bit too wide not to be fake.

I nod, reveling in the wine-red color of the fabric. My hands skim along the sides until they reach a price tag hanging from the collar. When I notice the price, a grimace spreads across my face. I hang the dress back up on the wall, a sigh leaving my frowning lips. The saleswoman notices this, tutting lightly under her breath.

“On second thought, why don’t you just browse over here in the clearance section while I finish stocking over here,” she says, her wide grin not leaving her face. Ouch. I just nod in response as she prances away, my eyes skimming the racks in the clearance section. Even these are a bit too expensive…

The pressure is on for this shopping trip. I have to make sure I look good for Romero’s party, especially considering that Sylus is going to be accompanying me. I didn’t technically invite him, but he took the initiative and invited himself. Honestly, I’m kind of glad he did. I can be a bit bad at that stuff sometimes.

As if thinking about Sylus had summoned him, I hear a crow’s caw come from my pocket. I take it out to find that Sylus is calling me, his face now illuminating my screen. Asshole must have changed my ringtone. I press the answer button, my mood brightening involuntarily as I place the phone against my ear.

“Did you change my ringtone?” I ask, a smile flitting across my face. I hear a dark chuckle from the other end, and I feel the butterflies in my stomach start to flutter rampantly. I have got to get this crush under control.

“I thought this one was so much more interesting. Now you’ll think of me no matter who calls,” he drawls, and I can hear the grin in his voice. God damn it, he’s not even here and I’m blushing. “Listen, I’m at the boutique by your work, on the top floor.”

I feel like my heart has stopped. “Wait, you’re here too? Did you do that on purpose?” I ask, a slight panic lining my voice. Sylus seems to pick up on this, another chuckle emanating from my phone’s speaker. “You totally did this on purpose,” I whine.

“See you in ten minutes, sweetie,” he insists, before hanging up and leaving me with a shiver down my spine. That asshole.

✧༺♛༻✧༺♛༻✧༺♛

The elevator finally slows to a stop, the door opening with a ding to reveal the top floor. I enter a waiting room of sorts, with a white and impeccably shiny tiled floor and several plush couches lining the walls. The room is empty save for two men, who are lounging on the sofas like they own the place.

“Luke, Kieran! Those couches are white! Get your feet off of them before you cover them in soot,” I nag, waving my hands in an annoying motion to get them to sit up properly. “The poor cleaners… Who knows where you two have been.”

“Oh, look. Mom’s here,” Luke jokes, and I turn to him with a fake frown on my face. He puts up his hands defensively, finally sitting up normally in his chair. Despite the mask, I can tell that a grin is spread across his face.

“I’m only a year older than you, asshole,” I mutter, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I flip him off, which only coaxes a giggle out of Luke. I shake my head at him, trying to fight the smile threatening to ruin my composure.

“If you keep it up, Luke, then I’m gonna take over as mom's favorite,” Kieran jokes back. I turn to him, reaching a hand down and rubbing it against his hair in an affectionate manner.

“You sure are buddy,” I say, leaning into the whole “mom” thing with a sigh. These two are idiots, but they’re so sweet that I can’t help but love them.

“Careful, you two. Sylus might rip you a new one if he sees you guys near each other,” Luke teases, and my hand immediately leaves Kieran’s hair. Besides Jenna, who has been on the receiving end of my ranting many times, these two are the only ones to know about how I feel towards Sylus. I didn’t actually tell them, but they have made it very apparent that they have figured it out.

“That’s it. Neither of you are my favorite anymore. Mephisto is in 1st place,” I mutter, moving towards the door at the end of the hall.

“Nice job, Luke. Now we’re losing to a fucking crow,” Kieran whines. Luke just throws a joking glare at him, resuming his lounging on the couch as he browses one of the many magazines on the table in front of him.

I just chuckle lightly beneath my breath before opening the door in front of me and closing it behind me with a click. The room I enter is quite large, with several changing rooms lining the walls. There is a table covered in different fabrics, several of them glittering under the fluorescent light above me. My eyes finally land on Sylus, who is standing in front of a large, floor-length mirror in the center of the room.

“Long time, no see,” he announces, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. He smiles, and my heart begins its palpitations again.

“It really hasn’t been that long,” I mutter, slowly walking closer to him as I take the room in.

“And yet why does it feel like an eternity? Does time fly when you’re around?” he asks, turning to face me finally. Shit. He has to know what he’s doing. A blush creeps onto my cheeks, and there is no way Sylus hasn’t noticed.

I don’t know what to say, simply standing there and staring at him like a statue. He doesn’t break eye contact, instead holding up two ties. He holds a solid red tie in one hand, the other clutching a light blue striped tie. “Which one?” he asks, holding each up to his neck in turn.

I walk up to him, barely thinking before wrapping the red one around his neck. My fingers work slowly, tying it in an intricate knot and pulling it tight around his neck. His gaze never leaves my face, his eyes burning holes in my skin. I can’t bring myself to look at him, knowing that one glance at him will surely bring me to a puddle beneath his feet.

I fiddle with the silk material of the tie, finally working up the courage to meet his gaze. “The red. It matches your eyes,” I mutter, before stepping back and distracting myself with the table of assorted fabrics. He chuckles, following me closely and examining some of the fabrics himself.

“I’ll have to pick a suit to match the tie, then. Wouldn’t want me to take you to that party with a mismatched outfit, now would we?” he asks, his fingers finding a black fabric and rubbing his thumb over it lightly.

“This is for Romero’s party?” I ask, stunned at the idea that he is buying an entirely new outfit just for me. No, not just for me. For the party. Don’t be delusional. He nods, taking the fabric and setting it aside.

“I wouldn’t want you to attend the party with me when I’m not looking my best. Not that I don’t always look my best, I just don’t want to take any chances,” he teases, setting the fabric on an empty table beside him. He takes off the tie, resting it neatly next to the fabric.

“Where’s all the staff? I figured you would have someone helping you pick things out,” I ask, my eyes scanning the empty boutique for any other signs of life.

“I sent everyone away. I don’t like to be bothered, and they do what I say since I’m a VIP. They should be sending in a tailor to take my measurements, though,” he boasts, never afraid to flex his wealth in front of me. He’s such an asshole. I want him so bad.

“Sylus, how did you know I would be here?” I ask, picking up a nearby object to fiddle with. If I don’t do something with my hands, the nervousness will show on my face. And I cannot have him knowing how nervous he makes me.

“I have Mephisto watch the entrance of every building I’m in, in case of an ambush. He spotted you when you walked in and came squawking to me immediately, the loyal bird,” he smiles, running a hand through his silvery hair. So, I have Mephisto to blame for this.

“I asked for the tailor 30 minutes ago, and he’s still a no-show. What kind of store treats its VIP guests this way?” he huffs, clearly growing impatient.

“How dare they? Don’t they know who you are?” I tease, finding any excuse I can to make fun of the spoiled brat in front of me. He gives me a dark look, making me stop in my tracks. My fidgeting stops, and he looks down at the item in my hands.

“Oh, perfect. Glad to see we have a volunteer to tailor me today,” he grins, and I look down to see that the item I was fiddling with was, in fact, measuring tape. Shit, how am I this stupid?

“But I don’t know how to tailor-” I begin, but he interrupts me by grabbing the tape from my hands and wrapping it around his bicep.

“You just measure the different sizes of my body, see? Anyone can do it,” he explains, taking the tape off of his bicep and showing me the measurement. I try to stay calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside, I am screaming. “See, I’ve already got one measurement done for you,” he says, a smirk playing across his lips.

“How generous,” I mutter, snatching the measuring tape from his hands. I sigh, looking from the tape to his sturdy form in front of me. I can do this.

“C’mon. It’ll save time,” Sylus insists, and I see a small glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Fine. If you insist, your outfit will be made according to the measurements I take. And no matter how it turns out, you have to wear it to the party. Deal?” I ask, hoping that this will scare him off. If I have to get up close and measure him, I might melt.

He chuckles, stretching out a hand to shake mine. “Deal,” he says, wrapping the hand around mine and giving it a gentle shake. He rifles through a drawer in the table next to him, producing a pen and paper from inside. “You can write the measurements in here. You’ll need my waist and chest for the shirt, and I have already done the arms for you. Then, for pants, you need my inseam, the outside length, and the thigh. Oh, and my ass,” he adds with a wink, only strengthening the redness in my face.

“God, you’re so lucky I’m such a good…” I freeze, struggling to find the word. “Friend,” I finish, trying to pull myself together. A flicker of something flits across his face, but I can’t tell exactly what. He hands me the pen and paper, leading me over to the mirror.

“Let’s start with the chest, then,” he offers, pulling his shirt up to reveal his sculpted abdomen. He doesn’t take his shirt all the way off, instead letting it rest just above his pecs.  

I can't help it- I start to stare. It takes all of my strength not to rub my hands along his torso, the defined abs rippling along his stomach calling to me like a siren song. This isn't the first time I've seen him shirtless, but it will be the first time I've ever gotten this close.

"Like what you see?" He asks, and my attention snaps back up to him. Shit, how long was I staring? I clear my throat, walking closer to him and resting the pen and paper on a nearby chair.

"Just... trying to decide where to start," I mumble, trying my hardest to brush past my obviousness. He chuckles but doesn't say anything else. There's no way that worked.

With my hands now free of everything but the measuring tape, I begin assessing his body for real this time. "I think I'll start at the chest," I tell him. That way, you can put your shirt down faster. And I can stop feeling like I'm going to explode.

"Whenever you're ready," he practically purrs, looking down at me expectedly. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, inching closer to him as I hold up the measuring tape. I try my best not to touch him, my hands struggling to reach around his torso.

"Don't be nervous. The closer you are, the more accurate," he tells me, placing a hand on the small of my back and pushing me closer to him. Calm down. The quicker you do this, the sooner it's over.

But what if I don't want it to be over?

I exhale, finally working up the courage to get closer to him. My hands wrap around his torso, his warm skin burning against my bare arms. I thread the tape around his back, coming forward to meet me in the front.

My fingers graze his skin lightly, and I hear him inhale sharply. I panic, looking up at him for the first time since I started measuring him. There is a look in his eyes that I have never seen from him before, and I'm unable to place exactly what emotion it is.

"Sorry," I mumble, worried I've upset him. I take the tape off and go to write the measurement down in the notebook.

"No, it's just... your hands are so cold," he mutters, his hands brushing where mine had just touched him. A smile graces his face, which makes me pause. Is he... enjoying this?

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. He's just messing with me. I move back over to where he is standing, my hands a bit more steady as I go to measure his waist. If he wants to mess with me, then I'll mess with him back.

I don't shy away from touching him now, my hands grazing along the sides of his hips as I thread the tape around his back once again. I watch as goosebumps rise on his skin, the hairs on his arms standing up ever so slightly.

I take the measurement, turning away to write it down in my book once again. I don't look at him, afraid that his gaze will take away the newfound confidence I've gained. Now, to move lower.

I get down on my knees in front of him, gulping slightly as I measure the circumference of his lower half. This time, I make sure not to touch him, my hands hovering slightly as they move around his backside. It's a shame. His ass is one of his best assets.

When I've taken that measurement, I move to the outside of his legs. Luckily, his tight jeans act as a barrier between me and his skin. That makes me feel a bit better about touching him, actually.

Finally, I move to the inseam. I start at his ankle, moving the tape up slowly along the length of his leg. When I finally look up, I realize how close my hand is getting to his crotch. I freeze for a moment, my face turning red.

"The closer you are, the more accurate." The memory of his words from earlier rings in my ear. I sigh, moving as high up as I can without straight up fondling him. My eyes finally rake up towards where the tape ends, his crotch directly in front of my face.

Is he hard right now, or is it just always straining against his jeans? No, stop. Friends don't think that way about friends. I take away the tape, hurriedly standing up and writing down the final measurement in my notebook.

I still cannot bring myself to make eye contact with him, the deep embarrassment leaving splotches of red along my face. "Okay, w-well, now we can get back to looking at fabrics," I say, trying to hide the embarrassment in my voice as I move to turn away from him.

He stops me, his hand gripping my wrist tightly. I drop the notebook in surprise, and he takes that moment to tilt my face up to look at him for the first time since I started measuring him.

"Wait," he begins, seeming to be searching for the right words. "We’re attending the party together. Our outfits should match," He tells me, his eyes still staring down at me with that same mystery twinkle in them.

"Well, I figure I can just pick out a red dress or something," I mumble, my head still resting in his hand. He tuts, releasing me to pick up the notebook and tape I dropped on the ground.

"No, we need to fully match. That way, no one will question who your date is for the night." He places the notebook carefully down on the chair, twirling the measuring tape intricately between his fingers.

"Oh," I nearly whisper, finally catching on to what he's implying. "I can't really afford to get something specially made... I'll just get one of the premade dresses."

"It's my treat, since I invited myself to this party," he smiles, giving me a look that screams "You don't have a choice in the matter." I nod, lost for words as he raises one of my arms. I gulp, the short sleeves of my dress making skin touch skin as his fingers run lightly up my arms.

He works painfully slow, his fingers tracing along my skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake. I can't help the shudder that racks my body, which makes a small smirk play across Sylus' face.

I start to feel a small pool begin beneath my legs, and I have to bite my lip to keep from cursing myself out. Damn it, pull yourself together. He moves to my chest, his fingers not touching my breasts but getting so close that one slip would put his hand against me.

I hold my breath, and the prick keeps moving as painfully slow as he has been the entire time. "God, you're so slow with the measuring tape. I was nearly done by now when I was doing it," I mutter, and his eyes flick up to meet mine.

"I'm just trying to be precise, sweetie," he breathes, looking back down to get the measurement of my chest. He finally releases the measuring tape, an anxious breath quickly leaving my lungs as he moves to write down the data.

I shake my head again, trying to snap myself out of whatever trance he has put me in. The heat is still pooling beneath my legs, a blush spreading across my cheeks. Does he know what he's doing, or is he just an oblivious guy trying to be nice?

He resumes his work, wrapping the tape around my waist and jotting down the numbers. It is then that he gets on his knees, looking up at me from the ground with that same twinkle in his eyes.

It takes all my energy not to squeak from panic. Him on his knees in front of me... I stare down at him, the pool beneath my legs more akin to a river.

"I have to do your inseam now. You're wearing a dress, so I need your permission to put my hands under it."

My eyes widen, my breath halting yet again. The more embarrassed side of me is begging for me to stop him, but the rest of me is practically screaming for him to continue.

"Go ahead," I nearly whisper, and I flinch as his hand touches my skin yet again. He starts at my ankle, running the tape along the inside of my leg agonizingly slow. His fingers lightly drag along my skin, and a breath hitches in my throat.

"You're doing great," he murmurs, and my heart skips a beat in my chest. His hand finally reaches my knees, which is where my dress ends. He slides his hand under it, moving upwards towards my thighs.

I'm suddenly aware of the heat radiating off of my body, the warmth pooling between my legs, and his fingers moving further up into my dress. If you had told me earlier that this is where I would end up, I would've laughed in your face.

He finally reaches the top of my thigh, his thumb pressing down roughly on the tape.

And directly into the pool of my desire that has started to soak through my underwear.

His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes closing as he lets out a curse under his breath. I'm almost frozen in shock, my world seeming to crash down around me. He knows.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what-" I begin, but he grips my thigh with his hands, and the words die in my throat. His eyes flutter open, locking with mine in the mirror next to us.

"Is this all for me?" He asks, and I feel my heart start to pound out of my chest. What the fuck does that mean, Sylus?

"No. Yes. I'm so sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me," I begin, anxiety bubbling in my stomach. "It's just a crush, and I'll get over it, I promise. I know you don't feel that way-"

"Are you dense?" He asks, his grip loosening on my thigh ever so slightly.

"Excuse me?" I ask, looking down at him in shock.

"Have you not noticed the way I look at you? Have you not, for one second, thought about why I would invite myself to a birthday party for someone I have never met?"

I just shake my head, trying and failing to wrap my head around everything that is happening.

"It's because I cannot bear to sit alone at home while you go to that party. The idea of you all dolled up for another man? The thought of you smiling at him, laughing at his jokes..." he trails off, but the look in his eyes is distant. His grip tightens on my thigh yet again, this time from a desperate need.

"How long have you felt this way?" I ask, whispering as I look down at his face.

"Since the beginning. There is not one moment that I have not spent thinking about you, not one night that I have not been lying awake and picturing you. Your touch, your smell, how you must taste," he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on my upper thigh, my excitement now coating his finger.

I can't help the moan that escapes from me, my legs feeling weak as he continues rubbing rough circles on my thigh. I finally recognize the twinkle of emotion that has been dotting his eyes.

It's hunger.

"I've felt e-exactly the same," I manage to squeak out. "God, I feel so s-stupid-" I begin, but he cuts me off with a rough grab of my thigh.

"Don't you dare. You're not stupid, just careful. That's one of the reasons I feel so strongly about you," he murmurs, looking up at me with a frown. The sparkle in his eyes is now a fire, threatening to burn me to ashes with just a look.

"You're perfect," he purrs, his thumb leaving from under my dress and entering his mouth. I fall to my knees in front of him, feeling weak as I watch him feast on my excitement.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this? To taste you?" He asks, his thumb finally leaving his mouth. I curse under my breath, taking his head in my hands.

I pull him towards me, our lips meeting in a fiery clash after months of anticipation. He lifts me onto his lap, my legs straddling him as I run my fingers through his silvery hair. I moan, and he takes the opportunity to bite my bottom lip.

He moves a hand to my waist, the other finding its way to the back of my head as he grips my hair. I groan, pushing him backward until he is lying on the shag carpet below us. I'm straddling his body now, lying on top of him and rubbing my hands under his shirt to feel his toned torso.

"Is it how you thought it would feel?" He asks, breaking the kiss to look up at me. I'm sure I look a mess, with swollen lips and ruined hair. But he looks at me like I'm the only person alive that he wants to be with.

"Better," I tell him, my lips finding his again. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer to him as he slips his tongue into my mouth, exploring it like it would be the last time he ever would.

He grinds himself against me, his erection fighting against his tight jeans as it rubs into my pussy. I let out another moan, breaking the kiss, as I try to stifle the noise by biting his shirt.

"Stop that," he murmurs, pulling his shirt out of my mouth. "I want to hear you."

"We're in public, Sylus. What if another shopper comes in?" I ask, still fighting moans as he continues to grind himself against me.

"I rented the floor for the next hour. No one should be anywhere near us," he murmurs, moving his hands under my dress. I grab his hands, pinning them on the floor next to his head.

"Shouldn't we just go home?" I ask, and he smirks up at me. I feel something moving beneath my dress and look to see that he is using his tendrils of black smoke. They curl around my thighs, sparking pleasure through my body.

"I need you now," he nearly growls, his Evol pulling down my underwear in one fell swoop. I gasp in shock, and he uses my moment of weakness to flip us over. His hands are planted firmly on the ground beside my head, using his Evol to lift the bottom of my dress and expose my naked lower half.

The chill of the air conditioning blows across my exposed cunt, a shiver crawling up my spine in anticipation. Sylus moves one of his hands down to my thighs, dragging his fingers up and down lightly like he did before.

"Sylus, please," I moan, and he smiles devilishly down at me. His fingers finally make it up to my entrance, teasing me slowly by dragging them around the folds. I moan yet again, out of both pleasure and frustration.

He finally reaches the bundle of nerves at the top of my heat, circling his thumb around it slowly. My back arches, attempting to push myself even closer to him. He pulls away, tutting under his breath.

"Patience isn't your strong suit, is it?" He asks, his warm breath dancing along my face.

"I have been patient for months. I can't be patient anymore," I whine, moving a hand down to grasp his. I move his hand back to my clit, and he chuckles deeply as he resumes his ministrations.

I moan as he begins to rub faster, my back arching upwards involuntarily. His mouth finds my neck, kissing and sucking along the outside with care. He finally reaches his desired spot, nibbling on it lightly before sucking roughly on it and leaving his mark.

He moves his hand from my clit, and I almost begin to complain before something else replaces it. His smoke is now curling around it, taking over his work as he moves two fingers towards my entrance.

"Fuck, Syl-" I am cut off by him thrusting his fingers into me, a yelp of pleasure leaving my lips. He rubs against my walls aggressively, exploring my insides while his Evol rubs circles around my clit. He licks the spot he has been sucking, moving his mouth further down my neck and towards my breasts.

He suddenly stops, the complete lack of stimulation leaving me almost empty. "Sylus!" I whine, looking up at him with a pout on my face.

"I want this off," he mutters, tugging at the material of my dress. I stop him, staring him down defiantly. He raises an eyebrow at me, the question asking itself. "What could you possibly want?"

"Take yours off, too," I whine, and he shakes his head in disbelief. Without warning, my dress is lifted in the air by his Evol, the clothing falling onto the floor and leaving me completely bare in front of him.

I begin to argue, but he does the same for his shirt, leaving his sculpted upper half bare in front of me in all its glory. I can't help but run my hands along his body, and he groans at the feeling of my cold hands against his warm skin.

He pulls over a chair, knocking the notebook and measuring tape onto the ground as he goes to sit down. He beckons me over, and when I do not move fast enough, he wraps his Evol around me and pulls me over there himself.

I'm now sitting on his lap, my back against his naked torso. We are facing the floor-length mirror, my body on full display as I rest on top of him. He kisses the inside of my neck, his hands moving up to massage my breasts.

I moan, my head leaning back against him as I writhe in pleasure. I feel his Evol wrap around my head, tilting it back down until I am looking at myself in the mirror.

"No, I want you to watch. I want you to watch as I take what's mine," he purrs, his other hand moving down to resume its work in my pussy. He thrusts his fingers into me, his other hand tweaking my nipple between his fingers.

I let out a yelp of pleasure, fighting the urge to throw my head back again. Instead, I look at myself in the mirror, watching as his fingers pump in and out of my leaking cunt. It's orgasmic, the way he completely ruins me.

I look up to find that he is watching me in the mirror, his eyes now locking with mine as he fucks me with his fingers. I feel my stomach tighten, already on the verge of an orgasm.

While maintaining eye contact, I run my hand down towards his cock, palming him through his jeans. He lets out a groan, a dangerous look now shining in his eyes.

"Don't start what you can't finish, sweetie," he groans, his hand gripping my breast tighter. I continue rubbing against him through his jeans, his erection fighting against the tight zipper.

I feel a strong sensation of pleasure and look down to see that he has started rubbing against my clit as well, the Evol now taking over the working of my breasts.

I moan again, finally reaching my orgasm as I fall apart beneath his fingers. He lets my head fall back as I pant, my body shaking as he continues thrusting his fingers in and out of me.

When I finally come down from my high, he takes his fingers out of me, bringing them up to his lips and licking them hungrily. I stand up, my hands moving to his jeans as I fight to get them off. He helps me take them off, pulling down his boxers and letting his erection spring up towards me.

I kneel, my hands rubbing along the sides of his shaft sensually. "Do you know how you made me feel when you kneeled in front of me earlier? Do you know how close I was to taking you right there?" He asks, tilting my head up with his hand so that I am looking directly into his eyes.

I don't hesitate, maintaining eye contact with him as I take the tip of his cock in my mouth. He groans, running a hand through my hair and grabbing it roughly. I inch slowly down his shaft, making him suffer like how he made me suffer earlier.

"Fuck, you're such a brat," he groans, using his grip on my hair to push himself further into my mouth. I take him in eagerly, my tongue swirling around him as he moves in and out of my mouth. He curses under his breath, and I feel his cock twitch inside me.

I moan, the vibration against his cock sending him reeling. He pulls out of my mouth, panting. I begin to protest, but he puts a hand over my mouth. "You're getting me too close. There's more I want to do to you," he breathes, practically picking me up off the ground and leading me over to the chair.

He sits down, his cock standing at attention as he keeps me raised above him. "Are you ready?" He asks, his voice dripping in need. I nod, practically begging, and he lines himself up with my entrance.

"Hold on," he says, and I grip his shoulders tightly as he pushes himself into me. Something close to a scream escapes my throat, his entire length sheathed into me in one hard push. "You okay?" He asks, pausing to make sure I am not in pain.

"More. Please," I manage to whimper out. This is all the permission he needs, thrusting in and out of me at inhumane speeds as he groans into my neck.

He begins kissing my skin again, this time more sloppy as he licks up and down the column of my neck. A jolt of pleasure shoots through me, his cock hitting the deepest point of my pussy over and over again.

I bite into his neck, my hands still gripping tightly onto his shoulders as he lifts me up and down on his cock. He groans, his dick twitching inside of me eagerly.

"They should be just inside here," I hear Kieran's voice say from behind the door, his footsteps approaching closer.

"Shit," Sylus mutters, practically leaping up from the chair we are sitting on. Like lightning, he pulls us into one of the dressing rooms, his Evol grabbing our pile of clothes and bringing it in with us.

The door opens as soon as we are inside, barely seconds after we had made it to safety.

"Mr. Sylus? The tailor his here to see you," Kieran announces, before leaving the room. We sit in silence for a moment, before the tailor clears his throat.

"Sir?" He asks the empty room, "Trying something on?"

"Yes, just trying out one of the vests from the Fall Collection," Sylus says, his voice surprisingly even. It's then that his Evol lifts me into the air, his dick finding its way back to the entrance of my pussy.

"Syl-" I begin, but he covers my mouth with his hand as he thrusts back inside of me. I whimper, his hand muffling the sound as he continues to thrust in and out of me.

"Well, sir, I am here to take your measurements whenever you are done," the man says, oblivious to what his happening inside of his changing room.

"We have already taken care of that for you. Now, please leave us be," Sylus tells the man authoritatively, his finger moving to my clit as he continues to utterly destroy me. It takes everything in my power not to scream into his hand out of sheer pleasure.

"You've taken your own measurements?" The man asks, bewildered. "I must insist you let me do them. That way we can assure they are as accurate as can-"

"I assure you, they are accurate. Right, sweetie?" He asks me, uncovering my mouth as he continues to pound into me. I look at him with wide eyes, but he just raises an eyebrow, prompting me to answer the man.

"Y-yes. Everything i-is...great," I tell him, in the most even tone I can manage. Sylus has not stopped, his Evol dancing around my body and leaving goosebumps along my skin.

"You hear that? We're doing great. Now, wait for us downstairs, and don't bother us again."

The man apologizes before shuffling out, the door closing behind him. Sylus uncovers my mouth, only pounding harder into me. "Sylus! What if he- fuck- had h-heard us?"

Sylus just looks down at me, pressing down on my stomach to compress my walls even further. "Would you have liked that? If he had found me fucking you like this?" he asks, his cock twitching as if close to release.

"Fuck, Sylus," I moan, my own orgasm nearing closer. The many sensations- his finger on my clit, his dick pounding into me, his Evol around my tits- it's too much to bear.

"Please- Please, let me finish inside you," he groans, sweat dripping down his toned chest as he continues fucking me. He looks at me expectantly, and I just nod in response. He growls, his orgasm finally reaching the edge.

Mine arrives first, my legs shaking as my pussy pulsates around him. My nails scrape along his back, leaving long claw marks along his toned muscles. This sensation drags out his orgasm, his hot strands shooting into me and coating the walls he had spent so long destroying.

He continues moving as we both ride out our orgasms, his lips meeting mine and gently swirling his tongue in my mouth. When I finally stop writhing beneath him, he stops his movement, keeping his cock inside me.

He stops kissing me, choosing instead to look down at me fondly. He runs his thumb along my lips, letting it drag along my bottom lip slowly. I'm panting, my hair sticking to my forehead as I heave out a breath.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, wiping away a tear that had run down my face from pure pleasure. "Why don't we give them our measurements over the phone? I think we should head back to my place and relax for the rest of the day."

I just nod, pulling him in for a kiss that makes the butterflies in my stomach resume their fluttering. He sighs into my mouth, kissing me back softly and pulling me closer to his warm body.

✧༺♛༻✧༺♛༻✧༺♛

Thanks for reading! As always, my asks are open (and anonymous) if anyone would like to request anything :)

-Robyn <3

[chibinasuu]

Hello! I saw your req’s were open >.< so I was wondering if I could ask for a zoro or Sanji x sleepy reader. Specifically where reader is constantly sleepy and NEEDS their naps or they will be cranky like a toddler XD sorry this is just exactly how I am and I think it’s kinda silly <3 thank youu && I love your work

asdjkdlakdj this is such a cute prompt!! thank you so much for the request! i know you said zoro or sanji, but i couldn’t decide so i just did both :) 

hope you enjoy <3

Much-needed Nap

Pairings: Zoro, Sanji x Reader (separate)  Tags: sfw, fluff, established relationship, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

Zoro

“Zorooo,” You pouted from your perch on the bench of the crow’s nest, “How much longer are you going to take?” 

The swordsman in question was doing some push-ups effortlessly in the center of the room, “I literally just started warming up.”

“Oh, come on!” You went over and crouched beside him, poking the hard muscles of his bare back, “It’s nap time.”

He paused and looked at you incredulously, “You already took a nap right after lunch!”

“I can’t help it that I’m already sleepy again!” 

“Well, go take another nap then.” He said, continuing his reps, “I gotta finish this set.”

“But I wanna nap with you!” You whined as you belly-flopped onto his back without so much as a warning, your arms clinging to his neck, “Now, Zoro!”

Zoro, the monster that he is, didn’t even stumble and continued with his push-ups as if there was no added weight of another person’s whole body on top of his.

“Fifty more.” He compromised. “You can stay where you are. Hell, you can just nap like that if you want.”

After a few more reps, he chuckled, “This is actually great training – I could use the extra weight.”

You swatted the back of his head, and with an exaggerated gasp, you joked, “Are you saying I’m heavy?!”

His movement actually stuttered as he burst into laughter, “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you love me anyway.”

“That, I do.”

The motion of Zoro’s exercise had a similar effect on you as a rocking chair, and you felt your eyes getting heavier and heavier. 

“...Forty-eight, forty-nine,” You vaguely registered Zoro counting, “Fifty!” 

He carefully lowered himself onto the mat and you rolled off him, “Ugh, finally.” 

Before Zoro could get up, you draped one of your legs and arms over him, trapping him to your side. 

Zoro laughed, “At least let me get dressed first.”

“No, don’t get up.” You snuggled closer to him, “I’m comfy.”

He squirmed to get you both into a more comfortable position. Now on his back with your head resting on his chest, he said, “Hm. Can’t believe I found someone who likes to nap more than me.”

“Seems like you met your match then.”

“Seems like I did.” He agreed.

It was dark when you were rudely awoken by Usopp’s shouts from below the mast, calling out that dinner was ready.

You sighed as you felt Zoro’s steady breathing, indicating that he was still fast asleep. You might be insufferable whenever you needed a nap, but your man was definitely more so whenever he needed to be woken up from his. 

As you gently shook him awake, his arm, which had snaked around your waist in his sleep, tightened even further. He buried his face into your neck and refused to open his eyes.

You let out another exhale. You could only hope that Luffy had not already inhaled all of the food by the time you two finally got to the dining room.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Sanji

“Hey,” Sanji called out, hands busy filling the kettle to make some tea for the two of you, “Do you want the blue mug or the yellow one?”

You were seated on the dining chair, your body slumped forward onto the table, arms pillowing your heavy head. It had only been a couple of hours since you woke up from your last nap, yet you could barely keep your eyes open now. 

The rain pattered on, the faint sound of it hitting the deck outside and the window of the dining room only added to your drowsiness. 

You had heard Sanji talking to you, but in your half-asleep state, you couldn’t find the energy to give him an answer. 

Sanji, still facing the stove, repeated the question in a slightly louder voice, thinking you hadn’t heard him. 

“I don’t care, Sanji!” You snapped as you put your forehead down on the table and closed your eyes.

Sanji paused, before immediately turning off the stove and putting away the mugs. Tea time could wait, he thought, but first, he needed to take care of his beloved. 

He walked to where you sat and touched your back gently to get your attention.

You lifted your head and looked up at him, about to open your mouth to apologize for your ill temper, but he already had a knowing smile on his face.

“Come on,” he said, offering his hand, “It's time for your nap, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed as you took his outstretched hand, “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Sanji only chuckled while he pulled you to your feet, “I know. You’re just tired, aren’t you?”

He led you to the plush couch on the other side of the kitchen, then sat down and patted his lap. 

You curled up on the couch, placing your head on his lap as you’d done countless times before. The cook’s delicate fingers automatically went to your hair, his gentle strokes slowly lulling you to sleep. 

“The blue one,” you mumbled sleepily, causing Sanji to reply with a confused “Huh?”

“I’d like the blue mug, please.”

Sanji smiled in amusement, “Sure thing, dear. We’ll get the tea brewing once you’re up from your nap.”

He touched his fingertips gently to his lips, then to your forehead, before returning them to your hair, “For now, sleep.”

You obliged, falling into a peaceful slumber, as you always do with him around.

a/n: FYI, i'm currently holding a cozy holiday drabble event so please join and send in your requests if you're interested!! check out the details here <3

↳ masterlist

[sexlapis]

# SALT AND PEPPER (but mostly salt)

ᝰ.ᐟ nanami x gn!reader

mini fic, fluff, suggestive, aging, reader and nanami are married, reader is a silver fox!

⤷ nanami was prepared for a lot of things when it came to getting older. what he wasn’t prepared for, was how hot his spouse would get…

a/n: thinking about how much i love grey/white/silver hair on a woman or man……..sorry….

masterlists

*

with growing up, getting old and becoming more seasoned, there came many life changes.

health scares, career adjustments, new found gratitude for the most simplest of things and for some reason, a sudden influx of more bills when you get a raise…and you are always due for an eye appointment.

but one thing that has changed is…you.

more specifically, how sexier you’ve become.

now, don’t nanami wrong, he has always found you sexy, beautiful, cute, attractive, pretty, all of the words underneath the sun.

a few years earlier is when he realised it.

the new, grey hairs peaking at your temples.

they were thin and hardly noticeable to an outsider. but nanami noticed everything about you.

he mentioned it one morning.

“do you know your greys are coming in?”

“ugh, i know.” you touch you temples, feeling where they are, like grey hairs felt different somehow. “you can’t really see them now, but i’ll have to dye them in, like, four years or something.”

“…or you could just…let them grow out…?”

you snort. “yeah, right. why don’t i bleach my eyebrows next?”

you leave it at that, and so does nanami and the discussion of your hair is put to an end.

until a few years later.

as of now, the hair of your head is a light grey colour, with slivers of silver and white that beamed, especially highlighted when you are underneath the sun.

your face has changed too.

crows feet now wrinkled the corners of your eyes, smile lines framed your lips, the dips of your jowls now replaced your streamlined jaw and darker, freckled spots were sprinkled over your cheeks and nose.

and, my gosh, did it drive nanami crazy.

the way the experience of life now appeared on your face, you body, your hands and your hair made him more attracted to you. more than he even thought he could be.

and that says a lot.

“your hair.” he starts. you both sit at the breakfast table, a newspaper in nanami’s hand and a cup in yours. “your hair is nice.”

“really?” you ask, surprised and slightly incredulous. you reach your hand up and ruffle your hair. “you know, i was thinking of dyeing it back-“”

“don’t dye it…please. never dye it.”

“oh? nanami…” you smirk at him. “do you think i’m a … fox?”

“you’re the sexiest fox i’ve ever seen, sweetheart.”

“it sounds kinda weird when you say it like that, but i’ll take it!”

nanami chuckles and shakes his head. he stares at you for a moment before speaking. “come here.” he pats his lap.

you place your cup down, strolling to where he sits and plopping yourself onto his lap.

his hands wrap around your hips and yours his neck.

“you’re growing up so wonderfully, baby.” he kisses your jaw. “being old suits you.”

you giggle. “you too, kenny.”

you don’t think he believes you based on the shake of his head, but you know that you’re correct and that’s all that matters.

after a few minutes of peaceful silence, you decide to break it.

“…so,” you sigh, resting you cheek on nanami’s shoulder, “you know how you like my new sexy silver fox hair?”

“yes?” nanami responds, grinning.

“how about we grow you a beard, nanami kento?”

“…”

a/n: short n sweet <3

[ichorai]

i'm not made by design ; part two ; jaime lannister.

part one.

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 9.0k

themes ; heavy angst, action, fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a feast for crows, politicking, mentions of incest/rape, foul language, animal cruelty, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, lots of dreams, jaime is a morally grey delight in this part yes, they are being HAUNTED by each other!

a/n ; wow, it's been a long time coming! ok i know this part is quite short and doesn't yet get to where you guys probably want to be, but tumblr has a max limit of 1k text blocks per post now (boo everyone throw tomatoes) so i'll be posting the rest of the story in smaller chunks! expect the third part to be coming soon, and i promise part three will start off exactly where you guys want it to be :) also if any of you can spot any sort of parallels in this part i will kiss you on the Mouth .

main masterlist. read on ao3!

The wintry breeze tousled the two young Stark girls’ hair, whispering frost into their ears. The horse the two were riding whickered as it galloped through the snow. Lyanna was exclaiming something, something lost to the wind, and you only held all the tighter to her from behind. 

“Lyanna, I want to get off!” you yelled, tugging at the furs draped over her. “Lyanna, let me off!”

Your older sister laughed some more. Not wickedly, but more out of fond amusement. She slowed the horse down to a languid canter, then to a trot, and led the stallion towards the shade of a tree. There was snow blanketing the branches and the grass which crunched beneath her weight as she swung down. She looked up at you with her large grey eyes, crinkled at the corners as she grinned boyishly. “Were you frightened?” 

You held your arms out for your sister to help you down. Only at eight years of age, you were still of short stature, and Lyanna had picked a rather tall horse. She had always been a voracious rider, even more so than all your brothers.

“I wasn’t frightened,” you indignantly replied as she wrapped her arms about your waist and pulled you down onto the ground. 

“Right.” She began to stroke the stallion’s mane, his hooves pawing at the snow. “Do you not trust me, then? Did you think I would ride us right off the edge of a cliff?”

“No,” you replied, scuffing your boots against the snow. “I don’t like riding from behind. I can’t see anything from back there.”

There was a moment of silence before Lyanna reached over to ruffle your hair—an action that both she and Benjen often did. Eddard and Brandon often spared you from such irritations, but being the youngest of the family, you were always doted on and hovered over and babied.

“I don’t trust you riding a horse as big as this, so I suppose we can walk back. It’s not too far.”

“Why can’t I just sit in front of you?”

Your sister stuck her tongue out at you. “We’ve got something in common, you know. What makes you think I like sitting behind?” When you glowered at her, she went on, “Let’s get a move on. Ned will complain that I’m stealing you away—especially since he’s just returned. He misses you. Your letters grow briefer and briefer, he tells me.”

You were none too happy about trudging through the snow, but you voiced no complaint and walked alongside your sister, who tugged at the horse’s reins to follow along. 

“He’s always going back and forth,” you said, a small frown marring your features. “I wish he would just stay home. The Eyrie couldn’t possibly compare to Winterfell.”

“You know him.” Lyanna’s dark hair was speckled with snowflakes as she turned to you. “Studious and dutiful as ever.” Her voice went an octave deeper and she pulled a mockingly somber expression in a startling resemblance to Ned. You let out a small laugh at that.

“Last time he visited, you were betrothed,” you said, your voice shrinking to a whisper.

The amusement died away from her eyes, turning stony. “Yes. Though I doubt it will be a fruitful union.”

There were a few more seconds of silence as you considered her words, not entirely sure why she would think so. Robert was loud and robust the few times you’ve met him, but you knew little else of Ned’s friend. 

“Do you think he’ll bring a wedding proposal for me this time?”

Lyanna’s features contorted with surprise. “Why? Do you want to be married?”

Your cheeks flushed with heat, despite the frost settling over your skin. “Well—if Father says I have to, then I will.”

“I didn’t ask about Father,” replied Lyanna. It was hard for her to believe that you were only eight sometimes. You always tried to act older than you actually were. “I asked about you.”

Winterfell grew larger and larger as the two of you drew nearer to the castle gates. Home.

“I don’t think I’d mind getting married,” you told your sister, eyes downcast and brows pulled together in thought. “As long as I get to stay in Winterfell. I never want to leave.”

Lyanna smiled, all teeth and cheek. “Wouldn’t that be a dream?” she sighed. 

The rest of the short journey was made in relative silence, and you left your sister and the tall stallion by the stables (not without her ruffling your hair one last time), and you dashed up to the castle chambers where you knew Ned would be.

He carried no proposals, only a few books he thought you would enjoy and a warm hug.

You awoke with a startled gasp, kicking at the thin blanket that laid over your form. It took you several moments to realize where you were. A boat. Rocking steadily, back and forth and back and forth. You rubbed at your sleepy eyes whilst drawing your knees up to your chest, still blinking away remnants of your dream.

Lyanna. Ned. Still young, still practically children. 

One of the tongueless little birds stood in the doorway. It was an ominous sight. Her eyes were large and unblinking, glinting like glass balls within her small head. In her hands was a wooden bowl, full of what looked to be a poultice of sorts. She drew nearer, and the heavy scent of honey and flowers reached your nose. 

“What is it?” you asked the child, a coil of pity winding in the pit of your stomach. You knew they couldn’t respond—Varys had stolen not only their youth, but their voices, too. “Is this food?”

A foreign delicacy of sorts, maybe? An Essosi dessert you weren’t familiar with, perhaps. It looked quite unappetizing, though you knew you had no room to complain.

The girl shook her head, then pointed to your hair, which was pulled back into a braid. You understood from just that, and nodded your thanks while accepting the bowl from her. This was hair dye, made from a blend of flowers and other substances you couldn’t name. You supposed it was a necessary precaution—you had an unmistakable Northern look to you, and would surely stick out like a sore thumb here down South. Dyeing your hair and cutting it short would help to somewhat conceal your identity. Short enough, and perhaps you could even be mistaken for a man, at least at a first quick glance. 

The little girl left a dagger and a small, rusty, hand-held mirror by your legs and disappeared from your cabin in complete silence, as if she was never there in the first place. They were like ghosts, this crew of children. Everything was so quiet all the time, with only your thoughts and the ocean waves to accompany you.

You unbraided your hair and shook it loose. Hair carried memories. Memories of Catelyn showing you how hair was done in the Riverlands, memories of Benjen tugging at your hair to tease you, memories of Jaime commenting on how your hair was a lovely shade of animal waste. That had been grumpily remarked earlier on, when you and Brienne were escorting him to King’s Landing. Before Locke and Roose Bolton and… Robb. 

You propped up the rust-spotted mirror against the wall and scooped up the dagger. The reflection that met you was only barely recognizable. You looked so tired. With a resigned sigh, you began to slice off your hair with the sharp blade. Handfuls fell to the ground. You sliced and sliced until your head felt light and your neck was bare. It’s never been this short before. If Benjen were here, you knew he would surely laugh at you. Brandon would comment that he never knew he had another brother. 

Yes, you thought. I can surely pass as a man if I wanted to. Though you certainly shared many features with your sister, you hadn’t the wild beauty Lyanna had. No, you were far plainer than her, colder and sharper than she was. Nothing worthy to note—though your father, quiet as a man he was, once told you that you looked the most like your mother out of all your siblings. That had made you feel more beautiful than anything. 

Plain was good, though. Plain meant no eyes would be drawn to you. 

You weren’t too sure what color your hair would turn with this dye. You lathered the thick paste over your newly-cut strands, massaging it into your scalp. Your nose twitched from the strong odor—not entirely unpleasant, but also wasn’t a delight breathing in.

As you rinsed your hands of the dye, your skin was left with a slight copperish stain. You stared at the color with sad eyes—would your hair turn out red like Cat’s? Like all your nephews and Sansa?

And, like a fool, you wondered if Jaime would like short, red hair. He wouldn’t care much, you found yourself thinking, perhaps wishfully so. Did you want him to care?

Two children brought you food—rations of dried meat and crusty bread. You wolfed half of it down and handed them the other half. Though they couldn’t speak, the children made for pleasant company. Or perhaps you were just lonely. It was hard to tell.

After eating, you rinsed out the hair dye and wrung the water out with a cloth over the edge of the ship. The cloth came away stained bright red. You retreated back into the cabin to look at the mirror. 

It was a shock to see your hair resemble Catelyn’s. It was darker than hers had been, but the auburn, orange-red sheen to your head was unmistakable. You looked like a Tully! You nearly laughed with amazement, but any sort of joy was short-lived, and you lapsed into more silence.

You laid on the rickety bed, thinking of Winterfell and your now-scattered family. Robb and Ned and Cat and the younglings Bran and Rickon might have been taken from you, but… you still had family left. Sansa and Arya could very well be scattered somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, alive and breathing. Jon, at the Wall, as well. At least, you hoped. It’d been so long since your time sending letters to the young boy. Was he hurt that you stopped sending them so suddenly?

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you drew your knees to your chest, willing yourself into a restless slumber.

Days came and went. The little children were growing more agitated, fluttering about the boat with wide eyes and quick feet. They tossed nets overboard into the water—masquerading the boat as a fishing vessel, you assumed. There were many ships out and about Blackwater Bay. Some carried banners of houses loyal to the crown, and others were bannerless. Pirates or fishermen, you couldn’t tell. 

So far, all other ships have passed by quietly. But the risk grew with each day. You knew Tywin and Cersei would likely order more fleets to be sent after you, Sansa, and Tyrion. The chances of you being found on water would grow each day—and you couldn’t risk becoming a prisoner again. Jaime wouldn’t be able to help you escape a second time, not with Cersei around.

At least on foot… you had somewhere to run. Being on sea left you nothing but water for miles on end. 

And so you told the silent children to let you off at the nearest fishing port. Some part of you wondered if they would object, but they stared at you with round, moon eyes and nodded. You didn’t know whether to thank or damn Varys. 

The ship docked in the dead of night, half a mile from Duskendale. One of the little children handed you a map and tapped at where they’d leave you. A pouch full of food rations, more dye, and other necessities was left on your cot. You thanked the child endlessly, who seemed not to hear your gratitude and scuttled away. You grabbed the pouch, the dagger, the bow and quiver full of arrows Varys had presumably left you, and slipped into a large cloak. 

Land felt like it was lurching beneath your feet once you stepped onto the pier. Your body was used to the swaying motions of the waters, and would take some time to adjust. You gingerly shook one of your booted feet. The children watched you disembark on wobbly legs, but you dared not wave back at them. 

Despite it being nighttime, the docks were busier than ever. Fishermen and merchants littered all over the shore, some selling products and entertainment and others working hard to gather more to sell before day broke. You steeled yourself with a deep breath, and made your way through the busy crowd. 

You began trekking your way North towards the Eyrie, the hood of your cloak pulled over your short, red hair.

It took nearly three weeks for you to reach the Crossroads. Nightfall was nearing when you strode in front of the inn, the sky a mirage of bleeding reds from the setting sun and moody greys from the rainclouds. The air smelled of mud and rusted metal. It was certainly no grand castle, but a modest bed was better than sleeping on the cold dirt you’ve been curled up on the past several days. There was a young girl and a dark-haired boy by the front that looked somewhat like your memory of Robert Baratheon twenty-some years ago. At first, the boy denied your request for shelter, but reluctantly clammed up once you offered him some gold, worth more than it ever could in times of war. The two let you pass with not a word more.

Greeting you inside was a ruckus of loud children. Parentless, you realized, as there were none to be seen within the inn’s walls. An inn full of orphans, you thought with a touch of sadness. In that regard you supposed you shared a similarity with all of them. 

Just as you slipped onto one of the creaking wooden stools to momentarily rest your weary feet, you overheard a voice. A familiar voice. Low and raspy and unmistakably—

Brienne, you thought, wide-eyed. But she wasn’t alone. A young boy was by her side, yes, that was Podrick, and an older man—a knight, by the looks of his armor, and an even older septon with grey hair and a hunched back. What a queer party Brienne was leading. She was supping on porridge and salted cod. 

The impulsive part of you wanted to call out for her and rush to her side, ask if she had found any sign of Sansa, or if she had made any progress on her quest. Instead, you drew in a deep breath, and stood from your stool to take a seat across from Podrick whilst Brienne was busy speaking to the knight. The young squire made a half-gasping, half-choking noise once his eyes raised from the cup he was draining to your cold eyes, recognizing you immediately. You discreetly lifted a finger to your lips to silence him. His eyes went moon-round and he nodded once. 

Brienne ignored the knight’s constant jabbering about lips and marriage and castles full of children, and turned to look at her squire in mild concern of him choking on a fish bone. But her eyes landed on you, and her mouth dropped open.

She was very near to bowing her head and saying, “My lady.” But she didn’t, knowing it would draw far too much attention, and stared at you with utter confusion plain over her features.

“Hello,” you said to her. “It has been a while, Brienne.”

“Do you know each other?” the knight bumped in. He spooned some porridge into his mouth.

“Brienne and I were childhood friends on Tarth,” you lied. “I was the son of a cook. A nobody in truth, but Brienne was kind enough to befriend me.”

Brienne was no good at lying, you knew this, but she nodded along to your story. 

The knight looked you over. “A little runt boy and a grand beast of a girl. The two of you must have been a sight.”

You could only offer him half a shrug at that.

“What brings you here?” Brienne carefully asked you. 

“Someone helped me leave,” you responded with equal caution. Avoiding the knight’s curious eyes, you leaned closer to Brienne. “Is there a place for us to speak with fewer naked children milling about?”

Being around Varys’ little birds for long enough taught you that children were oft smarter than they looked. Somewhere to your right, you saw one of the little orphan boys stick a nut inside his nostril. 

Brienne nodded and led you just outside, away from prying ears and eyes. There, you told her everything. From Tyrion’s trial, to Oberyn’s death, to Cersei demanding you to be locked up or killed (whichever suited her taste that day), to Jaime helping you escape, to the birds on the boat, to your journey here. In turn, Brienne told you of her lengthy journey and what she had found on the way. Mostly nothing, lots of war and skirmishes. Sandor Clegane was dead, but Arya had been with him soon before that… not Sansa. The thought of Arya somewhere out there alive, sparked dangerous hope within your chest.

“Varys says Sansa is in the Eyrie, masquerading as Baelish’s bastard daughter.” The thought revolted you. “But I do wonder if the Eyrie is a trap of sorts. I cannot trust Varys. He certainly is no friend of the Lannisters, but neither is he their enemy. For all I know, he may be conspiring with dragons and grumpkins.”

“Sansa would be safe with her Aunt Lysa there, right?” Brienne asked, though even she sounded doubtful of her own question.

“I can’t quite say,” you said, brows furrowed. “Lysa is an unpredictable woman. Frightened and secluded is never a good combination of characteristics. Even so, I doubt Sansa would make her way home up North without being intercepted. It wouldn’t hurt to check the Vale first.”

Brienne nodded solemnly. “We can make our way first thing in the morning. For now, you must rest, my lady. You must be exhausted.”

The sudden reminder of the limitations of your body made your knees wobble. The past few days had you running on little else than adrenaline, fear, and meager portions of salted foods. 

“I missed you, Brienne,” you whispered, looking up at her. “I fear trusted friends are few and far in between in these times.” Not that you ever had many friends to begin with. Everyone had always been so afraid of you—something Brienne could relate to.

 The term friend dusted pink over Brienne’s large, crooked nose and broad, freckled cheekbones. She was certainly not pretty, not by a long shot, but that was of no matter to you. She was the most beautiful blessing you could have possibly encountered—your chances of survival and finding Sansa were far better with Brienne by your side.

“I missed you, as well,” Brienne managed to choke out after many moments of stunned silence. She had never been good with niceties. “Podrick has been company enough, but the boy is young and easily frightened.”

“I’m frightened, too,” you admitted. “One would be a fool not to be, with enemies at every turn. Young, however, is a trait I have long outgrown.”

Brienne looked up at the night sky. “Youth was a curse on me. I always looked older than I was.”

“Me, as well,” you mused with a thoughtful hum. Memories of the lords and ladies living at Winterfell’s court whispering behind your back… sending you strange looks of distant pity… veering far out of your way in fear of you… it weighed heavy on you, especially in your younger years. “My anger has aged me a decade, I think.”

Before Brienne could respond, there came a commotion of noise. Men on horses, their hooves schlocking through mud and puddles. Instinctively, you drew the cowl of your hood up over your head. They are armed, these men, you thought with grim unease. And there were many of them, just above half a dozen. Far too many for you and Brienne to take alone.

Brienne drew in a sharp breath at the sight of them and unsheathed Oathkeeper. She stepped in front of you before you could even begin to react. The biggest man of the party was so hefty that his beaten horse buckled and shook beneath the sheer force of his weight. His pale face was torn and wept with pus and blood. But Brienne’s eyes were drawn to his snarling helm—with its dull metal nose and sharp teeth of steel. It was the Hound’s property but the man wearing it was certainly no Hound.

The sky grew darker and the storm clouds thundered up above. The young girl that had greeted you into the inn had slammed the door open, now holding a crossbow. Whatever she was screaming was lost to the rain and thunder. 

“Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them,” raged the man, his voice nearly as loud as the booming in the sky. Your chest rose and fell in silence as you slowly reached behind you to unsling your bow. 

“Leave her be,” called out Brienne, drawing their attention. “If you want to rape someone, try me.”

The outlaws laughed and chortled at that. One japed about fucking horses before fucking her. The rest of their words were unintelligible to you as you focused on drawing an arrow without pulling too much attention to yourself. It proved to be a difficult task when there were seven pairs of eyes trained on Brienne, and, consequently, you, as well.

Brienne said something you couldn’t catch, leaving the man with the helm fuming. He charged forward through the mud. Brienne shuffled away from you—she needed the man to come to her, but not to get too close to you. You were her priority now.

A song of steel screeched through the rain-torn wind as their swords clashed. Brienne managed to cut through the rags of his tunic and slash a gaping hole in his cheap chainmail just before she just barely evaded his swinging axe. The man was screaming expletives at her—whore, bitch, freak. 

You nocked the arrow with not a second thought.

Then the drawstring was split in two and you were left with a useless bow. One of the outlaws had made his way to you whilst you were concentrating on the man with the helm—and broke your favored weapon. 

“Shhh,” he crooned as he laid the cold, wet blade of the knife he used to cut your bow against your throat. “Enjoy and watch the show, boy.” He must have thought you were one of the orphans that lived here—and not much of a threat, considering he pulled the knife away from you and made a show of pointing it towards Brienne and her attacker. “It’s not every day you see a woman like her battle a man like him.”

You nodded, playing along. You still had the dagger you used to cut your hair tucked against your hip. It was a touch too dull for your liking, but it would have to do for now. You had no other choice. With the man’s eyes drawn back to their messy duel, you drew its blade and drove it forth, straight into throat. His arms flailed for a second before clawing at your face and chest. Pain bloomed over your skin. If you were bleeding, you couldn’t feel it—not with all the rain pouring over you. You savagely tore the dagger out from his throat and drove it through his chest again and again and again. From your peripheral vision, you could see Brienne parry over and over, stab this way and that—and finally skewer her longsword straight through him until its pointy end protruded out his back.

You continued stabbing the man until he fell to the ground in a limp, bloodied heap. Even then you didn’t stop—straddling his waist and bringing the dagger down in furious strokes. It occurred to you that the other men would be upon Brienne a second too late—when you swung around, she was swarmed by the rest of them. 

“Eddard!” she called, immediately halting you in your assault on the long-dead outlaw. It took you a moment to realize that she was addressing you, not wanting to call out your actual name. “Run! Run, now!”

Two of the outlaws were coming towards you.

“Brienne!” you yelled just as one of them sliced a cut through her shoulder she couldn’t properly roll away from. The rest of your protests caught in your throat when you watched one of them—one with wild eyes that had irises too small and teeth filed sharp—dive forward onto Brienne, sending her crashing to the ground. He bit a chunk of her face right off. 

More men surrounded her. Punching, kicking, and slicing at your friend. No, you couldn’t see her anymore, where is she? Get up, Brienne, get up…

“GO!” you could hear her muffled voice scream. “NED, GO!”

No, no, no…

But if you stayed, you would be dead, as well. One of the outlaws made a grab for you, but you danced back. If not for the two slipping on the watery mud the very next second, you would have been dead.

With your heart beating in your throat, you turned on your heel and fled.

What was a kingsguard without his king? Jaime hadn’t been happy to be sent off to the Riverlands again—his place was beside Tommen. The boy-king with a golden crown sitting atop his golden curls. Cersei had insisted on him leaving, however. She’d grown more restless, more paranoid, more snappy since their father’s death. Lancel, his fool of a cousin, was now a religious fanatic who seemed to be intent on fasting until he passed from starvation, and had confessed his sins of lying with Cersei. Apparently he was not the only one. The Kettleblack brothers, the court fools, and hells, even serving girls, if word of mouth was to be trusted. 

He felt a fool for ever loving her. And now she had kicked him out of the castle and away from his duty like one would a dirty mongrel.

Let her run the kingdom to ruin. See if I care.

Jaime wearily pulled at his face. That was the problem—he did care, and he knew he did. Cersei on the throne would mean little good for anybody. Not for his little brother, not for Brienne, not for you. He hoped you were safe, wherever you were.

The knight with one hand had had a long day, even though it was not yet nightfall. He had spoken to the Blackfish, Brynden Tully, in hopes of making some sort of negotiation. Perhaps goad him into a duel of single-combat and spare everyone of the grueling boredom that came with a slow siege. Expectedly, the wind-beaten lord took none of the bait and retreated back into his castle. Then, he had a short, but explosive council meeting with a few of the riverlords. They squabbled over each other like mindless birds over a piece of half-baked bread. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder what his father would do in his shoes, but was quick to relinquish such a thought. Tywin Lannister would never be in this position in the first place. And he was dead, which was perhaps the more important bit. After the council, he paid a visit to Ryman Frey, who was preoccupied fucking some whore who called herself a Queen. He had the big oaf dismissed for wasting so much time and resources, then named his son, Edwyn, command of the siege. He ordered young Edwyn to tell his great-grandsire, Walder Frey, to release all the prisoners for the crown. There was no undoing the Red Wedding, but he could, at the very least, attempt to rectify the troubles it left in its wake.

And now—now Jaime had one more person to visit.

It was his aunt, Genna Lannister, who had urged Jaime to do something about the sullen man with the noose loosely wrapped around his throat. In his state, he posed no danger physically. As a symbol, however, Edmure Tully, was a great danger to the cause. His cause? Jaime wasn’t entirely sure what he was fighting for anymore. It certainly didn’t feel like he was protecting Tommen from all these leagues away from him. His golden hand felt so very heavy strapped onto his stump—why did he still bother carrying it around?

Ilyn Payne made quick work of cutting Edmure Tully down from the wooden gallows he was perched upon. His hair, scraggly and red, hung in limp clumps over his dirtied, bloody face. Eyes deep blue, heavy with exhaustion. Jaime couldn’t help but think of Robb Stark at the sight of him. Gods, they looked alike.

Jaime had Edmure pulled through the tents and mass of Freys and other rivermen alike. One japed about a fish on a leash. A young man holding an instrument was amongst the throng of stares, and he ordered the singer to follow, and the lad obediently did. Onto a ferry they went, where the vessel would carry them to Tumblestone.

“Why?” Edmure has croaked, gripping weakly onto Jaime’s arm. 

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Jaime replied. 

The Tully eyed him warily. “A wedding gift?”

“I’ve heard your wife is pretty. She’d have to be, for the two of you to be abed whilst your sister and king were being murdered.” Jaime gave him a wry look. 

“I never knew. There were musicians outside the bedchamber, I couldn’t…”

“I’m sure Lady Roslin made for a grand distraction, as well.”

At the crass insinuation, however truthful, Edmure frowned and pulled away from the knight. “They made her do it. She had little say in the matter. Roslin never wanted any of it to happen. She wept the entire night, but I thought…”

“You thought it was your rampant manhood that swayed her to tears? It’s a sight any woman would weep to, I’m sure.”

Edmure hung his head. “She is carrying my child.”

Your child or your death? Jaime thought, but tastefully decided not to say it out loud. Not yet. Instead, he asked, “Your king-nephew, Robb. Did he ever speak of his aunt before his end?”

Edmure lifted his gaze to the kingslayer at that. “The Bitter Wolf?” He thought for a moment, eyes distant. “No. She was hardly ever brought up. Robb didn’t like to speak of her. Not after her betrayal with your freedom. If he did speak of her, it would’ve been with Catelyn.”

“Who is now dead,” Jaime dryly said.

“Yes,” Edmured replied, letting his gaze drift down to the waters. 

“Much help you are.”

“Where is she now? The Bitter Wolf.” 

Jaime saw no point in lying to him. “I don’t know.”

The rest of the ferry trip was spent in silence.

Once at his pavilion, Jaime dismissed Ilyn, but kept the singer around. He ordered the servants there to boil bathwater for the honored guest, and had clean garments brought to him, along with warm food and sweet wine. Edmure still couldn’t quite comprehend why exactly Jaime Lannister was being so courteous, but couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of cleanliness. He clambered into the tub and started scrubbing the grime off his skin.

Jaime pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “After you’re clean and your belly is full, you will be escorted to Riverrun. What happens after that is up to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Jaime. “Your uncle is old. Valiant, admittedly, but his best years are behind him. He has no wife to grieve for him, nor children to succeed him. A good death is the most the Blackfish can wish for. You, however, have many years remaining to you. You are the rightful heir to House Tully, not him. Your uncle serves you, by law. Riverrun’s fate is in your hands.”

Edmure blinked at him. “I don’t…”

“Understand, I presume? All that time with a rope around your neck must have strangled you of all your wits.” Jaime was growing impatient. “You must yield the castle. Yield, and nobody dies. The smallfolk will be allowed to leave in peace, or they may serve Lord Emmon and his lady-wife, my aunt. Ser Brynden will be allowed to take the black and join the Night’s Watch, with as many of the garrison that choose to join. You, as well. The Wall is in dire need of more hands, I’ve heard. If that is not to your tastes, you may go to Casterly Rock as my captive and enjoy all the comforts and courtesy that befits a hostage of your rank. Your wife may join you. If your sire is a boy, he will serve House Lannister as a squire. Once he comes of age, he is welcome to earn his knighthood, along with some lands I will bestow upon him. If Roslin bears you a daughter, she will be well dowered until she is old enough to wed a fitting lord. You may be granted parole, even, once the war is done. All this only if you yield the castle.”

The water steamed and sloshed in the tub as Edmure gingerly shifted about. “And if I will not yield?”

The servants and squires were all listening. The singer watched the two speak with wide eyes. No matter. Let them all hear it.

“You’ve seen our numbers, Edmure. The ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my cousin will bridge your moat and break your gate. Blood will spill. Hundreds will die, most being your own people. Your former bannermen will be the first wave of attackers, so you will start your day by killing fathers, brothers, and sons of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, and there are plenty of them to spare. My westermen will be the third once your archers are exhausted of arrows and your knights so weary their blades will no longer lift from the ground. The castle will fall, and all inside will be put to the sword. Your livestock will be butchered. Your river will rot with corpses. Your godswood will fall. Your keeps and inventories will burn.” Jaime swallowed as he said the next words. It was true that he did not actually mean to do it, but a threat was a threat, and words are wind. “Your wife may have the child before any of this. You’ll want the babe, I presume. I can send him to you once he’s born. With a trebuchet.”

There came a lengthy silence. Edmure was still in the bath. All the servants and squires stared in horror. 

Genna had told him earlier that he was not his father’s son. Tyrion was more Tywin’s than he could ever dream to be. Would her mind change if she had heard his speech? Was this what Tywin would have done? 

“I could climb out of this tub and kill you right as you are, Kingslayer,” said Edmure, once he finally regained his wits about him.

“You could try,” Jaime calmly replied. The man made no move, so Jaime pushed himself back to his feet. “Enjoy your food. Singer, play for our guest while he eats. You know the song, I trust.”

“The one about rain? Yes, my lord, I know it.”

Edmure’s head swiveled between the singer and Jaime. “No. I don’t want him. Get him away from me.” The tub water sloshed some more. 

“Why, it’s just a song, Lord Tully,” said Jaime, feigning innocence. “His voice couldn’t be that bad.”

The knight left his pavilion with the beginnings of Rains of Castamere playing faintly behind him.

The inns you came across the road were growing sparse. Many had been torched, ransacked, abandoned, or torn down. War left much of the Riverlands in ruins. Though you were none too happy about the state of the lands, pillaged, empty villages meant there would be fewer people loitering about, which was all the better for you.

You had managed to outrun the outlaws through the cover of the storm and ruins. It was only when the rain cleared away did you let yourself sit down and silently cry for Brienne. None deserved a fate like that. She was so undeniably good, more honorable than any other man you’ve ever met—and yet her face was torn apart and now she was dead.

Eventually, you made it out of the Riverlands and began to travel along the high road up to the Eyrie. It was the safest option to get there—the mountains were hardly on the table to walk through on your own, considering it was likely running amok with clansmen and thieves of all sorts. Even on the high road, the terrain was far more mountainous than the relatively-level grounds of the riverlands, and the incline noticeably steeper. You were traveling at a much slower pace than before, growing ragged and tired with shorter distances. 

On the third day on the narrow pathway towards the Bloody Gate, you came across two men on a cart. Merchants, perhaps. You spied the stacked wine casks in the back of the cart, wondering if they were empty. Surely they must be, you thought. The Vale is not likely to make any wine of their own, not with mountains as sheer as theirs. 

As their cart slowly rolled by, being pulled by braying donkeys, you overheard one of the men say, “A singer, it’s said!”

“A singer?” the other merchant echoed.

“Yes, a singer! They say he shoved Lady Arryn right off a mountain.” 

Lady Arryn? Your ears perked up at that. Did they mean Lysa?

He glanced at his companion dubiously. “I heard she threw herself out the door once she confessed her love to him.”

“That’s nonsense, have you seen the way she grips that sickly whelp of hers? She would never throw herself to her death whilst little Robin lives.”

That confirmed it. Lysa is dead?

“If I had a son like that, I’d do the very same,” he grumbled.

“Wait! Good sers!” you exclaimed, turning back to hurry after the cart. The donkeys whined protest as they were pulled to a slow stop. They both glanced back at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Sers?” The one with mousy brown hair piped up with a laugh lodged in his throat. “We are no knights.”

“Apologies, it’s a habit now, I fear. I simply wanted to know—” You stopped in your tracks. “What were you saying about Lady Arryn?”

“She’s dead, she is,” the older of the two merchants told you. His nose was crooked in three different places. “Out the Moon Door—or off the mountain—she flew.”

You stared at them for a moment, trying to gauge whether they were being serious or not. Tall tales such as this were not uncommon amongst the lowborn. “And who now rules in her stead?”

“Little Lord Robin is young still—”

“And far too sickly!”

“—Until he comes of age, Lord Petyr Baelish is Lord of the Vale.”

Littlefinger. The realization dawned on you with great unease as you recalled his infatuation with your good-sister and his alliances with the crown. Lannister crowns. This was no good… no good at all…

“Thank you,” you told the merchants. “That’s good to know.”

“Where are you off to?” said the younger one.

“Runestone,” you lied. “I have family there.” 

That seemed to appease them well enough. The one with brown hair waved farewell as he set the donkeys back into motion. You silently thanked the Gods for coming across decent men. You watched the cart of wine caskets descend down the path.

Now what? You could hardly stroll straight into the Vale now—not with the threat of Littlefinger handing you right back into Cersei’s mad hands. Should you even trust these rumors, though? Perhaps the septon at the Bloody Gate could clarify the situation for you. Surely he would tell you the truth. But getting there would take weeks, and you certainly didn’t have that sort of time. If word of Littlefinger’s rule in the Eyrie was true, you would be wasting even more time doubling back to escape. And if he heard of your presence in the Vale there was no telling what he would do… have you locked up and sent to Cersei in a cage? 

But what about Sansa? Your heart shattered at the thought of leaving her alone at the Eyrie with Baelish. You had to be smart about this. Even if Sansa was in the Vale, and if you managed to get to her, and if you could whisk her out of the castle undetected, there was nowhere for the two of you to go that would be safe. Sansa wouldn’t last a fortnight out in the wilderness. Gods forbid, but perhaps it was best for her to stay in the Eyrie until you managed to find a stronghold that would keep her safe and protected. 

Then again, she could just as likely be elsewhere in Westeros. Arya, too. Gods, you wished Brienne was with you. You could still see the blood spurting from her face, her screams cracking through the thunderous air. 

Damn you, Jaime. You should have come with me, you said to yourself, knowing it was a foolish chain of thought. He wouldn’t be much help, anyway. All he did when we traveled together was complain and find new ways to irritate me. 

You lingered on the path for a few more moments. Then, you frustratedly gestured to nobody, made a noise of displeasure, and turned to follow after the wine merchants. 

Back to the Riverlands you went.

Riverrun was now taken, but at a great cost. Brynden the Blackfish had escaped. All thanks to Jaime’s carelessness and Edmure’s wit. This would never have happened if Tywin was around, Jaime couldn’t help but lament. It was no wonder his aunt Genna told him he was nothing like his father. 

He was a fool, and his father knew it.

After a series of threats to both Edmure and his wife, the Tully lord managed to sullenly tell him what he knew of the Blackfish’s whereabouts. Which, to Jaime’s dismay, was very little. 

“He swam away,” Edmure had told him. He had the very same blue eyes as Catelyn did, as well as Robb. The very same look of loathing in them, as well. There was a time when you looked at him like that. “The Water Gate’s portcullis was raised. Not enough to be noticed, only three feet or so. My uncle is a strong swimmer. He pulled himself beneath the spikes and I can only assume the current helped him from there.”

Damn it all.

Jaime had hounds and hunters on the prowl for the Blackfish, but he had little hope of catching him. And Edmure was to be heading west the following morning. Jaime was glad to be rid of him, though he worried that the man would slip through the guards he would be traveling with. The knight wasn’t too keen on hunting for the Tully a third time.

News of Ryman Frey’s death was brought to him by young Edwyn, the former’s son. Hanged, apparently, by a band of outlaws nearby Fairmarket, which was boldly close by. Thoros, or Dondarrion, or this mysterious Stoneheart woman. There was little to do about the matter now—Jaime ordered more guards posted and that was that. 

That night, he practiced his shoddy, left-handed swordsmanship with the silent Ilyn Payne. He managed to last a grand total of three hours before giving into his cramping muscles’ begs for a rest. Afterwards, he poured the both of them cups full of Hoster Tully’s wine, and told Payne of how he used to kiss his sister when they were children. It was innocent at first, until it wasn’t. It felt nice being able to freely tell someone of everything knowing he couldn’t possibly relay such information to anybody else—Payne’s lack of a tongue ironically made Jaime chattier than ever. 

“Tyrion once told me that whores oft avoid kissing their patrons. They’ll fuck you until your legs fall off, he said, but they keep their lips far from yours. It’s what separates work from real romance. I wonder if my sister ever kissed Kettleblack.” Jaime thought for a long moment. “I kissed the Bitter Wolf.”

Payne spared him no reaction.

“She was crying.” Jaime took a sip of wine, leaving out the fact that he had shed a tear or two. “Not because of the kiss, though. I hope not, at least. I’m not that bad of a kisser. Cersei never cried when we kissed.” Though, after he said that, he realized basing his assumptions around Cersei wasn’t a particularly smart thing to do. You and Cersei were many leagues apart from one another.

Payne drained his cup and gestured for Jaime to refill it.

As he did, Jaime went on. “If not for Tyrion’s reckless call for a trial by combat, I would have married her. The Bitter Wolf. We would be at Casterly Rock, and Tyrion would be at the Wall, and my father would still be alive, and my son would sit the Iron Throne, and all would be well. Or not. Cersei would make matters difficult. I doubt Y/N would be pleased about her predicament, either, come to think of it.”

He decided to change the subject back to Kettleblack when Payne’s silence stretched for a little while longer.

“It would be ill-fitting to slay mine own Sworn Brother. I should geld him and send him to the Wall—make up for Tyrion’s loss in some way. He’s been to the Wall, perhaps he had no taste for returning. It’s bloody cold there, I’ve heard. Of course, if I were to lay a hand on Osmund, there would be his brothers to consider, as well. Brothers can be dangerous. Aegon the Unworthy had Ser Terrence Toyne dismembered into pieces after finding him abed with his mistress, and forced her to watch. Toyne’s brothers tried to kill the King for it, though their plans were ultimately foiled by the Dragonknight. It’s written in the White Book. All of it, including every knightly deed and chivalrous act. It doesn’t tell me what to do with Cersei, though.”

Ilyn dragged a finger across his scarred throat.

“No,” Jaime said. “Tommen has already lost a brother, and the man he thinks is his father. If his mother were to die by my hand, he would hate me for it. I’m sure his sweet little wife would use that hatred to her benefit, as well.”

An ugly smile stretched at Ilyn’s thin lips. Jaime misliked the crude gleam in his eye. 

“You talk too much,” Jaime told the mute.

The next night, Jaime found himself in Hoster Tully’s solar, looking over a map, wondering where the Blackfish could have gone. Many of his hunters had returned that morning, torn and bleeding. Direwolves, they had told him. A monstrous pack with a large she-wolf leading them. He wondered if that could have been the wolf that had mauled Joffrey what had felt like a lifetime ago. 

In consequence, Jaime couldn’t help but wonder about you. Did the direwolves like you at all? He strained his mind to remember, but couldn’t seem to recall. It confused him when his chest constricted at the thought of forgetting you.

The war was practically won. Dragonstone was taken, and Storm’s End would be very soon. Stannis was welcome to the cold fruits of the Wall—if Roose Bolton hadn’t already destroyed him. And the Riverlands were successfully taken without Jaime ever having to raise a sword against neither Stark nor Tully. All in all, he was to be content.

But where did that place you? Once everything calmed down, what would happen to you? To Sansa, who surely deserved no harm that would come to her? She was just a young girl and you… you were far from the paragon of innocence, to be certain, but surely he could have Tommen pardon you for any of your crimes. Your crimes being allegiance to your own nephew, which Jaime could hardly fault you for.

Then again, Cersei was the problem. There was no chance she would sit idly by and let you live. Once he returned to King’s Landing, he had to find a way to whisk Tommen from her crutches before he would turn as corrupt as Joffrey. A new council full of abled men would be in order, as well. 

More and more days passed. Jaime had the entire Tully garrison safely released from their keep, which displeased his Aunt Genna greatly, but Jaime was intent on letting them go. There was little harm they could do when they were scattered, weaponless, and hungry.

 He dreamed of Cersei most nights. Of her golden hair, which then molded into golden hands. In his dreams, he always had two hands. Sometimes touching her, stroking her, holding her—dreamy memories of old. Sometimes he was strangling her, which he certainly had never done before.

Other nights he dreamed of Brienne. Her big, brutish face red with rage and exhaustion. She would swing Oathkeeper at his neck and he awoke just before his head rolled off his shoulders.

Some of the nights, however scarce they were, were far more precious. He dreamt of you, your hair freckled with snow, your eyes alight as you watched children play beneath you. He was in Winterfell, he realized, and with a shocked start looked back down at the children. His? No. They were your nieces and nephews, of course. Their faces were a blur, but their red hair was unmistakable. Save for the littlest girl and the bastard boy. Snow, Jaime remembered. 

“We should have one,” your dream-self said to him, so serious that Jaime wondered if it was actually you standing there in front of him. “A little wolf-lion.”

Did Jaime want that? Would they have golden hair like his? Like Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen? But how could he have another child when he was never a father to the ones he already had? It felt wrong to even consider it. Dishonorable. Any romantic notion of a normal life with you was quickly dashed.

“I know we can’t,” you continued on before he could respond. “They’re all dead.” You gestured down to the Starklings. “And I’ll be joining them soon. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

“No—” he said, reaching out to you, but you had already faded into a blur.

Not all of his dreams with you were as bleak. Once he was abed with you, and another time he was bound by rope as you pointed an arrow at his forehead while he cackled maniacally. 

A week after releasing the last of the garrison, Jaime woke up with a start after dreaming about a cloaked figure that looked eerily similar to Cersei, though he knew it wasn’t her. His mother spoke soft riddles, where Cersei would bark harsh insults. He couldn’t quite tell which he favored. He threw the covers off him with his stump.

The room was frigid. The hearth’s warmth had waned away and the windows had been left pushed open when he fell asleep. In the darkness, Jaime made his way to close the shutters, but his foot touched against a wetness on the ground. Blood had been his first thought, but blood would not be so cold. Rain, perhaps, but he would have heard the sound of pattering coming from outside.

Jaime drew the damp curtains apart, letting the moonlight stream through. Moonlight and snow. Down below, the yard was spotting with white, growing thicker and thicker in the minutes he watched. After a moment, he even began to see his breath misting in front of him.

Winter is here, he thought. Marching south, and our granaries are half empty.

He watched the snow fall, and stood there thinking of you. It irked him that you haunted his every thought. Nonetheless, he hoped you were warm, wherever you were. If he was as fanatically religious as his dear coz Lancel, he would have even prayed for your safety.

When morning dawned, Riverrun’s maester came to pay him a visit. He was pallid-faced and shaking.

“I know,” Jaime said, glancing at the bound letter in the old man’s quivering hands. “The Citadel has sent a white raven. Winter has come.”

“No, my lord,” said Maester Vyman. “The bird came from King’s Landing. Forgive me, I took the liberty to open it, I did not know it was meant for your eyes…”

Jaime took the letter and sat by the window to read. It was Qyburn’s hurried hand, but he knew it to be Cersei’s fevered words. 

Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.

“Does my lord wish to answer?” asked Vyman, hovering by the door.

A snowflake landed on the letter. He was reminded of the snowflakes in your hair, in his dream. It was quick to melt, blurring the inked words and streaking down the paper. 

Jaime rolled the paper back as tight as he could with his one hand, and handed it back to the maester. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

[nosyrobin]

“Fair Amusement”

Damian Wayne x Roth! Male reader

Summary: The small Roth spending time with the small Wayne, the two boys start to have fun until Damian gets annoyed at seeing a boy acting a little too “friendly” with the raven he finds beautiful.

Note || Y/N is the little brother of Raven, hero name is Corvus. The Latin name for Raven.

“Roth..” Damian says looking at the boy in-front of him walking ahead with excitement. “Huh? Sorry Damian what were you saying?” Y/N says looking at Damian who kept his signature frown on his face. “Why must you be so excited for such…amusement..” he says, Y/N pouted.

“Damian..I’m excited because I’m spending this amusement with you! Plus I never really had fun in a fair.. or is this an amusement park? I never knew the difference.” Y/n admitted with with an awkward chuckle. Damian looked away from the boy, he felt his face getting heated as he gritted his teeth together. “Aye! Niños, don’t go too far okay?” Jaime yells as he sees the two boys being slight further from the rest. Garfield was already loose from the team. Probably doing something reckless or gaining mad tickets.

“On it! Cmon Damian, I heard there’s a game where you can shoot these fake ducks and win a big stuff animal!” Y/N says excitedly, Damian only kept his facial expression. Trying not to show too much emotion but his eyes showed curiosity. Y/N started to get distracted by things like cotton candy and music. Damian knew the boy wants to try the shooting game, so he made you focus on your so called “journey.”

Finally making to the stand, the bright light and colors made your eyes shine with joy. Damian looked at you, time felt slow when you turned to look at him. Was this what those main characters felt when those cheesy romance movies did the slo mo? Yeah this is how he feels. You point to a big penguin. “Look! Look! They got a big stuffed animal like I said!” Damian crosses his arms loosely, “I see Roth.” You immediately nod with excitement grabbing the shotgun that was plastered. You handed the man the money and got to business.

Or at least tried to get into businesses. You seemed to have trouble holding the shotgun, the man behind the counter showed annoyance. Damian gave the man hard glare to “fix” the man’s attitude which worked. The poor small Raven must have attracted attention as a boy that seemed to be your and Damian’s age walked in and started to guide you.

Damian narrows his eyes at the boy beside you who was showing you how to shoot. He didn’t like how the boy was looking at you, Damian crossed his arms. He couldn’t help but glare, but when the boy whispered something in your ear and you chuckled. He had enough, he pushed the boy aside and got behind you. His arms and hands already making sure you were positioned to shoot the ducks. Your eyes widen seeing his eyes trained in front while being behind you. Too close behind you.

“Y/N, focus on the ducks. Shoot.” And you did. You listen to his words perfectly which made him smirk. He backed away when you won the penguin. But what he also did next was pettiness as he also went and did a try at the game. Shooting perfectly without a struggle, getting you another big penguin. Your eyes were wide in admiration, meanwhile Damian glanced at the boy who seemed to scoff and walk off. Damian walked off smugly, wrapping an arm around the boy who seemed so happy hugging the two big penguins!

“Best night ever!” You yelled as you came back into the car with the team. Garfield was already sleep with Jaime almost being the same. Kory was in the driver seat with your sister in the passenger. Raven smiled seeing her little brother happy with two penguins. “Little crow, where do you get them?” She asked softly.

“I got one for myself with the help of Damian. But Damian got me another one.” You say with a soft smile. You then lean against Damian who stiffened at the sudden action. But he soon relaxed with a smile that was covered with his hand. He looked out the window, staring at the boy’s reflection.

“That was nice of you Damian. Thank you.” Raven says. Damian only hummed, still looking at the reflection of the Roth male who seemed happy. And that made Damian happy as well.

[grandline-fics]

Hi I'm so in love w your blog I love your writings 💙 n e ways I was wondering if you would write a small multiple character fic w luffy and zoro when you hide an injury💙 tyyy

DESCRIPTION: You hide an injury

WARNINGS:  light injury description but nothing bad

CHARACTERS: Zoro, Luffy

WORDS: 1,268

A/N: I'm so glad you like my writing and thank you for the request. I hope this was to your liking!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

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ZORO

He’d told you not to push yourself. He warned you the dangerous of training beyond your limits so soon after a battle. Zoro told you to listen to your body and like a fool you wanted to prove to him you were strong, that you could do it. You should have listened because when you made the next rep in your training you felt the pull in your back and the pain jolted through you to the point your eyes blurred with tears, the air was slammed out of your lungs. The weight dropped out of your hand loudly and you stumbled back to the window seat closest to you, shuddering out slow, shallow breaths as you tried to calm yourself from the initial shock. By the time the hatch opened and Zoro’s head appeared you’d managed to control your expression. “What happened?”

“N-nothing.” You insisted, still breathless that you hoped you could just pass off as tiredness from the training. “Was getting tired and the weight slipped. Just catching my breath.” Zoro watched you carefully as he entered the Crow’s Nest fully and approached you, his keen stare never moving from your face. You met his gaze as much as you could and tried to seem as relaxed as possible even though the pain was still spasming in your back. Yes, you’d endured harsher injuries in countless battles and you would recover from this without any issue. All you needed to do was take it slow and easy and rest. The only problem was managing to keep it hidden from Zoro to avoid him getting smug about you not listening to him.

“Looks like you’ve caught your breath, you going to start up again?” Zoro asked casually, jerking his head back towards the weight on the ground. “Seems like you weren’t finished.”

“Uhh I would continue but that’s a heavier weight than I’m used to. Better to quit while I’m ahead right? Last thing we need is an injury.” You forced out with a tight smile, stiffly getting to your feet and heading towards the hatch. It wasn’t until you were nearly there that you realised you’d have to stoop down to lift it open and make the climb down and you felt like crying or cursing. Just as you prepared to do what would bring you more pain, Zoro’s arm wrapped around your waist gently to keep you upright. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Stopping you from hurting yourself anymore than you already have.” You tensed at that and let your eyes slide closed in slight annoyance that he already knew. Zoro had a talent of seeming laid-back and unobservant when really he was taking everything in, you hated that about him but also admired him for it. For now though your pride was wounded along with your back and you couldn’t help but pout when Zoro crouched down to open the hatch before lifting you gently but securely into his hold with one arm before using the other to carry you down the mast. 

When you were safely in your shared room you let out a groan when you lay on the bed. A sigh of relief followed when Zoro’s hand went straight to where the pain was at its worst, applying just the right amount of pressure and care to help your back. It got so good that you could feel yourself beginning to fall asleep but Zoro’s voice saying your name got your attention. Softly you let out a hum to show you were listening. “I told you so.”

LUFFY

You loved Luffy, you truly did. You loved how energetic and fierce he was, how he always had a smile and a laugh for nearly any situation. You loved how serious he got in a fight and how no one, no matter how much bigger they were or how important they were he still faced them head on if they did something to bring his fury on them. What you didn’t like was that sometimes that energy and that fightable spirit remained even when he was asleep. For the most part you managed to get used to it, jumping awake some nights when he let out a yell that he’d kick his dream opponents ass. Other times you’d wake to him bolting upright in the bed, his fist reeled back to throw a punch only for his body to flop back down against the mattress, his sleep undisturbed. 

One night however was one were Luffy’s dream fighting struck hard and more intense than you’d experienced before. When he bolted upright in the bed and yelled out you were tossed onto your back blinking wildly in the dark as you adjusted to being violently woken and trying to make out Luffy’s form. You waited patiently for him to start to make his attack and flop back onto the bed again but this time it didn’t play out the way it usually did. 

Over and over Luffy punched the air, sleepily grunting out attacks and insults. You knew not to wake anyone if they sleep-walked but you weren’t fully sure on those that sleep-fought. You gasped and managed to avoid Luffy’s arm whipping back, hitting the pillow where your head had been mere seconds ago. Cautiously you sat up in the bed and scrambled to think of something, anything to soothe him. Then you did the only thing you could think of.

“Luffy! You won!” You cheered out, loud enough to reach Luffy’s ears but not too loud to wake the others on the ship. You sighed in relief to see the broad grin stretch out across his face and with a sleepy laugh he threw himself backwards. You settled against the pillows and prepared to fall asleep again when Luffy let out a cheer, arms and legs kicking out in celebration. With your eyes closed you didn’t see it coming and you were hit hard with enough force to be knocked awkwardly and painfully onto the floor. On impact you felt your wrist spike with pain and you bit back the urge to cry out. Thankfully you hitting the floor didn’t wake Luffy and you were able to slip back into bed.

When morning came you woke first and were able to change into your clothes for the day, picking a shirt that hid your bruised wrist and forearm from view. You knew nothing was broken and it would heal, it just looked worse than what it was. If anything you were lucky that this was your only injury for facing Luffy. You were prepared to keep a low profile for the day but unexpectedly Luffy appeared behind you so fast and cheer out an excited good morning to you. With a startled yell you spun and put your hand on your chest, the action slipping your sleeve down just enough to show the beginning of the bruise. Luffy’s eyes widened and he reached out to take you hand. “What happened?!”

“Uhh…” You glanced at your hand in his hold and sighed. You couldn’t lie to him. “You pushed me out of bed, hit it on the floor. I’m fi-” You were cut off with a yelp when Luffy lifted you immediately. “Luffy! I’m fine, it’s a bruise.”

“No! You’re taking it easy if you’re injured!”

“It’s just my hand, I can still walk.”

“No! I’m your legs and arms today.” Luffy insisted before grinning at you when you laughed and shook your head in resignation. How could you argue with the Captain when he looked at you like that?

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[novemberheart]

{overview} John and you take another leap in your relationship, Kyle makes an unsettling discovery

{warnings} Fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, P in V sex, heat cycles, oral & fingering (fem receiving), loss of virginity, cursing, mirror sex, MDNI

Chapter 21 <- Chapter 22 -> Chapter 23

The next few days had gone by without a hitch. It was nice, being domestic with your pack. You spend most of your days going to museums, restaurants, and outdoor activities that are way above your athletic ability. Still, you would be lying if you said you weren't happier than you have ever been- well at least happier than you've been in a while. You and Simon have gotten much closer. He had been making a real effort with you, not that he hadn't before but there was something different about him. His gestures felt more affectionate than out of duty.

That was until you came down with a fever.

“It’s not saying she has a fever, yet she's burning up,” Kyle huffed, pulling a thermometer out of your mouth. You and John eyed each other.

“This a symptom of your heat?” He questioned. Everyone stiffened.

“Yes. But I usually get them after my heat, not before. Before my heat, I’ll get extra sensitive, and my body will start to feel….less stiff. I'll also get this sort of buzz in my stomach,” you explained.

“And I take it you haven't been feeling any of that?” Simon added. You shook your head.

“You don't smell any different,” Johnny added too.

“Well, this may be the start of it, pretty girl. Let's just keep an eye on it, yeah?” John spoke. Everyone nodded.

“I don't want this to happen on vacation,” you started to whine, you quickly caught yourself, your eyes going wide.

“Sensitive, eh?” John chuckled, placing a kiss against your heated head.

“This is the best place for it to happen,” Kyle assured. “Where you're safe with all of us,” Kyle reminded. You breathed out slowly, nodding your head in agreement.

“You're right,” you affirmed.

“The plan is,” John began and you immediately felt a sudden shift in the air. You wondered how many times they have heard John say that. It had an immediate impact on them, their shoulders straightening, eyes narrowing in focus. How many times had their lives depended on those words? Johnny's crow's feet appeared and you ran your thumb over them breaking him out of his trance. He grinned at you, pressing a kiss against your hand before turning back to John. “Me and her will stay in our room,” he spoke looking at Simon. You held your breath, waiting for him to be mad at you. Instead, he nodded his head seemingly unaffected by the words, besides a light blush across his cheeks. “You’re in charge of food and drinks,” he commanded, looking at Johnny who quickly nodded. You winced. Looks like you'll be eating cereal and granola bars for a week. “You’ll be on puppy duty,” he spoke to Kyle, nodding to the lazy ball of fur at your feet.

“How long do your heats last, Bon?”

“Usually a week,” you responded, causing Simon to chuckle.

“Old mans gonna disloca”-

“Fuck off,” John interjected, his own smirk across his face. “I’m two years older than you you twat,”

“I'll sleep on the pull-out in the living room,” Simon spoke. Being in the betas room felt too close to you. “Don't worry about me barging in or anything, yeah?” he soothed.

You felt horrendous for believing he would be upset at you. You offered him a small smile, nodding your head graciously.

“Alright, that's it,” John finished.

Simon grabbed a washcloth, running it under cool water and plopping it on your forehead.

“Remember when you were doing this to me?” he mused, a small smile on his face. That seemed so long ago. That was your first interaction with him. You remember how scared and unsure of yourself you were. Hell, most of that hadn't changed.

“Simon,” you sobbed, your arms wrapping around his waist, making him chuckle.

“Sensitive, pup,” he teased, patting you on the back. “Should get you to bed. A nap might help,” he spoke, mostly to himself. He hoisted you up carrying you to the bedroom, Johnny following close behind. He tossed you on the bed, Johnny quickly hopping in and getting comfortable with you. You watched with tired eyes as Simon began moving his clothes into the beta’s room. He didn't have too many.

“Simon?” you asked softly.

“Pup?”

“Could I have one of your sweatshirts?” you nearly pleaded. He grabbed one off the hanger, rubbing it against the scent glands on his neck before tossing it to you. You bunched it up, using it as a pillow. Leather with an undertone of black licorice making the back of your neck tingle. “Thank you,” you purred lowly.

Your symptoms had progressed. A familiar lax in your body making it a bit hard to move. You had started nesting, stealing things from every member of your pack to make the bed as comfortable as you could. There were slight changes in your scent making their mouths water. John stayed close, wanting you to ease him into a rut instead of it just hitting him.

“How do you feel, lovie?” Kyle hummed.

“My face is hot but my body is cold,” you whined. “And I'm tired,” you huffed.

“Sleep, princess. You'll be needing it,” John chuckled from next to you. Your head peaked up from the pillows.

“You’re the one who’ll need it,” you shot back, a playful glint in your hazy eyes. John’s brows raised, sitting up on one of his elbows.

“You flirtin’ with me now? I'm the one that's supposed to be courting you,” he reminded, tucking you in.

“I’m waiting,” you smirked, causing Kyle to laugh.

“I'll be back,” John insisted, dodging back down the hall.

“I like this feisty you,” Kyle murmured. You chuckled, inching closer to him. When John returned he had a bowl of cut-up fruit and a few snack packs of your favorite snacks.

“Thank you alpha,” you purred, popping a strawberry in your mouth. John purred back, tucking you back in.

“Let me,” he urged, opening a pack of cookies and hand-feeding you.

“I could get used to this,” you smiled between bites.

He woke up before you with a sharp exhale. Your scent hitting him like a bolt of lightning. You were tucked in his side, your hands gripping onto his damp shirt like it would keep you from floating away. You were whimpering quietly, his body reacting to you before he had even opened both his eyes. You needed him.

“I know, pretty,” he soothed quietly, biting back a snarl. He pressed his lips against your shoulder, slowly detaching himself from you. Your nail caught the fabric of his shirt, the sound of the fabric tearing finally waking you up. You watched with bleary eyes as John made his way to the bathroom, tossing his half ripped shirt on the floor. He splashed cold water on his face, even through your tears you could his body shaking.

He was holding himself back.

You could smell it in the air. His blazing scent overshadowing your melted vanilla. Your scent alone would be too much for him, him projecting being his only defense to keep from sinking his teeth into your neck.

You were uncomfortable. Your body too hot and sweaty to even focus on the ache between your thighs. You sat up sluggishly, your feet sinking into the plush carpet. You pulled yourself to stand, making your way to the bathroom. John quickly turned on the shower meeting you halfway. You rested more than half your weight against him, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ as he guided you along.

“May I?” He checked, his fingers curled in the hem of your shirt. You nodded trying your best to hold your arms up to make it easy for him. You already felt a bit cooler as the fabric hit the floor. A pleased rumble echoed in his chest.

“Such a pretty girl I have,” he mumbled more to himself than you. He pulled your sleep shorts and panties down in one motion, his arm resting around your waist to keep you steady. He checked the water temperature, making sure it was cool enough to chill your heated skin but not enough to shock you. “Want me in with you?” he asked softly.

“Please,” you mumbled against his bare chest. He erupted in goosebumps as your hands traveled around his abdomen. He pulled his sweats down, along with his boxers. You swallowed thickly. The sight of him making the sheen of sweat return to your skin. Partly from want- no need, and partly from nerves. He was about half the size of your forearm in length, but the width was really what made you whimper.

“Don’t worry about that right now, pretty,” he soothed, turning you away from him. He apologized as the action caused him to run across your lower back. You shivered, your bottom instinctually arching in the air to meet him. “Good girl,” he praised softly. You were running on instinct, you couldn't help it. Besides, you presented too perfectly for him to not compliment you. He guided you into the shower by your hips.

You purred as the cool water hit your heated skin. He kept his distance, despite the sight before him, his hands keeping a firm grasp on you to keep you steady. You turned under the waterfall, your hands pulling him closer by his arm.

“I want to feel you,” you mumbled. The little self-control he had snapping. He gripped the back of your thighs, hoisting you up, pressing you against the tile of the shower. Your arms quickly found his neck, your mouths desperately connecting.

“You don't know how long I've wanted you,” he growled back. He was all-consuming. You're hardly able to keep up with his words. His lips leave yours for just a moment to bite at whatever skin he can before returning to them. You could feel the tip of his cock brush against your bottom, the little action having your eyes rolling back.

“Then take me,” you gasped. “I’m yours.”

His groan was toe curling, his hand reaching below you to switch the water off. He kept you close, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you back to bed. He tossed you down, his hands finding your ankles. You watched, waiting for what his next move would be. You expected him to spread your legs apart, and begin to work himself inside of you, yet all he did was stare. He raised your legs up, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of each foot. He worked his way to your core slowly. A kiss against your ankle, then up your calves, then up your thighs, stopping just before your dripping entrance. His beard felt just how you had imagined it, your hand grabbing his hair and pulling him towards you.

“What, pretty girl? Tell me what you need,” he said softly, his breath against you causing you to jolt.

“You,” you sniffed softly, hoping a small buck of your hips would drive the point home. He rubbed his cheek against the inside of your thigh, pressing a teasing kiss against your heat. He wanted more. You could tell by the way his dark eyes stared at you expectantly.

“I want your mouth, Alpha. Please,” you pleaded. His eyes grew heavy at the request. Your body nearly lifted off the mattress as he licked across your aching heat.

“Thank you,” you hissed, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned against you, making you jolt.

“The boys weren't lying when they said you asked nicely,” he smiled against you, not giving you any time to relax before his mouth enveloped your cunt. It was a completely new feeling, one that had you choking on a moan. You didn't bother to hide it, not that you could with his hand wrapped around your wrist. It was hardly a minute before a (now) familiar tightness filled your abdomen, your hands fighting to break free just so you could grab onto something to steady yourself. You were chanting his name, which only seemed to spur him on. You came with a moan that made even him flush. Your legs pressed against his head but he didn't care.

The hardest part was pulling his mouth away from you. Your sweetness already becoming another vice to him. Your teary eyes stared down at him like he had done something wrong- made you cum too hard for your own good. He tried to take it slow, ease you off the cliff gently, but once he got you in his jaws he couldn't let go. He’ll make it up to you.

He kissed up past your belly button, trying not to smirk at the way your chest heaved up and down. His tongue darted out, dragging through the valley of your breasts and up to your collarbone. He shushed you gently, his thumbs wiping the fat crocodile tears that rolled down your cheek. You were so sensitive, both physically and emotionally. Your shaky legs found his waist, your heels digging into his lower back. You weren't too deep into your heat, the attention he was giving you making you more aware.

“You okay for more, sweetheart?” he questioned softly, his thumbs still brushing against your heated cheeks. You nodded instantly, your hand cupping his face pulling him down. You could taste yourself against him. Johnny was right, you were sweet. He held himself above you, one of his hands traveling down the curves of your body- slowly like he was trying to memorize each dip. The back of his hand brushed against your thigh- red from the friction of his beard- his fingertips running over your slick gently. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, your eyes trained on the ceiling. He hummed softly, grabbing your attention, his forehead resting against yours.

His normal blue eyes were dark like a shark's, but he still held enough softness in them to ease your worries. You doubted your eyes looked any different. His fingers brushed up and down you for a moment before leaving to wrap around his cock. Your eyes naturally followed his movement. He was flushed and angry-looking, his hand providing little relief. His lips connected with yours unexpectedly, your nails finding their way to his back. His chest rumbled at the sensation.

You broke the kiss when he ran his tip across your folds. You gasped against him, your eyes immediately traveling down his strong torso to between your thighs. “John,” you gasped softly, your legs spreading a little wider for him. He was teasing you. Applying just enough pressure to make you whine but not enough to really cause any pleasure. He shushed you, his lips dancing across your cheek like he was apologizing for not giving you what you needed.

He sat up suddenly, grabbing you by your thighs so you were sitting with your back against his chest, his cock heavy against your bottom. His hands held your thighs apart, rubbing up and down them soothingly. His thumb skimmed against your clit, before pressing down, giving you the sensation you were so desperately chasing. You pressed your hand against your lips, but it was quickly pulled away.

“Don’t shy away now,” he hummed, as your hips began to move away from his hand. “Need you to relax for this part, pretty girl,” he directed. The feeling of his thumb against you was enough to distract you from the finger prodding at your entrance. He sunk in slowly, your copious amount of slick making it less of a challenge. He cursed under his breath at the tightness around his finger. “Gotta work you open, pretty,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

You removed your head from under his chin, your eyes slowly opening, connecting with his through the mirror on the closet door. You moaned at the contact, your eyes scanning lower to his hand between your thighs.

“Like watching yourself?” he chuckled, keeping his gaze steady. He began working another finger in creating a slight burning sensation. He went slow feeling the way your walls adjusted to him. He growled against your neck, practically able to feel you wrapped around his cock. The burn faded as he curled his fingers, brushing against a spot that made your head fall back against his shoulder. “That's it hmmm?” he smiled against your shoulder. The tightness in your stomach was returning. Your hand gripped his wrist between your thighs, your hips grinding against him. “Look at yourself, pretty,” he commanded, his hazy eyes watching your reaction as he pumped his fingers. You complied, watching yourself unravel. “Little more, princess. Can feel you shaking around me.”

A tidal wave crashed over you, your hand nearly ripping him away. He was stronger than you, keeping his thumb against you as you shook in his arms. He growled praises against your ear, watching carefully as you worked through your high.

He was a lucky man.

You rolled over, and he accommodated by laying on his back. You panted against his stomach, the fire in your belly still hardly fading. You were getting thrown more and more into your heat. John could smell it on you. Your teeth scraped against his chest, pressing a few ‘thank you’ kisses against him. You sat up, your thighs on either side of him. He guided you so you were propped up and you watched with murky eyes as his cock immediately sprung to rest against his stomach. You suddenly felt guilty. He had given you two earth-shattering orgasms and you had hardly given him any attention.

He guided your hips back down so he was nestled perfectly between your folds. You got the hint and began rocking your hips back and forth, earning a groan from both of you.

“That's it, pretty girl, just like that,” he groaned. You were so warm, your drooling cunt making it so easy for him to slide back and forth. He cursed, his hands running up your sides. His thumbs brushed over your nipples making you lose your rhythm. He growled, flipping the two of you over so he was on top resting between your thighs. “Can’t take much more, love,” he breathed.

“I’m ready,” you panted, your hands pressed against his abdomen.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” he requested, causing you to nod your head. He paused for a moment, shifting you so you could watch yourself in the mirror. Just the sight of him on top of you, your legs spread wide for him made you pulse. “Not fair I get this beautiful sight to myself,” he whispered against your cheek. You whined, your back arching off the bed. He angled himself against you, the tip of his cock already spreading you as much as his fingers had.

“John,” you gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck. He kept you close, his hold on you assuring and unwavering, despite the way his body trembled. You groaned, the stretch seemingly never-ending. You could feel every twitch as he rolled his way in.

“So bloody tight,” he cursed, his mouth hanging open in bliss. “Doing so good for me,” he praised. It wasn't a sharp pain like you were expecting, but it burned. Your face pressed against his shoulder, his back marked with crimson ropes. He had finally worked his way inside you, your walls desperately trying to adjust. He imagined it would hurt more if he stayed stationary inside you. He moved his hips back slowly, not wanting to overwhelm you. He moved his shoulder away, pressing his forehead against yours. You were uncomfortable, the sight making his alpha restless.

He pushed back in, the friction making you squirm.

“John,” you whined. He rolled his hips back and forth slowly, adding more distance with each thrust. He was halfway buried inside you, rolling his hips forward in one swift motion. Your eyes fell shut, your mouth parting with a moan of his name.

“That's it, pretty,” he groaned, repeating the action. The stretch that had made it almost unbearable was causing pleasure to scorch through your veins with every thrust. “Fuckin’ made for me weren’t ya,’” he groaned. It wasn't even a question at this point, it was a fact. Your cunt molding to fit him. Your heels pressed against his back, hoping to lessen the time he wasn't buried inside you.

You opened your mouth, the words you were wanting to say being ruined by a sloppy moan.

“What, pretty,” he pressed. “Talk to me.”

“Feels so good,” you whined pitifully.

“Yeah?” he growled, his strong hips snapping against you. His pace had picked up, his thrusts becoming more and more purposeful. His thumb skimmed across the corner of your lip, swiping away your drool. “What feels good?” he questioned. You could hardly think, let alone voice those thoughts.

“Your cock,” you managed, your whole body flushed from pleasure and embarrassment. He held your chin gently, moving your head so you had the perfect view of him rolling in and out of you in the mirror. His pace had slowed down again, not wanting to rush this moment in the slightest. “Alpha,” you whined, your hands gripping the wrist that was still holding your chin.

“Look so good with my cock in you, don't you?” his voice was tender, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear.

His hand left your face, his thumb finding a familiar rhythm between your legs.

“Too much,” you gasped, but made no move to stop him, your body becoming more and more addicted to this new euphoric high. “Cum in me,” you pleaded, causing his hips to stutter against you. “Please,” you begged, looking up at him through wet lashes. He wasn't deep enough in a rut to give you a knot, but that doesn't mean he couldn't fill you to the hilt.

“Whatever you need, love,” he soothed. You were shaking. Your claws had already shredded the sheets. “Gonna be a good girl and come on my cock?” he asked. The only thing you could do was nod. You were focusing on it too much, your brows furrowed waiting for the tension in your stomach to release. He smacked your bottom, catching you off guard for the wave of your orgasm to finally wash over you. You gushed around him, a shriek leaving you as your walls spasmed around him eliciting his own release. He came with a booming groan, his vision spotting from the intensity.

His arms giving out from under him sinking both of you into the mattress.

It took ten minutes for both of you to calm down.

“You alright?” he checked, his fingers running over your heated cheek.

“Yeah,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his still-twitching form. “You?”

“Gonna be honest, sweetheart. Never had anything like that,” he panted, placing kisses against any skin he could reach. You believed him. While this was your first time, you knew this wasn't the standard. He had softened out of you, his cum leaving you in a puddle. “Let's get you cleaned up,” he soothed, hoisting you up.

He decided on a bath this time. His hands working against your skin to clean away the mess he had made. You had fallen asleep against him in the tub, happy omega filtering through the air, making him purr. He stayed there till your skin began to prune. It has been a long time since he's been this content. Not that his boys didn't make him happy. You were different, you were his omega. The missing piece of the puzzle. The piece that held peace, safety, and comfort. Kate was right when she said she could smell it on them- their need for an omega. He had been a fool for going this long without one. But if he had done it too soon he wouldn't have ended up with you.

He tucked the two of you in, curling himself around you hoping to get some purrs out of you. Even in your sleep, you could recognize the safety of his arms, a purr of appreciation rumbling through your lax body.

“I love you,” he murmured against the crown of your head, slowly slipping off into his own hibernation.

“Something I need to talk to the two of you about,” Kyle sighed. The three of them had moved outside just after the first few muffled moans vibrated against the door.

Johnny opened his eyes, looking up at Kyle whilst his head was resting in his lap. Simon grunted in acknowledgment.

“You looked at her tracking app lately?” Kyle questioned, causing both of them to shake their heads. Of course not, you had been with them for the past two weeks. “I thought it was a glitch at first, or maybe the app had accidentally connected to someone else's chip, but it was labeled under her name,” Kyle explained. Johnny sat up.

“What was labeled?” he urged, his heart falling into his stomach. He and Simon shared a look.

“Another chip,” Kyle clarified. Simon's jaw clenched.

“What does that mean?” he snipped. “She has another chip?”

“She said she never had one,” Johnny reminded, his stomach growing uneasy. He had always been the quickest to jump to emotions.

“Or she has one she doesn't know about.”

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! See you in two days for chapter 23!!!! 🧡

[starmocha]

Crow in the Bedroom [Sylus/Reader ★ 666 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Sexy time with Sylus interrupted. A/N: You know…I did not expect Sylus to mention Mephisto as often as he does, and you know what? That’s adorable of him. Have something silly here.

This was weird.

This was very weird.

This was so very fucking weird.

“Sylus?”

Amid the soft kisses Sylus was adorning your neck, you heard his low questioning hum as a response to your call, though his sweet kisses showed no sign of ceasing any time soon. You laid motionless on the luxurious bed staring up at the ceiling of his large extravagant bedroom, rendered completely submissive for him to use as he pleased in the moment. Normally, you were more than ready to bed the leader of Onychinus, because why the fuck wouldn’t you be? The man was built like a god, and he was so effortlessly and sinfully sexy in everything he did, including fucking you senseless until you were a quivering mess for him and him alone.

But not tonight.

No matter how toned his delicious abs were, or the way he hungrily gazed at you with those smoldering bedroom eyes, you could not ignore the obvious elephant in the room, or rather, in this case, the crow in the bedroom.

“Does he have to be in the bedroom with us?”

“Who?” Sylus paused and stared down at you confused.

“Mephisto!”

Sylus glanced behind him at the perch where the mechanical crow was sitting. He chuckled and shook his head, confused by your discomfort. “Sweetie, he’s just a mechanical crow.”

“He is sentient! He understands things! And he remembers things! And…and…”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Am not!”

“Come on,” Sylus resumed his earlier ministration, giving your right earlobe a light playful nip, pleased when you responded in surprise, “Are you really going to obsess over Mephisto when I am right here?”

“He’s watching us.”

Sylus groaned, annoyed. He relaxed most of his weight on top of you, only holding himself up by his forearms, as he pressed his forehead to yours. “Sweetie,” he started, vexed, “You are really killing the mood tonight.”

“Me or the crow?” you glared right back straight into his crimson eyes.

“He has a name,” Sylus responded, annoyed.

“That’s what you’re concerned about?!”

“Fine,” Sylus said, gritting his teeth, “If I get rid of him, can we get back to our…activities?”

You nodded coyly, earning a smile from him. You sighed. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Consider it done then.”

The bed shifted as Sylus lifted himself off of you, getting up to walk over to where Mephisto was on his perch. You sat up and watched curiously as Sylus led the crow out. You could have sworn Mephisto had let out an indignant squawk from being evicted out of the bedroom. Once the bedroom door closed again, Sylus flashed you a smirk.

“Feel better now?”

He walked back over to the bed and sat down on the edge, pulling you in for a deep kiss. Everything seemed to be going well in the beginning, or so Sylus thought, but after a few seconds, he couldn’t ignore the fact that you seemed to be less enthused with the current activity.

Sylus stilled suddenly, pulling away from the arguably lukewarm, one-sided kiss with a frown. “You know, sweetie,” he started, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, “it would be nice if you could be a little more engaged right now.”

“He’s outside the bedroom.”

“Well, of course he is,” Sylus responded, staring at you in utter confusion, “I’d just led him out.”

“No, no way, this is not happening tonight.”

“What?!”

“I’m too weirded out,” you insisted, “What if…he hears us?”

“Sweetie…”

“Forget it. I’m going to sleep.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Good night, Sylus!”

You promptly laid down under the cover, turning your back to him, missing the look of absolute bewilderment on the normally haughty face of the powerful leader of Onychinus. Outside the bedroom, the two of you could have sworn you both heard Mephisto’s “ca-caws” that sounded almost like laughter.

Sylus closed his eyes, and he rubbed his temple as he gritted his teeth again, wondering with irritation if he had just gotten cockblocked by a mechanical bird.

[lizzy06]

Takami Keigo(Hawks) x Reader Fic Recs!! (Tumblr/Ao3/Wattpad)

My Hero Academia Fic Rec Masterlist

lay low (take it slow) ✨by @andypantsx3/andypantsx3(college student! reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut) What even was the right google search for this situation? How do I sew someone back together without passing out? How do I not barf on the pro hero I’m stitching up? Or, Hawks’ game of double agent lands him in the shaky hands of one (1) very unequipped English major.[COMPLETED]

Falling for You ✨by @flannel-cladpika (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff)Every year, on your birthdays, you two will switch quirks.[COMPLETED]

Golden ✨by @meganshinsou-tm (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) When you touch yoursoulmate for the first time a thin gold line with be etched around your wrists.

Soul Chicken by @hitsuackerman (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) Soulmate AU where the first words your soulmate says to you are written on your wrist and while Hawks has an absolutely unhelpful phrase written on them, y/n has something….unique.

Bird Hunting | Pt.2:Bird's Nest✨ by @a-n-conrad (oneshot, soulmate au)In a world where your soulmate was found through a symbol appearing on your left forearm, hinting at the quirk of your soulmate, you had to admit that you were lucky. You already knew who your soulmate was. The only issue was that there was really no way for you, an ordinary person, to get anywhere near the number 2 hero.

Petals and Feather✨ by @a-n-conrad(oneshot, hanahaki au, angst with happy ending) You’ve finally gotten a job as a sidekick after graduating from UA about a year before. But after working with Hawks for a few months it starts to get a bit hard to breathe. How are you supposed to fix a case of Hanahaki disease when you happened to fall in love with the most emotionally unavailable hero alive? [COMPLETED]

BNHA Soulmate AU Week Day 4: Save Your Soul by @writing-freak (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff)part of soulmate au week; everyone has colorful marks on their skin where their soulmate touches them for the first time. you’re determined to hide your soulmarks: a pair of hands on your waist.[COMPLETED]

“you really have got nothing to do on a friday night”  by @bakugohoex (oneshot, fluff)in which your friend keigo invites you to a pro hero event as his plus one, the event leads to a lot more than you expected.[COMPLETED]

Little Moments by @bnhascribbles (oneshot, fluff)Just Hawk's early morning visit.[COMPLETED]

lavender latte✨ by luxdeoro (coffee shop au, fluff, mutual pinning)You serve Hawks a lavender, oat milk latte. Not only is he hooked on your drinks, but he's hooked on you as well.[ONGOING]

a spoonful of sugar✨✨ by Mossful (fluff, angst) In which the Reader bakes and Hawks eats.[COMPLETED]

Pocket Full of Feathers✨ by forthesanityof1 (fluff, humor) You are an investigative journalist starting at a new agency. A chance meeting brings you and Hawks together and starts some odd behaviors on his part. You dismiss it, but end up meeting the hero again and again over time. Slowly, you start to realize things are occurring both within and outside of your control.[COMPLETED]

(Quirk)y Days✨✨ by wotefokizbrunch(fluff, angst, hurt/comfort) In a world where 80% of the population has some wacky power, it is expected for strange shit to happen on accident, or even on purpose, like that one time a villain hit Hawks with a deaging quirk; he left that morning for work his grown ass self and then you had to pick his 5-year-old-self up from the agency.[COMPLETED]

and i've gotta crow ✨by dashielldeveron(enemies to lovers, ) “We’re engaged to be married.” No, you are not. After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?[COMPLETED]

Color Blind✨ by HeroAssociation(soulmate au, fluff, angst with happy ending) Takami Keigo, otherwise known as the Winged Hero Hawks, had one such mark. He never expected, nor looked for, the person that would change it. Then he found you by accident.[COMPLETED]

The Harpy by romanceisdeadbutimnot(enemies to lovers, fantasy au, fluff) Desperate for adventure you volunteer to check the monster traps protecting your small village. To your surprise you catch a wounded half bird half man, and decide to nurse him back to health.[COMPLETED]

What's Got Your Feathers In A Bunch? by darkenedniqhts(oneshot, fluff, humor)When Hawks saves you from a villain attack, you hit it off surprisingly well, considering the circumstances. Everything is going great, until he meets your roommate.[COMPLETED]

Compelling/tumblr by @bnhascribbles/ ScatteredScribbles(oneshot, hurt/comfort) Hey listen, I’ve got a lot of baggage when it comes to my quirk. Could you repeat the word “yes” if you’re here of your own free will? Oh, and since you’ll probably say that either way and since I’m an emotionally compromised freak, just know that I’ll never actually feel secure in our relationship. This’ll definitely be a recurring thing, and it’s probably gonna be the reason why we end terribly.[COMPLETED]

 Blush by @flannel-cladpika (oneshot, fluff)[COMPLETED]

Headlines✨ by @bnhascribbles(oneshot, fluff) Holding up the newspaper in plain view, you take steady, ominous steps towards his desk. “Any last words, birdbrain?”[COMPLETED]

Stuck In An Elavator With You by @yeahimaloser (oneshot, fluff)he hadn’t really dated anyone before (not seriously anyway), so when he began to develop feelings for a certain someone, he was surprised, to say the least.[COMPLETED]

The Sky is Everywhere by @dira333/Fogfire(oneshot, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending)Post-Break up is before the Break up…[COMPLETED]

Sometime Around Midnight✨ by 0weCrew(friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending) All you wanted to do was enjoy a quiet night looking up at the stars. But fate decided to mess with you instead, and Japan's favorite birdbrain crashed your pity party of one by scaring you shitless.[COMPLETED]

Preening✨ by royalwilds(oneshot, fluff)Hawks loves your hair, playing with it, brushing it, washing it. you realize that it comes from another instinctual nature of his. You try to figure out how to return the gesture.[COMPLETED]

Babybird by Pomenocti(oneshot, fluff)Just Hawks being a dad.[COMPLETED]

Crash✨ by ivan_glee(oneshot, fluff)In which Reader is sunbathing and gets an unexpected visit from the No. 2 hero.[COMPLETED]

A Lungful of Smoke✨ by UnluckyAmulet(oneshot, fluff) As if nearly dying today wasn't bad enough…now you have a crush, too. Damn it.[COMPLETED]

Little Bird by alaskasmonsters(oneshot, fluff) Hawks wasn’t just the charming number two pro-hero the world knew him as. No, he had other sides to him, sides only you, his roommate, had the privilege to uncover. Especially his more birdlike quirks. Like how much he relaxed when people took care of his wings…[COMPLETED]

crawl home to me✨ by Hawnks (supermintfluff)(oneshot, strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort) What is a hero besides determination and hunger? What is a lover if not a resting place?[COMPLETED]

Shiny Things by royalwilds(oneshot, fluff) Hawks has more bird-like tendencies than you initially thought. He likes to present you with odd items as gifts and finally you figure out why.[COMPLETED]

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery by galatiq(oneshot, fluff, humor. coffee shop au) When you put a coffee shop and a nasty storm together, apparently you get Big Bird from Sesame Street crashing into your window. [COMPLETED]

Flowers, Wings, Smirks and Quirks (Ingredients for Love) by ENDisI (oneshot, angst with happy ending, hanahaki disease au) Why was it when you joked about Hanahaki not being real, fate just slaps you awake and tells you "Oh, it's true. You didn't know?" [COMPLETED]

i am your salvation✨ by luxdeoro(oneshot, angst, hurt/comfort) Keigo loses his wings and most of himself, and you're around to try and pick up the pieces.[COMPLETED]

Balcony by RyeTarts(friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, smut<18+>) After saving you from an office building fire, Hawks thinks that your paths were no longer intertwined. Oh how wrong he would be.[COMPLETED]

Birds Of A Feather by CheerieCherrie(fluff, explicit skippable chp.6) You move to Japan for a change of pace in your hectic life. It doesn't happen, thanks to one chaotic bird man.[COMPLETED]

[luveline]

would you ever be willing to write the day spencer and stripper!reader met in the grocery store? i’ve always loved the concept when you’ve referenced it in the story, i would love to read it👀 you’re absolutely incredible and i can never say anything not anon to you because my blog is flooding you with notes constantly and i’m embarrassed😅

thank you for your request ❤️ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for domestic violence and workplace abuse

There's this weird organic grocery store by Spencer's place that's far too expensive, but it's a ten minute walk, so that's where he goes. (Weird in separation to organic.) 

He needs a lot of groceries now he's home for the week. Bread, vegetables, rice, flour if he wants to try and make pancakes, which he does. He also needs a new pen to write a letter for his mom, but Leaven is slightly too small for a stationery section. 

He doesn't know what he'll say to her in this one. Maybe that the cases he's going on are easy, or that he's been reading about crows. She's not feeling well lately. It might help her to know he's doing gentle things, even if it isn't true. 

No, he thinks. Can't lie to her. He never lies to his mom. 

Eggs. Sugar. Coffee grounds. He fills his cart. It'll be a lot to carry on the way home, but better to do it in one go. He likes keeping busy but he's a human being, too, and he's looking forward to spending at least sixteen hours in bed after dinner tonight. 

You look tired, too. 

Your back is turned, but Spencer knows it's you. You must live close by, he's been seeing you duck in and out for months. Usually with a loaf of bread or a single box of painkillers tucked in your pocket. You don't steal, he'd be able to tell, and he wouldn't say anything if you did, anyways. All he knows about you is that you have a nice smile when you have the energy, and your voice is like silk. Purposeful or by nature, he's yet to guess. 

You're standing by the end of the aisle near the checkouts with a basket hanging from your fingers. All you're buying today is a box of pancake mix and a bag of peas. 

Weird, he thinks with a smile. Spencer likes weird stuff. It's quirky. 

You turn to see which checkout is empty and Spencer's smile abruptly drops. 

You have a bruise across half of your face. It isn't strictly fresh —he can see the split skin on your cheek starting to close in on itself, and your purpled eye is open (though barely). You're frowning. Spencer knows how bad it hurts to get hurt like that. For a split second he can't believe someone could do that to another person, and then he remembers the hundreds of women he's had the privilege to meet at their most vulnerable, who trusted him, and he thinks maybe he's capable of helping another one. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You meet his eyes with a funny smile. “Hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” you ask, your voice stretched, thin but not weak. 

“No, you're not, it's… I see you here all the time.” 

You hold your breath. When you talk, it rushes out. “So?” you ask wearily.

“Are you okay?” 

Your funny smile fades as Spencer's had. He supposes that's the talent of cruelty. Even when it's over, it's not truly over. Your bruise still hurts, and Spencer still needs to know you'll be okay when you go home tonight. 

“I see you all the time too. We've… we've actually spoken before, haven't we?” you ask after a moment. 

“Yeah, about spirometry. I was out of breath running and–” It doesn't matter. You asked him if he was okay, and he explained that he was, just that his lungs don't hold much air on account of his own laziness, and it doesn't matter. “Are you? Alright? It's a bad bruise.” 

“It's getting better.” 

It might be, but there's something so raw about seeing you standing there in your sweatpants too big for you and a hoodie with a hole in it, purple and yellow contusion across your eyes and nose like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Spencer will admit to feeling sorry for you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, knowing this isn't the right place. “There's the cafe at the front? Let me pay for my stuff and–” 

“I'm really okay–” 

“You had a cast on your wrist two weeks ago and now you're here with a limp and a really bad bruise,” he says softly, imploringly, “I just wanna talk to you about it. You don't have to say yes, I'm not trying to be weird, but I–” 

You cut off his mile a minute speech with a small smile. “Okay. I'm not, you know, doing anything anyways. It'll be nice to sit down.” 

Spencer knows it's dumb, but he wants to show he has good intentions. He takes your basket out of your hands and nods toward the cafe past the checkouts. “I'll come and meet you.” 

“You don't have to,” you say, gesturing at the basket. 

“The damage is done, right? This place is ridiculous.” He doesn't like the way you're holding your hip. It makes him feel sick, even though there's no proof one way or another to say you've been hurt beyond your bruising.

He pays for his things and yours and meets you at the cafe. He's half expecting you to have bolted, but you sit at a table near the entrance, completely still. 

Spencer puts his two bags under the table and offers you your pancake mix and peas in their own bag. 

“Thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

“It was my boss.” You look at your fingers, spreading them slowly over the table top. “I’m a dancer. Sorry. I know you’re going to ask.” 

“And he hit you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Spencer knows the number for every women’s shelter in every state, but he doubts it would matter to you. He can tell already that you’d say no. He can tell you’re scared, even if you don’t realise it yourself. “Is it getting worse?”

You can’t offer him anything else. He understands how that feels. There have been moments where he desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was going on in his life, but he always holds his secrets like a perpetual ache in his throat. It’s like he can’t tell someone, even if they ask. 

Sometimes he just wishes they’d ask twice. 

“You can tell me. It won’t sound stupid,” he promises. He’s in some odd place between Agent Reid and young, terrified Spencer, determined to help you, but not sure how. “It’s getting worse, right?” 

“Yeah,” you say, the weight of tears on your tongue. 

“You’re a dancer. Is he just a boss– Does he… abuse you financially?” 

You laugh wetly. “He’s not my pimp.” 

He can feel his face heating up.’“No, but do you get paid on time? Everything you earn?” 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t get paid on time. He takes a percentage, and somehow there’s always another percentage, and then discipline. And now…” 

“Now he’s hitting you.” Very badly. 

“I’m not stupid.” 

Spencer frowns gently, talks softly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” 

“No, I know, but I need you to know I’m not stupid. When we talked before, you– you’re so smart, I bet you know so many smart people.” 

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. Perhaps you don’t want to talk about being hurt anymore. It must be a kind of torture to be hurting and know that that hurting will come again. There isn’t an end in sight for you, just right now. 

“Can I buy you something to eat?” 

“I have money,” you say, taking your small purse from your pocket. There are a few notes wedged inside. 

“You can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach, and you should take painkillers again soon. You had some before you came, and they’re wearing off.” He meets your confused frown with a frown of his own. “Your hands are twitching like you want to move away from yourself.” 

“You’re very perceptive,” you say in that smooth murmur. Power clawed back, he thinks. You’re protecting one of the things you can control about how you’re seen when everything else is far from it. 

“I’m a profiler. Do you,” —he tries not to sound hoity toity— “know what that is?” 

“No.” 

“I’m an FBI agent.” You’re laughing as he takes out his badge. He joins you. “I know it sounds like I’m making it up.” Spencer offers you his identification passport slowly, so you know he isn’t wielding it around to be an asshole. “I’m in the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse the way people act. That’s why I know you’re in pain.” 

You take his badge, looking between his photo and his real face with a growing smile. “If you need all that to know I’m in pain, you’re not as smart as you think,” you tease, gesturing to the mottled skin of your bruise sweetly. 

Spencer buys you both cold sandwiches from the front of the shop and a drink to wash down your aspirin. It’s awkward, he guesses, but he’s used to that by now, and under it he can feel your palpable relief. You trust him to not hurt you, if nothing else, and he can work with that.