#f/o: long live the king | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovebugism · 4 months ago

Text

✶ ┄ PAIR OF WINGS, GENTLY USED !

part one | part two

summary: following the aftermath of rook's rest, aemond struggles to convince you of his innocence while aegon struggles to stay alive. the three of you come to the striking realization that love is not always soft – sometimes it feels like dragonfire. (12k)

pairing: aemond targaryen / f!reader / aegon targaryen

contents: established realtionship(s), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of gore and violence, swearing, cheating, smut 18+, threesome (sorta? but not really?), cuckholding, exhibitionism & voyeurism (aegon likes to watch)

The battle waging across the sea startles you from sleep. You rouse before sunset to your heart unfurling behind your ribcage, pierced and bleeding out, as though you were one of the many soldiers reaching their end on the battlefield.

You wake from the nightmare only to enter the next — a raven, sent at dawn, from an allied house along the bay. Written in splattered ink along the worn parchment is a report of injuries sustained by the king. Alicent reads them aloud to you and Helaena, with shaking hands and a trembling voice. Your heart’s beating too loudly in your ears to understand her.

“His Grace fell violently from many leagues above the ground,” she managed to recite through choked-back cries. “Riddled with dragonflame, His Grace’s armor has melted heartily to his flesh—”

You find yourself planted firmly on the steps of the Dragonpit without a clue of how you got there, dressed only in your thin nightgown and thinner slippers. You suppose it was muscle memory that carried you there. You think it must be muscle memory, still, that has kept you standing in the same place — unmoving as the lilac sunrise turns sickly grey with rainclouds, without any food or drink offered by the handmaidens you have since sent away.

It is a profound and heavy thing, you realize, to be alive in the fresh early morning, when the world is so broken and ending for so many. The thought of Aegon dying in the sweetness of late summer makes you weep. You choke back burning tears in wait for his brother’s return — Aemond Targaryen, your husband, your wound — from which there has been no word.

A black, ponderous cloud of worry fogs your mind. You can see it all so vividly; feel it all as if you lived it — a death so horrid and beyond your comprehension. You wait and ache while your brain hums with madness.

You hear Vhagar before you see her.

The great beast shifts storm clouds with its leviathan wings, shaking the ground with each slow and heavy flutter as she nears the ground. Even from here, you can see the holes piercing her thin, satiny skin.

Your racing heart drops to your swirling stomach at the thought of Aegon falling from such a height — still saddled to a dying Sunfyre, looking directly at a certain death, unable to stop its coming. The thought of Aemond being with him during what the survivors of Rook’s Rest are calling The Night of A Thousand Suns fills you with agony.

Your worry for each of them pricks your skin, from the tips of your fingers to the bottoms of your feet. The entirety of your grief consumes you.

The ground trembles when Vhagar lands in the depths of Dragonpit, just barely fitting within the stone confines of her stable. The beast stills long enough for Aemond to unclip himself from her saddle and slide off her back. Then she’s off again, to the northernmost forest of King’s Landing, to heal by herself in the nest she made a century or so ago.

The gust of wind from her wings takes your breath away. Or perhaps it’s just the sight of Aemond, in the flesh, seemingly unharmed despite the worries that had been plaguing you all morning. Your mind swirls with deeper concerns instead, with horrid thoughts you’ve been choking back like bile since the Raven arrived.

You stand in place on the top step while Aemond stalks towards you. He peels off his leather gloves and dismisses the dragonkeepers with a wave of his pale hand. You feel like your heart’s in your throat when he stands before you, two steps downward, and of nearly equal height to you.

You grip his sharp jaw between your fingers, wild eyes darting over his face in search of any sign of harm. Aemond lets you observe him. He knows you need it.

“I’m alright,” he promises in a soft monotone.

You take hold of both his arms then, despite his assurances, like you have to see them for yourself. Your gaze falls up and down his form as you hunt for remains of an injury — a scrape on his skin, a tear in his leather garb, a smear of ash from a dragon’s flame.

You find nothing.

It is hard to be relieved by such a notion when his brother verges on death at this very moment.

“I am alright, my love,” Aemond repeats, firmer now, as if it’ll lessen the leaden weight in your chest.

He lifts his lanky fingers and wraps them around your wrist, guiding your hand away from his jaw when your nails start to dig unknowingly into his skin.

He peers at you with his lone eye and waits for you to kiss him — or to hug him, perhaps — something overtly affectionate that comes so naturally to you that has hitherto been very foreign to him. He expects you to be gladdened by his presence after such a tumultuous battle, of which he presumed would bring you closer.

With his brother now mutilated by dragon flame, Aemond flew back to the Red Keep with the understanding that there would be a bed and a throne for him — both empty and cold, waiting to be warmed with you by his side.

They said love was intensified by absence, but your face crumples under the weight of your emotion instead. Glassy tears fill your eyes, which squint with something short of fear as you turn away from him. Your hand slips from his without a single word uttered from you.

A very distant ache twists somewhere deep in his chest. A wildfire burns in the ether behind his ribcage, far away but scorching all the same. Watching you leave is a fate far worse than the hell his dead or dying brother must be facing at this very moment — hidden in a box somewhere in a throwaway carriage.

Aemond chokes down his jealousy like bile. He’s spent his whole life wishing he and Aegon could trade places, and now isn’t any different.

Even as his brother languishes in a mangled, bloodied, and ashened pile of flesh, it is he you still long for. Aemond still cannot compete with him — not even as your husband, not even as a living-breathing thing standing before you.

Because you would always be searching for Aegon. Even in his death. Even in yours.

“Behold! The traitor dragon Meleys!” a knight bellows beneath the sounds of a tolling bell and trumpeting horns.

The Kingsguard marches into the city with a beheaded dragon carted behind them. The smallfolk fall silent at the sight of the majestic beast, slaughtered from its scarlet body. You can’t remember a time when King’s Landing was ever so quiet. Something about it feels ghostlike.

“Slain at Rook’s Rest, by your king!” the man shouts, raising his fist in triumph. “To Aegon!”

You can barely hear any of it from here, where you stand at the highest balcony of the Red Keep, which overlooks the entire city — but the hushed silence is deafening, and the fear is achingly palpable.

Aemond stands just beside you, between you and his mother, with several inches of cautious space between you. He curls his pale hands around the railing and leans over the parapet. A late summer breeze ripples through his silver hair and leather jacket as he tilts his chin to peer at the crowd from the bridge of his nose — looking like he could swallow the whole of the King’s Landing if he wanted.

“Do they not realize we won the battle?” he wonders quietly.

“I don’t believe there are any winners here,” Alicent murmurs after a few long moments, oddly steady despite the worry that threatens to strangle her completely. “This is no victory, Aemond.”

You shake your head in agreement as burning tears gather at your waterline. “No. This is a dark, dark omen.”

You sniffle once, then exhale a shuddering breath from your mouth. Your hand reaches for your tightening chest to curl your fingers around the dainty necklace between your collarbones. A gift Aemond had made upon your betrothal — a golden rose to match the sigil of your old house, with an emerald sitting in the center to represent the one you married into.

Alicent looks past Aemond and over to you. Her wide brown eyes flit back and forth from your teary features to your tremoring fingers. She squints and tucks a rogue auburn curl behind her ear when it billows in her face. “How do you mean?”

“Growing up, I was taught that dragons were gods,” you confess, voice wet with unshed tears. “And this… This is not a victory march, Your Grace. This is an abomination.”

Your words hang heavy over the three of you for several long moments. The weight of them is palpable, like a pillow to the face. They force the breath from your lungs and demand to be acknowledged. And as the rest of the city recoils in fright, bowing their heads as though this was a funeral procession, the truth behind your words becomes indisputable.

Behind the beheaded Meleys is a cart carrying an unmarked box. There is no fanfare surrounding it, no horses or knights or signs of life. It is hardly more than a grim crate blanketed by a few tattered rags. A casket, perhaps.

“Is that him?” you try to ask, though the words get stuck in your throat. You clear it and try again. “Is— Is that Aegon?”

Alicent blinks back tears and nods until she chokes them down again. “’Tis likely,” she answers plainly.

“Do they know if he’s still alive in there?”

The mother thinks for a moment. Her tongue darts across her bottom lip, feeling the ridges where she’s nipped at them from anxiety, before shaking her head in a wordless response.

You spare one last look at the maimed Meleys and the casket trailing behind her as the soldiers march closer to the Red Keep. The sight grows blurry with burning tears, like pastel watercolors all bleeding together. You step back from the balcony with a shuddering breath and scurry off without another word.

Aemond watches you disappear in the corner of his eye but makes no move to stop you. He’d sooner cut off his hand than profess his need for you. It’d be easier, anyway.

You rush down the twisting stone steps of the Red Keep with the skirt of your dress in your hands. As your pretty pink gown flows behind you, you can hear your racing heart in your ears — a vigorous woosh, woosh, wooshing as your adrenaline spikes and pricks at your skin like flames.

You can hear Ser Branton Selmy’s armor clinking behind you, too, as your personal protector rushes to keep up with your rapid strides in such heavy garb.

You run into Criston Cole when you reach the west wing. Beside him is a nameless face you only vaguely recognize. He’s a Hightower, no doubt, so you figure he must be Gwayne. The pretty man looks strikingly similar to his sister, the Queen Dowager. And he has all the hardened features of his father.

You vaguely notice the horrors of war etched onto their otherwise handsome faces just before your eyes look past them — to the white cloaks heaving a wooden box down the corridor.

“Where are they taking him?” you ask with bated breath, fists tremoring where they clench the tulle of your skirt.

Ser Gwanye runs a pale hand through his auburn locks, pushing the long strands over his forehead. Both his hair and his hands are stained with bits of blood and dirt. “The far west end, princess,” he answers politely. “That is as much as I’ve heard, anyway.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Our bedroom?” you wonder aloud before you mean to, eyes wide and full of apprehension.

Gwayne, too, looks on in shock. He blinks at you for a moment, before turning to Ser Criston for a surer answer.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard (and, most recently, the Lord Hand) peers at you with a sympathetic gaze. He ducks his scruffy chin to his chest as his dark eyes swim with apology.

“It is the closest bedroom to the Maester’s quarters, princess,” Criston tells you. “And right now, His Grace needs all the help he can get.”

You hurry to the furthest end of the Red Keep, knowing its only importance before now was being the outermost point from the bedroom you shared with Aemond. It was a very intentional decision you made when Aegon insisted the two of you share a room like any true couple would. (You figured if you were going to fuck his brother, it’d be polite if you didn’t make him bear witness to it.)

You stand in the doorway while the knights lift Aegon’s body from the crate, all wrapped in a burlap sack, as though he was presumed to die on the way home from battle. They lie him tenderly in the center of your shared bed. His blood stains the silk where you have laughed and cried and pleasured each other.

He’s still in his armor, though half of it is singed and nearly melted, and the maesters make quick work of tending to his fragile body. You can hardly see him now, with all the people rushing about, but you think perhaps it’s best that way. You know if you saw him in such a state, you’d never be able to forget it — and if Aegon was going to die today, he didn’t deserve to be remembered that way.

“Is he alive?” you gasp quietly into the chaos.

“His Grace remains with us,” Maester Orwyle answers carefully, dark eyes meeting yours from across the room. “For the moment.”

He’s still breathing, is what he’s really saying. But who knows for how long?

When the maesters start to peel the armor from the boy’s burned body, you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

Ser Branton appears suddenly behind you and comforts you with a weathered touch, which is not typically permitted for knights. Touching the nobility was strictly off-limits unless completely necessary, and Ser Branton knows it. He’s been a member of the Kingsguard since before you were born. Long enough to earn the name Branton the Brave. But he figures this moment is as necessary as any other.

“Best look away, princess,” he advises in a gruff and gentle voice. “Let me escort you back to your chambers until the work is done.”

You will yourself to answer him, to let him whisk you away completely, to let him take you on a horse ride outside the city walls — anything to get you away from the unsightly horrors before you. But you remain still and silent despite yourself, watching the skin of your first love come off in melted strings as the maesters peel his armor away.

The smell of burnt flesh fills the room, along with the coppery tang of blood.

A pair of hurried footsteps sound behind you as Alicent rushes into the room. “Is he breathing?” she frets as she migrates to her eldest boy’s bedside, trying to peer past the bustling bodies for a glimpse of him. Her breath hitches at the sight of his charred chest, rising and falling with shallow and uneven breaths.

“Is my son going to die?” the mother rephrases with her hand to her mouth.

“I’m afraid I cannot say,” Maester Orwyle answers. He works with steady enough hands, but the waver in his voice is not reassuring. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, these next hours are most critical.”

Alicent nods and takes a stumbling step back. “Of course,” she murmurs inaudibly.

You gravitate closer to the foot of the bed with wide and glazed-over eyes, perceiving nothing and everything all at once. You feel a bit like you’re dreaming, or like you’re underwater — like none of this is real.

But you still flinch at the sharp click of his broken bone being snapped back into place. And your chest still aches at the sound of his raspy breaths as he fights hard for each one of them.

You don’t notice Aemond entering the room until he caresses you with an icy hand. You fight back a shiver under his touch. His fingers are oddly gentle as they curl around the back of your neck, like he’s comforting you and reminding you to whom you belong simultaneously.

“He’s alive,” he observes indifferently.

“For now,” Alicent nods from the other side of the bed.

“By the grace of the Gods, no doubt,” Aemond monotones. He smooths his thumb over your skin in a reassuring pet as he looks past you to his mother. “But still… Someone will have to rule in his stead.”

For the first time in several minutes, your eyes part from Aegon’s body to glare at the boy beside you. Your gaze turns glassy as it swims with newfound tears. They burn at your waterline — not with grief now, but with anger.

You say nothing as you swat his hand away, turning on your heel and storming out of the room with Ser Branton close behind. Your hands ball into trembling fists at your sides. Your nails bite into the soft skin of your palm as you struggle to breathe through your rage.

The people have called you the Rose of King’s Landing since you first arrived to the city, some years ago now. You were as pretty and as delicate as they come — at least, that’s what they told you. But as your fury builds like bile in your throat, you no longer feel as fragile as a flower. You feel like Wildfire, green and flammable and volatile, moments away from being set ablaze.

Rain beats in fat droplets against the stained glass windows of the Sept. The wild cadence of the brewing storm mixes with the crackling of lit candles — the only two sounds filling the silent church. Lightning flashes and basks the expansive room in vivid purple hues for a moment before darkness returns again.

Aemond watches the flickering amber flames paint you in shades of gold as you kneel before them.

Your hands are entwined, but he knows you’re not praying. You haven’t prayed since you arrived to the city, as far as he understands it. You confessed to him, once, that you lost the need for all that when you lost your home.

He surmises that you came all this way to escape him — or, perhaps, the Red Keep in its entirety. The smell of death has overtaken the castle. The chaos within it has similarly refused to cease. Though he does not blame you for running, he cannot abide by your attempts to elude him.

His boots scuff the stone as he walks further into the Sept. The soft sound echoes through the quiet church. Your head whips over your shoulder in its direction.

Aemond swipes his rain-soaked hood from his silver head. The candlelight dances over his narrow features, softening the sharpened edges of them.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he confesses as he stalks closer to you, hands clasped behind his back, hidden beneath his heavy cloak. “I’ve been searching all over for you, to be sure.”

“Have you?” you hum unenthusiastically, rising to full height and smoothing the skirt of your dress. You tilt your chin to follow Aemond’s eyes when he towers over your smaller form.

“Normally, when you’re absent, I find you with the king. But considering my brother’s… current predicament…” he lilts cautiously, though the words spill from his mouth with a very intentional venom. “I struggled to place your whereabouts. I was moments away from sending the gold cloaks after you.”

You would be touched by his worry if you believed it to be true.

Your husband has always been intrinsically difficult to read, but you feel like you no longer know him now. As he looms before you — a pretty boy who always thought himself too ugly to be loved — he becomes an unrecognizable thing. Your stomach swirls at the uncanny feeling.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, husband,” you say with a pretty smile that verges on cynical. “I know you have much on your plate at the moment. What with trying to find a regent to take Aegon’s place and all.”

The banter is familiar, though it’s not typically so weighty — so backhanded and so filled with unspoken rage. The two of you fake smiles at each other while simultaneously biting your tongues so hard that blood pools in your mouths.

You take slow and unsure steps towards him, until your wringing hands brush his clothed torso. You peer up at him from beneath your lashes in a suddenly solemn look, which sparkles with hope and fear and dread.

“Can you tell me what happened to him? Please,” you murmur sheepishly, all but begging him now. “So I can stop imagining it.”

Aemond hums to himself, tilting his head curiously to the side. “And what are you imagining in that pretty little head of yours, hm?”

You avert your gaze to your fidgeting hands, where your fingers wring themselves into knots. Your tongue grazes your anxiety-bitten lip as you inhale a shaking breath, fighting for the courage to answer.

“Before your mother told me of the raven we’d received… About Aegon’s health, I was having… the most awful dream,” you confess for the first time aloud. “A nightmare— about you and Aegon flying together on dragonback. Aegon was… struggling to take on Meleys while you…”

Aemond waits with bated breath as you trail off. “While I what?” he presses.

“Watched,” you agonize, face twisted as you recall the vivid dream that feels like a memory now. “You set Vhagar on him, and you watched.”

“Hm,” Aemond hums apathetically. “A nightmare indeed.”

You meet his flat face with teary eyes. “So tell me what happened to him,”you repeat, firmer now. “Please.”

“I’m afraid it is quite boring— talk of war,” the boy lilts as he walks past you and toward the burning candles. “But, if you must know, we took the castle at the cost of… some nine hundred men.”

“And what of Aegon?”

Aemond lays his palm flat over a flickering flame and looks at you over his shoulder, like he doesn’t feel any of it — or, at the very least, like he wants you to think he doesn’t.

“His Grace fought valiantly. But he was drunk when he mounted Sunfyre, and Rhaenys... She was no stranger to battle. Aegon was long in the dying, I’m afraid— the outcome was surely inevitable.”

“And where were you?” you blurt with the courage strikes you suddenly. “What was your part in all this?”

Something in Aemond’s eyes flickers, as though in surprise of your subtle accusation. Though, perhaps it’s only the candlelight.

“I set Vhaghar on The Queen Who Never Was,” he shrugs plainly. “I distracted her from my brother, and slaughtered her dragon.”

You muster a wavering grin. “What a heroic tale.”

“I wouldn’t wish such a sight on my worst enemy,” Aemond tells you solemnly as he swipes ash from his calloused palms. He thinks for a moment, then corrects himself. “Well… Perhaps I would…”

The edges of his lips lift in a barely-there smirk. The one you give him in return is weighed down with an obvious emotion, which is etched now across your delicate features.

“I want to believe you had no part in this, Aemond… But my mind refuses to relent on the matter.”

Aemond’s face hardens. Lightning flashes in violet hues and casts daunting shadows over the sharp edges of his face. His words are accompanied by rolling thunder that trembles the earth under your feet. “I loved my brother—”

“I think someone like you can care a lot about a person and still be able to kill them,” you confess, so gently it feels like a proclamation of love.

“Maybe so,” he hums indifferently.

His apathy is unsurprising, but it doesn’t hurt you any less. The familiarity of it pierces you like a dagger and presses its lips to your forehead like a kiss all at once. There is intimacy, hidden somewhere in his detachment — and if it’s all because he loves you, does it matter if it hurts?

“I used to love you, Aemond,” you tell him because it feels necessary now, considering you can’t get anything tangible out of him. “Even when you didn’t believe I did. Especially when you didn’t believe I did.”

The blatant use of the past tense feels like a cold hand wrapped around his throat. “What changed?”

“You did.”

“No,” Aemond insists with a stubborn shake of his head as he closes the distance between you. His footsteps are as light and as measured as the late-summer rain raging outside. “I’m the same as I ever was… You only see me completely now. That’s all.”

He curls his cold hands around your waist to pull you closer. His touch is familiar in a way that makes your stomach ache — like an old house that used to be yours, but isn’t anymore; like a place that you should remember, but barely can.

Your breath catches in your throat because his words feel like a confession.

The corner of his mouth quirks in a proud smile because he is confessing, and you’re still letting him hold you.

“We have seen the worst parts of each other, have we not? And yet…” Aemond trails off, ducking softly down like he intends to kiss you. Your lips part in wait for his despite yourself. He trails the tip of his chiseled nose over the bridge of yours instead. “We understand each other in our bones. We cannot help but to live inside of one another, like… A snake… doomed to swallow its own tail.”

His chapped lips duck to graze your pulse point. You exhale a trembling breath as your hands ball into fists at your sides. You make no attempt to stop him, however, as though paralyzed by your deep-rooted affection for him.

“Or a fish hook… into an open eye,” Aemond continues cynically, breath fanning warm over your collarbones. Chill bumps pebble over your delicate skin in his wake. The sight makes him swell with pride. “Or a decaying corpse and its maggots… Mutual destruction—”

He rises again to kiss you, mouth parted like he plans to swallow you whole.

Your senses return, and you pull back from him — just enough for your lips to graze but not fully meet. You realize, then, that you’re holding your breath. You exhale a wavering sigh as you stand obediently ahead of him. Nose to nose, chest to chest, heartbeart to heartbeat.

“You’re a nightmare,” you pant against his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you raise a hand to his face. The pad of your thumb smooths over the marred skin beneath his patched eye. “There is deeply wrong with you, Aemond. And I think whatever is… is wrong with me also.”

Lightning strikes with a resounding crack some leagues away — or, perhaps, in his own chest, which warms at the thought of being understood by you.

He kisses you with the fire behind his ribcage, breathes the smoke from his lungs into yours. The Kinslayer licks into your mouth, and you let him.

You’re doomed to it, you realize — doomed to acknowledging the very worst parts of him and never being able to abandon him. To spending a lifetime unwrapping his misdeeds and kissing them away like a baby with a scraped knee.

You will spend the rest of your life holding his darkened soul up to the light and trying hard to understand him. And as Aemond kisses the breath from your lungs in the middle of the candlelit Sept, in the epicenter of a raging summer storm, you think it must be better than not having him at all.

The days anticipating Aegon’s waking are ruthless and bloodstained.

You don’t need sleep for many of them, and you only part from his bedside long enough to tend to your wifely duties. The castle sees little of you otherwise. You become a ghostly thing instead — a phantom of your own regret, a shadow of all your sins.

And even when it’s full of so much love, all a ghost can do is haunt. You idle at Aegon’s bedside accordingly. Solemnly, silently, softly. While melancholy stains your hands like blood.

You feel as though you’re cleansing your impure touch every time you dip your hands into the steaming bowl of water at your side. You soak Aegon’s bandages in its medicinal contents until it burns your skin raw. Until you find repentance in the ache. And then you smooth them carefully over his raging wounds the way Maester Orwyle taught you.

Your unworthy hands run gently over his lithe, burnt, and death-touched body, finding holiness in his pale skin. You kneel at his side and hold his unhurt hand in both of yours — not to pray, but to atone.

“If you’re going to die here, in our bed, I hope very much that you intend to haunt me,” you whisper through tears, bringing his hand to your mouth and running your lips over the grooves of his knuckles. “I would much rather you drive me mad from the spiritual plane than go where I cannot follow you.”

Your handmaiden knocks softly on the door, then. She peeks just enough inside to tell you the high council meeting has finished — the council of which your husband now sits at the head.

Aemond, crowned newly regent, wears the weight of kinghood like he was always meant to do it. You hate how well it fits him. You hate what lengths he’s gone to steal a crown that no person should ever aspire to possess.

Still, though, you part from Aegon with a kiss to his unburnt cheek and walk to the other side of the castle to tend to your husband — like a sheep led to slaughter.

“Dove?” Aegon calls in a raspy voice, the name like gravel in his throat, when he feels you disappear from his side.

You do not hear him.

Aegon slips back into the lonely abyss.

You retire the following morning to the Godswood — the only place in King’s Landing where you’re free from pitied glances and words of sympathy. You sit against the white bark of the old weirwood tree with a heavy book propped on your knees. The rising sun filters in golden rays through the orange leaves, which rustle in time with a calm summer wind.

Aemond finds you there when you don’t arrive to break your fast. Something about the sight of you forces him back into childhood — all bathed in the late morning sun, in a pretty pink dress that sits in a perfect circle around you, like a painting that breathes with life.

In that moment, he’s a kid who still has both his eyes — who doesn’t startle people when he looks at them — who hasn’t hurt anyone yet because no one’s yet hurt him. For a flicker of a moment, the two of you are strangers. Strangers who haven’t ruined each other by being together.

Aemond chokes down the nostalgia and strangles it in a clenched fist. “The table is set,” he calls to you, in place of any real greeting.

You don’t look up from your book as you flip the page. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten in days,” the boy tells you, trying hard to bite back his misplaced anger. “You’ll soon be withering away with my brother if you aren’t careful.”

“I’d rather,” you murmur cynically as your chin tilts to meet his eyes.

You don’t mean to glare at him the way you do, but it’s hard to look at the mirror of yourself any other way. A part of him slipped into you that night at the Sept, like lightning through the stained glass windows, and now it’s hard to stomach the sight of him.

“What are you reading?” Aemond asks, changing the subject entirely, as he nods to the heavy book covering the expanse of your lap.

You avert your gaze then, like you’re ashamed of the answer. He walks closer to peek at the thick parchment pages and finds a hand-drawn diagram of a maimed body with increasing levels of burnt skin. His chest pinches as he seethes.

“Even in death, my brother is still the one you want,” Aemond scoffs a bitter laugh. “He is always where your loyalties will lie— ”

“Well, Aegon is not dead,” you correct with an eerily steady voice as your eyes hardened into an unwavering squint. “Though I know how much it must pain you.”

“You’re meaning eludes me, I’m afraid. You’ll have to speak more plainly.”

“You are easily the smartest man I have ever met,” you confess with a gentle smile. “So please do not patronize me by playing the fool.”

Aemond opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He is, instead, interrupted by hurried footsteps that crunch crunch crunch atop the falling leaves. “We’re busy,” he snaps as he whips his head over his shoulder.

Maester Orwyle cowers. His chain rattles as he bows his bald head in apology. “Excuse me, Prince Regent— Princess— But I am happy to report that His Grace, The King has regained consciousness this morning.”

Your heart lurches into your throat, making it very suddenly hard to breathe. Your feet scramble for purchase on the ground as you stand to full height again. Dirt stains your hands as you clutch the heavy book between them.

“Only for a few moments,” the man amends before he overexcites you.

“But he is awake?” you press with bated breath.

The Maester nods. “He is.”

“I knew it,” you say, laughing giddily to yourself. “I knew his breath was coming easier to him.”

Maester Orwyle struggles to keep his emotions at bay with your infectious excitement. “Aye. The King is much stronger than I gave him credit for,” the man nods, hands clasped as though in prayer. “He may yet live— thank the Gods.”

“What happy news,” Aemond hums when he realizes he hasn’t yet said anything.

His thin lips purse in a quiet smile as his glacial gaze flits over to you. He stares mostly from the side of his patched eye, so ardently it feels like he’s looking at you through the covered sapphire hidden behind it.

“Perhaps you should accompany Maester Orwyle to my brother’s chambers. I will inform the family as we break our fast,” the boy tells you with purely selfish intent.

He figures it’ll be easier to watch you rush back into Aegon’s arms if he’s commanding it of you. His chest threatens to swirl with warmth, however, at the relieved look you give him.

Your eyes soften for the first time since he returned from Rook’s Rest. You don’t care whether he’s holding an olive branch in his hand or a dagger. You’re thankful for it, either way.

“Of course, Your Grace,” you say with an obedient bow of your head.

You go to kiss his cheek before you part from him, if only to maintain appearances in front of the Maester.“Thank you,” Aemond hears you whisper before your mouth meets his skin. The plush of your lips grazes the pink scar beneath his eye in a softer touch than he expects, in a softer touch than he deserves.

You burst through the ornate double doors of the west-end bedroom like a million glittering sun rays.

Aegon can only see you through the bleary haze of his one good eye, but he knows you put The Night of a Thousand Suns to shame. He’s seen dragonfire closer than most people have, and not even that can rival the vividity of his glittering Dove.

The bustling maesters part wordlessly for you like breaking rain clouds. You rush like sunshine past them and straight to his bedside. “Aegon!” you call, teary-eyed and giggling at the sight of his woken state.

He expects you to flinch when you’re closer to him, to recoil at the sight of his melted flesh. He wouldn’t blame you for it — it’d hurt, of course, but he wouldn’t blame you. It shocks him most when you bend at the waist to kiss him instead.

Your lips graze the unburnt skin of his right cheek. Aegon can smell rose petals in your hair and lavender on your skin when you lean over him. It smells like home when everything around him reeks of death.

“I’m surprised you still recognize me—” Aegon jokes dryly, then drags in a ragged breath when his lungs start screaming. The inhale rattles through his bare chest, covered partially in the bandages you helped dress before break of day. “—After all this.”

You sit at his side and smile so hard your eyes squint at the edges. “Don’t be absurd. I was born knowing you, Aegon,” you argue with his jaw cradled in a gentle hand. You look over your shoulder to the nearest maester and request, “Can you fetch me some marigolds? And dandelion, please? Oh! And a pot of hot water to make tea in?”

The older man bows his head obediently and asks no question as he stalks out of the room.

You turn back to Aegon. “I hear it may help treat your burns. It’ll at least ease the pain of them, I’m sure.”

The boy shifts in a feeble attempt to get comfortable, which is an impossible feat considering his current state — with half of his body riddled with oozing burns and an elevated leg, shattered and likely never the same again. The only comfort he finds is your warm hand on his cheek. He leans into it like a sunflower to sunshine.

“How do you know all that?” he rasps.

“I read it in a book.”

His remaining eye flits to the edge of the bed, where you’ve laid a thick volume at his feet. He scoffs at the sight of it, then coughs when his lungs burn (which, of course, only adds to the sting.)

“A boring book,” the boy insists as you ease a cup of water to his dry mouth, cupping his chin to catch the dribble.

“Only slightly,” you joke with a quiet smile. “But I fear I was quite motivated in learning how to treat you.”

Aegon smacks his chapped lips when you pull away, watching attentively as you sit the chalice back at his bedside. His chest blooms with something warm: his affection for you, perhaps, or maybe the lingering ash in his lungs.

“You’re slaving over the Grand Maester’s books—” He inhales a wheezing breath that leaves in a rattling exhale. “—To learn how to take care of me?”

“Yes.”

“What wretched work.”

“Not to me,” you insist with a blossoming grin. “Not if it’s you.”

Aegon’s ocean eye goes glassy with burning tears he tries hard to blink away. A furrow forms in the marred skin of his forehead as his brows pinch together — one singed off and the other half gone. His features crumple as he forces himself to choke down his emotion like bile.

He hasn’t cried about it yet. About any of it. His manhood has already been stripped from him — he’s scared that if he cries about it now, it’ll be like admitting some kind of defeat.

You seem to know this without words. Like you can read it all in his very expressive face, which he knows is so much different now than the one you fell in love with. You don’t look at him like he’s any different, though, and something about it makes his head spin.

“Will you lay with me?”

“I can’t, Aegon— I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he wheezes. “You can’t.”

Despite your better judgment, you round the mattress to lay at his unburnt side. The muscle memory that carries you there feels strange. You’ve been rounding this very bed to lay to the right of him for many moons now — a side you claimed wordlessly as your own, as Aegon did with the left. Nothing has changed. Only, at the same time, everything has changed.

You recline gingerly along the feathered mattress, careful not to jostle the boy too much. When you turn to rest on your side, Aegon shifts on the mattress to be level with you. He doesn’t get too far, what with his elevated leg and the rest of him much too stiff. He turns his chin to his shoulder to face you instead. His eyes flutter shut when you lift your hand to his face, tracing the edges of his bandages with a featherlight touch.

“How can you still look at me like that?” Aegon croaks as your pointer finger trails down the slope of his nose.

“Like what?” you murmur distantly.

“I don’t know,” he answers before a wheeze racks through his chest. “Like you still love me.”

His words hit you like a fist to the stomach. Something about them makes your throat tighten with a welling emotion.

“Because I do love you, Aegon,” you answer through a teary giggle, resting a very delicate hand over his bandaged jaw. “I can’t help it. I knew I was doomed to it since I was ten-and-three— when you told me you were betrothed to Helaena, and yet I was still searching for you in all the eyes of my potential suitors.”

“Do you search for me now?” he mumbles with a hopeful gleam in his remaining eye.

Your smile widens. “I search for you always.”

“Even now?”

“Always,” you repeat.

“What if I…” he trails off, smacking his dry mouth and averting his gaze.

He looks, instead, at the green silk draping the ceiling — where he insisted a mirror be hung some days ago. He said he wanted to see you from every angle when you were riding him, said that was of utmost importance. All that feels pretty moot now, though, and the notion makes his chest ache.

“What if I’m different after this?” he wonders through the ash trapped in his lungs. You know it must hurt for him to talk, so you grimace when he continues. “What if I’m immobile? What if I— I can’t pleasure you anymore?”

A giggle sputters past your lips. Aegon flinches. He doesn’t know what he expected you to say to that, but he hadn’t expected you to laugh.

“If you think I am only at your side because of my… carnal urges,” you lilt teasingly, rising on your elbow to peer down at him with sparkling eyes. “Then you are sadly mistaken, my king. Surely, you’re forgetting the many, many years it took you to learn my body… wherein your rendered services were, perhaps, less than pleasurable.”

Aegon tries to laugh until his chest stings. The air rushes suddenly from his lungs and leaves a burning sensation in its wake — drier than the sands of Dorne, hotter than dragonfire.

He grimaces and struggles to catch his breath. He’s only able to relax when you lay your hand over the right side of his chest, where his skin is pale and supple and still normal.

“Meaning no offense, of course,” you continue with a lazy smile. “You’ve undoubtedly become an expert of me over the years.”

Aegon tries not to cower under the sincerity twinkling in your eyes. He can’t tell if you’re just ignoring his freakish nature, or if you’ve already adjusted to it entirely. He prays for the latter. He’s grateful, however, for either.

“Will you kiss me?” he rasps in a breathy whisper.

You don’t answer with words. You only lean forward and press your lips to the flushed apple of his cheek, lingering there for several long moments. The foreign act of tenderness makes him sigh hard through his nose.

You part from him to find his lips quirked in a very distant smile. It isn’t nearly as bright as you’re used to — not as pink or as mischievous — but you can see it still, beneath the layers of bandages and marred skin.

“Not there,” he jokes with a rattling breath.

Your hand lifts to caress his cheek. Your thumb grazes the grooves of the plaster sticking to his skin there. Your eyes flit from his sparkling gaze to his parted lips. You lean down and kiss him gently — enough for him to feel you, but not enough to feel the ache on his burnt side.

And even as you’re kissing him, and Aegon’s kissing you back, you can’t help but wish that you were kissing him still.

Aemond sits alone at the head of an ornate dining table and glares at the ghost of you across the room. Past the flickering candles, and the goblets of wine, and the trays of your most favorite desserts — to where an empty chair waits for a body that’s never coming to fill it.

It’s his fault, he knows. He’s the one who refused to summon you for supper, yet he still finds himself blaming you for your absence. As the blade of self-made solitude pierces his sternum, he imagines it’s your pretty hand twisting the dagger. The plates before him remain untouched and go slowly cold as the wound bleeds out.

The thought of supping without you makes him too sick to eat. His empty stomach swirls with the waves of his grief.

Aemond knew that, were his brother to ever wake, he would be left with only the barest scraps of you. He thought he was used to picking at the flesh and bones of your affection like a vulture to decaying flesh, but he feels the lack of you most ardently now. To the point where he’s made a weapon of your leaving.

He sends you away most nights, when you part finally from Aegon’s bedside to attend to your wifely duties. It was easier to wave a dismissive hand while you undressed for him — to tell you that he had war plans to discuss with Ser Criston or whores at the brothel awaiting his arrival. The former was sometimes true, the latter almost never. Never ever, to be exact.

You’d re-tie the lace of your slip, covering the petaled skin you were baring for him, and muster a wavering smile to cover up your aching. And though Aemond wasn’t entirely fond of hurting you, there was a certain gratification in making you feel an ounce of the heartache he was drowning in.

But the cycle of woe continues on, and he finds himself floundering for you all over again.

He spares one last glare at the empty seat reserved for his wife — who, like her love, would never truly be there — and rises abruptly from the table. The legs of his wooden chair scrape the cobbled floors. The harsh sound echoes through the empty throne room.

“What shall we do with the food, my pri— Your Grace?” a servant boy stammers when Aemond walks by.

“Feed it to the hounds,” the boy monotones.

Aemond just barely manages to keep his head above water long enough to find you. He storms to the west wing of the Red Keep and bursts through the double doors of the bedroom you and Aegon share. He feels like he’s been set aflame every time he passes the threshold. He figures he belongs here about as much as a demon at a Holy Sept.

He finds you, unsurprisingly, tending to the sleeping king at his bedside. You dip a thin cloth into a steaming bowl, soaking it in the aromatic medicinal bath, before smoothing it over his burns with a practiced touch.

Aegon’s left side is not nearly as raw and raging as it was some weeks ago, perhaps because of your gentle hands. His skin is still marred, though — features gnarled and blurred and disfigured. Half of his hair has been singed off, along with his ear and most of his eye. He’s a monster on all accounts, but you tend to him with loving hands anyway.

Your head whips over your shoulder at the sudden intrusion. You find Aemond lingering at the doorway; fists balled at his sides, chest heaving with panted breaths. Your brows raise expectantly, and Aemond searches for something to say.

“The table is set for supper,” he blurts.

“Alright,” you hum in a quiet voice. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

You turn away, and the thin fabric of your nightgown flows behind you. It’s made of a pale pink cotton, with long sheer sleeves, and a tie at the chest that reveals a sliver of your skin.

You’re typically only so casually dressed with him. It’s almost like you’ve trained him to salivate at the sight, knowing you’d be taking it off for him under any other circumstance. His hunger for you builds despite himself.

“Will you?” he presses, feigning indifference, as he saunters into the room with his hands behind his back. “You’ve hardly left this room, I’ve heard.”

“Well, I heard that you’ve spent the entire day in council meetings,” you argue while wringing damp plaster between your fists. Hot water trickles back into the bowl, stirring now with golden petals and dandelion fluff. You glance back at him, this time with something mischievous twinkling in your eyes. “What would have me to do, hm? Wait for you well into the twilight hour until you decide you have enough time for me? With my legs spread for you like a common whore?”

“You used to,” Aemond quips as he stills at the foot of the bed.

You scoff and turn away again, laying the moist cloth over Aegon’s bare chest and smoothing it flat until it seals to his skin.

“You’ve never been this gentle with me,” the boy observes, mostly light-hearted, though the words come out too deadpan to be as playful as he means them.

A smile hints at the corner of your mouth. “You never wanted me to be this gentle with you, Your Grace.”

The title falls from your mouth like sweetened venom. Aemond feels it sparkling in his veins as he rounds the bed to be nearer to you.

“Hm. Maybe so,” he murmurs with a wide hand pressed to your lower back. You feel his fingers fist the delicate fabric of your nightgown as he whispers, “But His Grace has needs.”

“Well, His Grace has whores,” you spit back, chin tilted defiantly.

“Careful,” Aemond lilts with his lips pursed in a nearly undetectable smirk. “I’d start to think you were jealous.”

You only shrug in response, hoping your envy isn’t as obvious as it feels. “I have naught to be jealous of… Not when your cock tastes of my cunt—”

“Mm. Such vulgar words from such a pristine girl.”

Aemond ducks down like he intends to kiss you, but stops short with his nose pressed to the side of yours — willing you to make the first move.

You smirk against his mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction, as you grip his leather jacket in your fists. “If you think I’m pristine… Then you obviously haven’t been paying attention.”

The boy’s mouth parts to swallow you whole. You almost let him — until the bed behind you creaks with movement, and you jerk suddenly back from him.

Aegon smacks his lips as he stirs from sleep. He shifts on the mattress, then grimaces at the harsh reminder of his current state. “Don’t stop on my account,” he mumbles, less raspy than before, but still gravelly in speech.

“We were just leaving,” Aemond insists as his long fingers curl around your wrist.

You try to snatch yourself out of his grip and fail. “The Prince Regent was just leaving,” you correct.

Aegon tries to smile. It feels like he is, anyway, though it looks more like a wince beneath his burns and bandages. “Perhaps you should both stay… I was growing quite fond of the show, actually.”

“I’m sure you were,” Aemond scoffs, peering down at the boy from the bridge of his nose. “But I’m afraid you’ll get nothing here.”

When he tugs you away from Aegon’s bedside, you have little choice but to follow him. He’s much too strong for you to fight — though you try, still, to pry his taut grip with your free hand.

“He’s lying, you know?” the king croaks from behind you. “About the whores.”

Aemond stops in his tracks at the doorframe. You stumble over your feet behind him. When neither of you says anything, Aegon continues.

“I tried to take him to a brothel once. Some days after he was betrothed to you, I believe…” he trails off to take a ragged breath. “He nearly keeled over when he passed the threshold. He’s much more dutiful to you than he’d have you believe… Unfortunately.”

Your wide eyes flit from the bedridden boy to the one towering over you. “Is that true, husband?” you murmur.

Aemond falters for a moment. “The king is obviously half-cut. The Milk of the Poppy’s warped his mind, no doubt—”

“I am perfectly temperate, brother.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace.”

“Well, when the Dove gives orders, I am not inclined to disobey,” Aegon quips and tries to smile, though the expression is only audible in his voice.

Aemond’s stoic eyes flit back to you. “Giving orders to the king now, are you?”

“Aye. I am,” you answer, trying to fight back a smirk and failing. “And his regent, perhaps. Though he is much less acquiescent than his brother.”

“Is that so?” Aemond hums with his chin tilted upward, amusement glittering in his otherwise hardened gaze.

Your smile sits lazy and lopsided on your mouth. You look once to Aegon, whose one-eyed stare is expectant and unwavering, and then back to your husband. “Haply,” you shrug with your chin to your shoulder, peering through your lashes with the whole universe in your eyes.

“Kiss me,” you command.

The words fall over Aemond like stars.

He cradles the back of your neck and licks into your mouth without warning. Your head tips back as he pries through your lips with his tongue. His chiseled nose smushes into the side of yours while he steals the breath from your lungs.

Aegon watches from afar and writhes pathetically on the mattress across the room. His chapped mouth parts in time with yours, tongue lolling in his mouth as he tries to remember what it felt like to kiss you. His hands curl into fists under the weight of his yearning — the ache in his healing left-hand goes unnoticed over his much louder desire for you.

“Closer,” he calls in a gravelly voice, then clears his throat when the word gets stuck there. “Come closer.”

Your lips part with an audible click. A string of saliva threatens to keep the two of you connected, glimmering faintly in the candlelight. A whine sounds in Aegon’s throat at the sight of it.

Aemond wipes his chin with the back of his hand, mouth rosy and shining with your spit. “Surely you aren’t so desperate, brother… You’ll be parading ‘round the brothels in no time, I’m sure.”

Aegon does not admit aloud that his intermittent pleasure house visits were hardly for his own urges. He enjoyed the smells more than anything, of primal pleasure and cheap wine — and the feeling of pride as he introduced new squires to the most skillful madames. He’s watched many boys become men through an opened curtain with a belly full of ale.

He corrects, instead, “Did the maesters not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“My cock was burnt like a sausage on a spit,” Aegon admits with a clenched jaw. “I can hardly piss without it trickling down my leg—”

“An unfortunate circumstance, indeed,” Aemond hums.

“A circumstance you ought to atone for,” Aegon sneers.

The calloused palm cradling your neck slips away as the youngest brother turns to face the eldest. Candlelight flickers over the sharpened edges of his face like hellfire. “I thought you recalled none of it,” he murmurs with a knowing squint in his lone eye.

“Perhaps my memory serves me now,” Aegon retorts, wincing as he sits further up on the pillows. It’s much easier now, without his leg tied and elevated, but the ache there makes every movement impossible. He talks through heaving pants when the breath leaves him suddenly. “Perhaps— Perhaps I am in need of something to ease my mind.”

Silence slips into the room like moonlight through the opened window. Your eyes flit back and forth between the two men, narrowed softly in confusion. The two of them seem to speak in riddles, in remnants of a conversation you weren’t there to witness.

“Mm. Perhaps,” Aemond concludes emotionlessly. “But I don’t believe it is up to me.”

His head turns slowly to you, and your heart lurches into your throat. Your hands shake with the sudden power placed within them.

Fingers trembling, you reach wordlessly for the lace at your chest. You tug at the ends of it until the knot loosens entirely. The top of your gown slacks to reveal the peaks of your pillowy breasts. Aemond’s mouth parts with the want to kiss them as he migrates behind you to work at the tie along your back.

“Take it off,” Aegon tells you through heavy breaths. “All of it.”

You feel Aemond’s hands smooth under your untied nightgown, cold and calloused along your warm and supple skin. He urges the fabric off your body as you slip the sheer sleeves down your arms.

The delicate cotton pools around your feet. The evening breeze brushes your bare body like satin. The unabashed leers from the silver-haired boys create pebbling goosebumps on your skin.

Aegon swallows through a dry throat. His trembling hands flex to pierce through the weight of his longing. “Come closer,” he commands. Though, when his voice breaks halfway through, it sounds more like a plea.

Your bare feet pad along the cobbles in slow and hesitant steps. You stop at the foot of the bed and try not to fidget too much as Aegon’s remaining eye rakes over your body.

The sight of you before him — your naked breasts begging to be kissed, your soft stomach waiting to be caressed, your plush thighs begging to be clutched — makes a sigh rattle in his chest.

“Closer.”

“How much closer can I get, Your Grace?” you ask him, giggling when Aemond presses his clothed body flush against your back. The tip of his nose traces the shell of your ear as he cradles your hips between calloused palms. His breath fans warm over your neck, and you fight back a shiver.

“Crawl,” Aegon answers as he shifts on the mattress, raising his chin like he means to beckon you forward. “Crawl to me.”

You feel Aemond’s thin lips curl into a smile as he mouths at your pulse. “And here I thought you were the one giving orders,” he quips against your skin.

“She is no stranger to my direction, brother. I assure you,” Aegon rasps. His gaze pauses its trek down your naked form and hardens when it meets your eyes again. “Crawl,” he repeats.

Your body seems to move on its own accord. You blink, and your palms are pressed suddenly to the silk blanket — knees digging into the downy mattress to push you closer to the bedridden king.

Aegon’s unscarred hand cradles the back of your head when you’re finally in reach. You straddle his thighs, careful to avoid the healing bone in his left leg, as he urges you further into him. Your mouth parts for a kiss. A whimper sounds in your throat when his lips lock on your pulse point instead — feeling too unworthy to kiss something as pretty as you with such a sullied mouth.

His lips are chapped, but his tongue is warm and smooth against your skin. The contrast between the two is dizzying.

Aegon’s teeth graze your throat as his hand falls to your chest. He cups your breast in his palm, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple. He knows how sensitive you are there — he’d always remember your body, even in death.

Your moan echoes through the silent room, as silky as the moonlight streaming in rays through the window. You feel the effects of his touch in a shiver down your spine — in a warm feeling that pools in the pit of your stomach.

Aemond only watches for a moment, motionless and observant. He can’t see your face from here, but he can see each of your reactions to Aegon’s subtle touches. Your cunt drools with neglect, begging to be touched and fluttering every time the boy pinches your taut nipples.

Aegon ducks down for your chest just as the command to do so sits on Aemond’s tongue. The older boy mouths sloppily at your tits, slurping audibly at your plush skin and licking over the fleeting bites he scatters there.

You cradle the back of his head and whimper at the feeling of his tongue. Your pussy weeps for more just as you do, leaking a glimmering honey that shines on your thighs when it catches the candlelight.

Aemond’s mouth waters for a taste of you. His pale hands begin working at the buckles of his leather jacket, steady but unusually hasteful as he rushes to fuck you.

Aegon catches sight of him and smirks into your breasts. He pulls off of you with an audible smack, licking his lips like he can still taste you on them. His cheeky smile is somewhat hidden in the burns on his left cheek, but you can hear it in his voice.

“That is very presumptuous of you, brother,” the boy rasps.

Finally freed from his jacket, Aemond shrugs off his undershirt and works at the buttons of his pants. “Well, someone has to fuck her,” he murmurs mindlessly before flashing a mischievous glare with his lone eye. “And I hear your cock was burnt like a sausage on a spit—”

“You’re doing it again,” you lilt in annoyance, only partially playful, as you glance at him over your shoulder. Your stomach swirls when you find Aemond already leering at you. You smile and arch your back, making an utter show of it. “I can hear you, you know?”

Aemond smirks and drops his breeches. The thick fabric falls heavily to the floor to reveal the expanse of his milky white legs and the half-hard cock hanging between them, glowing red at the tip with need. He wraps the stiffening limb in his fist and works it harder for you.

“I’m glad for it,” the boy insists as he kneels on the bed behind you. The mattress creaks and dips under his weight. “It only means you can hear everything I intend to do to you—”

“Use your fingers on her first,” Aegon blurts, made impatient with desire and the lack of your attention. “Get her ready for it— It drives her mad.”

Words of protest turn to dust on your tongue when Aemond’s fingers migrate immediately to your weeping cunt. He runs his middle and ring finger between your velvet lips, coating them in your honey before sticking the former inside you. An airy sigh spills from your open mouth at the feeling. Aemond snarls when your pussy tightens around him, all but swallowing his finger.

You accept a second one with ease — hardly noticing another when Aegon slips his right hand between your thighs. He massages your clit with the pads of his fingers, much softer in comparison to his brother’s. He rubs you there rapidly and with very little rhythm while Aemond fucks his fingers into you with languid strokes.

The variation between the two makes you keen.

“Well, I do believe she’s ready enough,” Aemond quips in a monotone as your honey runs down his wrist. “Feel her— She’s practically weeping for it.”

Aegon’s hand dips instantly, shoving his brother’s out of the way. He shifts on the mattress and grimaces softly at the strain on his bandaged side. The pain, however, goes largely unnoticed as he slips his fingers into you. A groan rumbles in his throat when your eager cunt takes both of his fingers with little effort.

The feeling of your silky walls wrapped around him — the notion that he will never again feel you on his cock — makes him grieve. His marred features twist with something hard and soft, with grief and anger maybe, before he pulls out of you again.

“Fuck her,” Aegon commands like a true king, before inhaling a rattling breath. “Fuck her now— Make her scream.”

Aemond chuckles at his brother’s enthusiasm, of which he often has too much. He wraps his hand around his stiff cock, now ardently wet with you, and uses his sticky fingers to lubricate himself.

“As you wish, your grace,” he murmurs quietly to himself.

Your chin tilts to your shoulder to look back at him. You whimper when the head of his cock presses itself at your entrance — smooth and warm and leaking with precum. Aegon’s fingers grip suddenly at your jaw. The tips of them dig aggressively into the skin there as he forces you to look at him. Despite his hardened features, his eyes gleam with something more pleading.

“Say my name while he fucks you,” he commands, begs, through gritted teeth. “Pretend it’s my cock inside you.”

You nod rapidly into his hand. Your eyes remain locked with his while Aemond slips into your waiting pussy. Your mouth falls softly agape as he fills you. A moan spills from your lips when he buries himself to the hilt. Aegon’s bandaged head tilts back against the pillow, jaw clenched, like your pleasure is his own.

“Does that feel good?” the king asks.

You nod again into his hand, whimpering when Aemond pulls all the way out only to thrust completely back into you again. Your body jerks on top of Aegon’s like you’re riding him — only his cock is hardly more than mangled skin now, which buzzes faintly with a desire he’ll never be able to give you.

Aemond curls a calloused hand around your shoulder to steady you while your hands fist at the pillow on either side of Aegon’s head.

“Tell me.”

Your lips open to make out the words, though only moans fall from them. It takes much more effort to speak than usual, with Aemond punching the breath from your lungs with his expert thrusts. “I— It feels so good, Aegon—” you manage through labored breaths just before a whimper sounds in your throat.

His hand leaves your face to trek down the length of your body. He finds your clit more swollen now — and more sensitive, it seems, when his touch makes you instantly squeal. Your eyes squeeze shut as your head tosses back, mouth parted in a silent moan while both boys work at the most sensitive parts of you.

Your pussy flutters around Aemond’s cock. Honey seeps from your cunt as you grow impossibly tighter around him. He braces his hands on your hip and shoulder, squeezing you there just as you squeeze him. His silver hair falls around his face when he drops his head forward to rumble a deep groan. It sounds like thunder in his throat.

A foreign sense of pride swells in Aegon’s chest at the sounds of your entwining pleasures — which he feels as though he’s orchestrating, despite his misbegotten impotence.

“My Dove is so needy for it, isn’t she?” Aegon coos when your thighs start to tremble.

“You should feel her, brother,” Aemond says, though the words are choppy as they leave his mouth. “She’s so tight— I can barely move—”

Grief sparks in his chest at the bitter reminder that he will never again have you the way his brother has you now. His throat tightens with an emotion he forces himself to choke down. “What does she feel like?” he murmurs pitifully when he struggles to remember.

“Like velvet,” the younger boy answers, punctuated by the dull clapping of his hips meeting your ass. “Like honey. Like sin—” Aemond angles his hips to pierce you deeper. You whine when his thrusts reach an impossible depth.

“How poetic,” Aegon sneers.

“How shall I say it in your language, then, hm?” Aemond manages to tease despite his looming pleasure, which threatens now to strangle him. He tries to keep his face steady despite that as he glares at his brother with his remaining eye, never wavering in his assault on your throbbing pussy. “Her cunt’s milking me dry,” he spits. “I may just breed her yet.”

You’d scold him for speaking over you as if you weren’t there, but you’re much too far gone for that now. His thrusts are steady and measured and merciless. The bulbous head of his cock hits relentlessly at a spongy depth inside you until you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Despite Aegon’s largely bedridden state, he pleasures you with an expert hand just as he always has. His ruthless fingers press hard at your delicate clit until a scream wells in your throat. You grit your teeth to fight it back, but it leaves in a feeble cry anyway.

“Aegon!” you gasp.

“Aw, I know, sweet thing,” Aegon coos. “It’s far too much for you, isn’t it?”

You nod rapidly, with a pout pinching your pretty face. You grip the pillow with one trembling hand and bring the other to his unscarred cheek, cradling him gently there despite the aggressive way Aemond’s fucking you on top of him.

Despite his burns and his bandages and his disfigured features, you look at him the way you always have — like you’ve loved him forever, like you’ve spent entire lifetimes studying his face. The softness in your gaze makes his chest warm like he might cry.

“Do you love me, Dove?” Aegon murmurs.

You nod again, without an ounce of hesitation.

“Then prove it to me,” he whispers, fingers caging your swollen clit. “Make a mess on his cock for me.”

Your orgasm rushes over your body like the waves of a Dornish sea. Like a riptide that pulls you under and under and under. You bury your face in Aegon’s neck while you tremble on top of him, forced to ride through each merciless rush of pleasure.

“Good girl,” you hear Aegon praise with a laugh in your ear, though he sounds much further away than that. “Always so good for me, aren’t you, Dove?”

Aemond can feel every ruthless aftershock as it racks through your body. Your pussy flutters with each of them and leaks more honey that makes his cock glitter in the candlelight. It forces an orgasm from his body despite the heartache ripping through his chest.

He watches you and Aegon share a moment of bone-crushing intimacy while he impales you with his cock. Even while you fuck another, even with the silent understanding that Aegon with never again have you this way, you’re able to share something much deeper than sex.

Despite Aemond’s distant worry that he’ll never understand you in the same way, his orgasm tears through his body.

His hips stutter against your thighs as his cock jerks within your throbbing confines. He thrusts into you once, hard, and then stills against your hips, groaning with each load of cum your velvety cunt milks from him.

Aemond slumps when his cock begins to soften. You rise from Aegon’s neck to sit upright, cupping his cheek in a steady palm while the boy holds your hips in both of his — one smooth and the other scarred.

Aemond’s heaving chest twists with the dagger of self-loathing until you reach blindly for him, too.

Your free hand cradles his marred cheek and urges him closer. He noses at your neck while your mouth grazes his temple — a moment of connection that feels somehow more intimate than his flesh melting with yours.

The three of you bask silently in the honey-lit room, breathing harmoniously together, with candle-like souls that will forever set each other aflame.

Mutual Destruction.

#published by bug #house of the dragon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aemond x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x reader #hotd oneshot

747 notes · View notes

darilarostarg · 8 months ago

Text

Prince of Dragonstone

Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

Words: 1.5K

Warnings: SMUT, smut with no plot (my speciality!), fingering (f receiving) , sex w/o a condom, breeding kink

Summary: A sleepy Prince of Dragonstone has needs after a long day.

The warmth of the arms enveloping you wakes you up enough to see that the once roaring fire is now in decay, and the room is now plunged in darkness. You moan softly in content in the warmth radiating from his body, pushing yourself back into him. Daemon positions his head, chin nestling into the curve of your shoulder, lips chaste against your neck.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon?” He mutters as he settles himself next to you. You know what he wants. You have followed this same route for moons now, ever since his appointment and your arrival at Dragonstone. Daemon being named heir had shocked you, both of you happy to live in Viserys' shadows, reaping the benefits of being a second son of the realm and his lady wife. But with Viserys and Aemma struggling to conceive, and the arrival of your sweet son, the pressure to name your husband heir had increased, and for the stability of the realm, Viserys had no choice.

So Daemon took his place at Dragonstone, spending his days over seeing the running of the castle, preparing to become King, and when the hour of the ghost hit, he would slip into bed beside you, with wandering hands and his hard length pressed up against your ass.

“Mm?” You hum back to him. Sleep is still lingering in your body, just about to pull you back into the darkness. But you know deep down, if you’re being completely honest with yourself, no matter how tired you might be when he slips in beside you late each night– you’ll ever be too tired to feel him…to be used by him. You were his. Whenever and wherever he wanted.

Daemon's arms dip beneath you, pulling you closer to him, his nose running along the side of your shoulder, his hand softly pushing at your upper thighs parting your legs. His fingers run up your inner thighs, pushing up under your gown, fingers edging up to find the growing wetness between them. A small whine escapes past your lips, and suddenly he is delving his middle and pointer fingers between your folds, spreading your wetness, causing you to clench softly around nothing. His breath is hot against your neck and shoulder, his lips leaving wet kisses sporadically along it.

“My perfect little wife, hm? Getting herself ready for me.” He breathes out as he mouths your neck, amusement dripping from the low words. His free hand moves from your stomach, reaching to your knees and pulling up the soft cotton gown up ensuring you were entirely available to him. “Getting herself all ready for her husband, hm?”

You gasp when one fingers that had been circling your hole finally dips in. In your still slightly sleepy state, your body reacts involuntarily, instantly overstimulated. Your legs are moving to clench together and jerk away, but Daemon knows your body better than you do. He quickly slots his large knee between your legs so he still has access to your increasingly fluttering pussy. His free hand moving back to your stomach to keep you in place.

“Mm, Dae,” The movement is involuntary once again, your hand shooting to his wrist as your thighs squeeze his knee, trying to shut at the feeling of him pressing another thick finger into your slick hole, pumping them at slow steady pace, hitting the spot inside you that has you beginning to clamp tightly down on his thick fingers.

“Come on, don’t you wanna be good for me? Be a good wife for your future King?” He is teasing you, and loving every second. Daemon’s teeth graze against your earlobe, nipping softly at it. Before you can respond, all words die in the back of your throat when a third digit makes its way inside of you, and he begins pressing the ball of his palm to your small bundle of nerves.

The added pleasure causes a whine dies in your throat and your eye to squeeze shut, falling over the edge quickly. Your body tensing, pussy spasming, as he makes sure you ride out the high on his hand. His hand stills, kissing in between your shoulders tenderly as he removes his fingers, letting his hand slot out from between your thighs. His hand raises to your lips, three wet fingers gently pushing past your lips, making you taste yourself as you lick and suck them clean.

Once his hand is clean, he pulls it from you. You shuffle to turn over to face him, get a good look at him, having missed his face all day, missing your typical super together for an emergency meeting about the merchants that were illegally docking on the shores of Dragonstone. But he stops you, hand landing on your upper arm, gently pushing you forward slightly, keeping you turned away from him and on your side.

“Want you like this tonight.” He mutters lowly, and you’re unable to tell if he’s talking to you or more so himself.

He presses his chest against your back, settling himself against your back, hands fixing your thighs into position so that he has full access to your weeping pussy. You moan at the feeling of him rubbing his thick cock between your swollen, glistening folds. He grunts softly as he lets his tip dip into your hole, before removing it and allowing it to catch on your throbbing clit, making you push yourself towards him, desperate for more of him.

“I know, I know.” He murmurs, and your eyes roll back and moan escapes your lips when he slides into you, mixing with the sound of his deep groan that emits from him behind you, as he softly trusts into you, stretching you nicely.

“There you go….gods, you take me so well.”

The adjustment period ends quickly, the stress of the day quickly surfacing and suddenly Daemon is trying to split you open on his cock. His thrusts somehow tread the line of both sleepy and deliberate, soft yet rough, the pace causing your head to bury itself into the pillow below you, teeth biting down to drown out your moans.

“D-Dae, fuck.” You mewl, feeling his tip run against that soft, spongy part inside of you over and over again just as his fingers had just done. Subconsciously, once again, your body jerks away from him, the intense pleasure becoming too much. However, Daemon has other plans for you, hands tightly wrapping around your waist, fingers digging so deeply that bruises will litter them in the morning.

“No-no, stay on my cock pretty one. take. my. fucking. cock.”

Your body tries to move from him again, causing Daemon to grunt in displeasure, hand running down to your thigh and hooking your leg over his, locking you in place. A high pitched moan leaves you, the new angle allowing him to reach impossibly deeper within your warm, wet heat. Your arm moves up to his hair, gripping tightly at the roots long silver locks, your other other hand moving to gripping between his large thighs and ass.

Your walls flutter, throat now dry and raw, you can already feel the coil in the pit of your stomach tighten. You’re so close and Daemon knows it; the hand not keeping your leg in place finds the space between your thighs, playing with your, now very swollen, clit.

“Fuck– please, I–,” You can’t form a coherent sentence, only mumbles of pleases leaving your mouth, not with the amount of stimulation you’re receiving, and the filth that he’s spewing in your ear. Him telling you he’s going to breed again you like you deserve? Because you’ve been so good to him? Let you carry his babe? Make you nice and swollen? Swollen with another heir?

His filthy mouth is stopped by the sound of him letting out a guttural moan as his hips smack against the flesh of your ass. You're so far gone at this point, you can barely register the sound of your squelching pussy echoing throughout the silence of the dark room, but Daemon can. Daemon can hear it, and all it does is make his balls tighten.

Daemon loudly groans as your pussy clamps down on him,which only eggs him on to pound into you harder. He can’t stop fucking you because it feels too good. You feel too good. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, trusting quickly, telling you he is going to fill you up, as your pussy clamps in waves around him, back arches and whines die in your throat.

Your eyes are so glazed over that you can’t even see properly anymore. You’re too focused on the post-coital high you’re riding, that you barely register Daemon grunts and moans as he coats your walls and begins to still within you.

Daemon keeps himself buried inside of you, the mix of your essences most certainly leaking out from your hole and along his cock. His hands run gently along your thighs up to your waist, before softly landing on your stomach, thumbs softly rubbing the skin, his head position itself behind yours. You shuffle back into him, head finally turning to look at him, leaving sweet kisses along his jaw.

“Goodnight, Ñuha jorrāelagon.”

Authors Note:

A little soft, sleepy smut in honour of Matt’s perfect lil dilf belly that I got to see in person this week, and now I will never stop thinking about the fact that it’s under all that Daemon armour ✨

My masterlist can be found by click here!

You can add yourself to my taglist here!

Taglist: @yn-jackson , @ilikechocolatemilkh

#daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #matt smith #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader

856 notes · View notes

crappymixtape · 4 months ago

Text

because of you • part five

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART IV • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 2.5k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T F I V E 🎶 silhouette, aquilo

❝ DEVIL’S ON YOUR SHOULDER, STRANGERS IN YOUR HEAD, AS IF YOU DON’T REMEMBER, AS IF YOU CAN FORGET ❞

Light fell through the open window in Steve’s parents’ bedroom, washing everything in a soft, eerie orange. Bright, hopeful rays of sunlight choked out by plumes of ash and smoke creeping out of the ground. The curtains billowed softly over the window ledge, carrying with them the all too familiar scent of decay and dirt, damp rotted leaves and thick vines. Demobat wings and the suffocating press of desiccated scales on your neck and–

You started with a gasp, hands fisting into the sheets as you turned in bed and found pain. Sharp and pinching. Freezing you on the spot and pulling a whimper from your lips as your wounds from the night before made themselves known again.

Death had dragged you so close you could touch it, had felt it wrapping around you like a dark cloak until…

Something warm and soft brushed against your waist, a hand moving gently over the sliver of skin there, exposed when your oversized shirt had shifted in sleep. The same hand that had shattered death’s grasp and pulled you back to live the rest of your life. A hand that had so carefully tended to each cut and scrape and gash, had so tenderly patched you up and held you through it all.

Steve.

Brows knitted together in discomfort, you turned your head ever so slightly, lashes fluttering open to see another set of eyes looking back at you – burnt caramel, honey and brown sugar.

Worried, relieved, apologetic.

“You okay?” Steve asked quietly, voice scratchy with sleep and fingers still resting gently at your waist, afraid to move them, afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“It’s my leg,” you squeezed your eyes closed, wincing at the friction of the sheet against the stitches.

“Shit,” Steve whispered, quickly rolling onto his back and bending his knee to create a pocket of air between your body and the fabric. “Better?”

All you could manage was a small murmur of thanks and it pulled his gaze back to you, eyes searching for something. What it was he didn’t know, but he was sure he would as soon as he saw it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his hand seeking you out, tangling his fingers together with yours.

The long sweep of his dark lashes brushed the tops of his cheekbones, freckles dotting along the bridge of his nose, twin moles pressed at his jaw, lips pulled down in concern. Pretty even like this. Even when he wasn’t smiling.

“Guess I couldn’t handle it last night,” you half-laughed thinking about the way you’d paled when he’d looped thread through the needle and it pulled a little grin out of him until you winced again.

“I don’t think I could have either,” he reassured you, “Six stitches, you took ‘em like a champ.” The look he gave you then set your heart skipping in your chest before settling between your ribs, warm and reassuring.

“Six?” you gaped.

Pulling the sheets up to look down at your leg for the first time since last night you expected to feel sick, but instead found something surprising. Six neat stitches, not quite straight, but clean and tidy and done with care.

“You…you did that?” you asked, eyes blinking back at Steve.

“What? Didn’t think I could?” he teased gently and it made the corner of your mouth pull up into a half-smirk.

“Well–no, but…” your cheeks warmed, heat creeping across your face as you bit your bottom lip in.

He studied you then for a minute, eyes mapping over your face and memorizing every little detail, every little piece of you, pieces he wished he could keep forever.

“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly, fingers still looped between yours and you answered with a silent nod. “Last night, before I went to the Creel house I wanted to ask you if–if I could take you out. You know, after we saved the world or whatever–” he huffed a small laugh and shook his head, “Guess we botched that.”

You almost laughed at the way he’d tried to soften the weight of his question, but his words were running on a loop in your head — take you out. They set something fluttering in your chest, your stomach flipping over and cheeks warming again.

“You want to take me out?”

“Yeah. I do. I really, really do.”

The way he was looking at you, like you held his world in your hands, had you breathless, heart hammering against your ribs and his palm pressed to yours under the sheets sent a flicker of heat up your arm, crept into your bloodstream and swam through every inch of you.

It had been survival, instinct how you hardened yourself against having to watch him walk away and how the sight of it put an ache in your chest more painful than the stitches on your thigh, but it all came back now when he looked at you. Washed over you like a wave on the sand, wearing down all your rough edges and smoothing them slow and sure – you realized you’d been carrying those feelings all along.

At Max’s trailer when he swore to stand by your best friend.

In the parking lot when he pulled you back from Vecna.

With your back to his chest and his hands pressed into yours over the handle of his bat.

The moment he all too willingly put himself between you and death without hesitation.

“Steve…” your throat squeezed around his name and his hand tightened on yours.

“What–what is it?” his brows pinched together, “Dammit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you—”

“No-no, it’s not that,” you sucked in a breath and squeezed your eyes shut against everything this boy, this man, made you feel. “I just…I hated you, so much. I didn’t believe Eddie when he said you’d changed, told him he was full of shit, but I was wrong. I don’t hate you. Not even a little bit and I’m sorry–”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he hushed, bringing his free hand up to gentle brush away the tears that had started to spill quietly down your cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I’ve done a lot of shit I’m not proud of, so I don’t blame you,” he shifted closer to you under the sheets, careful of your leg. “I hated me too for a long time,” he chuckled a little under his breath and gave you a small smile. “And I know I have more work to do, but…maybe-if you want to-you could give me another shot? A do over.”

You were surprised at the laugh that fell from your lips, a small wobbly thing as you wiped at the rest of your tears. “A do over?”

“Yeah. Here–” he let go of your hand and scooted back just a little and the distance made your fingers want to reach for him again. Come back. “Hi,” he said, smile growing.

“Hi?” you said, more question than statement and a little confused and it pulled a full grin out of him.

“I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.”

You bit back a snort, who was he James Bond? And it made him laugh until his hands found yours again and your skin sighed in relief – finally.

“Nice to meet you,” you said and he shifted back into you, hip to hip, chest to chest, careful still of your thigh and the touch of your skin on his skin melted the smiles from both your faces. Laughs quieted into hitched breaths and racing hearts.

Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, Steve’s jaw ticked as he swallowed down the nerves you’d pulled from his belly. “Would you–I mean…can I–can I kiss you?” he asked, unsure and unsteady, vulnerable and exposed, the real Steve and the Yes that fell from your lips came fast, sounding so much more like please, please, please, and you didn’t have to ask him twice.

His lips caught yours, fit them against his like two sides of a locket, perfect, and it made you lightheaded again, but this time when you opened your eyes you found his – honey and whiskey and liquid amber, warm like the sun and your heartbeat tattooed Steve, Steve, Steve on the inside of your ribs.

He smiled as you traced the curve of his cupid’s bow with your gaze, so soft, so lovely, so much more than you ever could have imagined and his gravity drew you back into him, pulling his bottom lip between yours – more, more, more – and he sighed, running his fingers through the baby hairs at the nape of your neck.

It was slow and languid, searching and curious, but heat simmered just under the surface. Waiting, patient, warm, and when Steve’s tongue traced the seam of your lips your reservations cracked, kerosene on the flames, and you both caught fire.

❝ IT’S ONLY BEEN A MOMENT, IT’S ONLY BEEN A LIFETIME, BUT TONIGHT YOU’RE A STRANGER, SOME SILHOUETTE, HOLD ME ❞

Grazing your teeth over his lip, you bit down softly and a groan rumbled in his chest, a low sound that made you press your thighs together, the want between your legs suspending your pain for a moment.

“Christ,” Steve choked, pulling away from you just enough to suck in a breath, chest heaving and eyes squeezed shut, wrecked already. “Sorry,” he half-laughed, “You’re gonna kill me if you keep kissing me like that, Princess.”

“Kinda defeats the purpose of last night,” you tried to joke, but when he opened his eyes again and looked at you it scattered all of your faux confidence to the wind.

“Yeah,” he breathed, inching closer and closer to you, running his thumb along your bottom lip and settling it at the corner, “But dying like this doesn’t seem so bad.”

And then he kissed you again, but this time it was heated, his fingers pressed into the plush of your hips while yours tangled into his hair and it pulled another groan from him. He swallowed the soft, sweet sounds you gave him and then begged for more as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, your lips parting to let him in to taste you.

None of it felt real – lying in bed next to Steve as he sucked pretty, little, lilac marks onto your skin, not wanting it to stop, wanting him to be this close forever.

He nosed at your neck and your chin tilted up to give him more access, your hands leaving his hair to trace the muscles stretched across back through the threadbare fabric of his shirt.

“Y’okay? Gotta tell me, Princess,” he said, lips moving on your skin as you pulled in a shaky breath.

“Ye-yeah, yes,” your voice pitched up at the end in a whine as he kissed the hollow behind your ear.

He smiled against you and your mouth twitched with a smile of your own.

“What?” you asked wryly, chin still tilted and he pushed himself up on his hands, propped up over the top of you, so he could look down at you.

“You don’t hate me,” he beamed down at you, echoed your words from just a minute ago and it made you blush, your lips twisting. Caught. A little bratty and a lot enamored.

“I don’t hate you, Steve Harrington,” you said again, softening under his gaze and unable to help the way your heart skipped when he dipped down to press another kiss to your lips.

“Say my name again. Please,” he murmured, trailing his mouth down your shoulder, your forearm, your wrist – his hand gently taking yours to lift it and place a kiss to your palm.

“Steve,” you whispered, but it caught at the end when you felt his tongue on your skin. It pulled your gaze up to look at him and you found his brows pinched together, eyes squeezed shut. “Steve?” you said again, your hand turning his to tug it down and hold it close to your chest.

“I just–Christ. I thought you were gonna die out there and after all that awful shit I said to you–”

Leaning up you pushed your lips to his and swallowed his words, mumbling to him, nuh uh. “But I’m still here, make it up to me,” you told him, eyes locked on one another and suspended in time, held in the muddled, amber light falling through the window.

“How? Tell me.”

And you took his hand, the one still held in yours, and trailed it down your chest, over the soft plush of your stomach, across the thigh that wasn’t hurting and down between your legs.

“Fuck,” Steve hissed, eyes closing again for a minute at how wet you were, and he pulled in a shaky breath.

“I’m here–” you whispered again, “–and I want this, with you.”

Nodding he leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, fingers moving slowly where you’d placed them, slipping in your slick and it make you gasp. “I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he said and god, you believed him.

He moved his fingers slow at first, a little tentative, a little shy, but the minute he pulled a moan from your lips he found his confidence again. Picked up the pace and moved over you at just the right speed in all the right places. Circled your clit with his thumb and slipped first one finger then two into you.

“Faster, Steve,” you gasped and he answered with the press of a kiss to your jaw, the corner of your mouth, pulled your bottom lip between his and sucked and you felt yourself sprinting to the edge.

“I’ve got you. Let go, baby, let go,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, fingers working you closer and closer. “Here, look at me,” he breathed, heart hammering in his chest, and when you met his eyes – warm honey, burnt caramel, safe, Steve – your hips stuttered.

Wrapping your arms tight around the back of his neck, you wanted – no needed – him closer, closer, closer until finally the coil settled deep in your stomach snapped and you fell apart on his fingers. Arched your back up off the mattress and pressed your body into his, the stitches on your thigh screaming, but the feeling of Steve between your legs was louder.

And there in that room, while the world burned outside the window, you made a promise to each other that even if everything was falling apart, even if you didn’t know what happened next, you’d be there. You’d choose to try again. Choose forgiveness and surrendered to each other. Let go of the past in favor of what was there in front of you. Beating hearts and handfuls of sheets, kisses dragged over skin and breaths taken away and Steve. Steve. Steve.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART FIVE OF A FIVE PART SERIES, POTENTIAL BLURBS MAY COME AT A LATER DATE ;) ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

154 notes · View notes

domreader-headcannon-scenarios · 1 year ago

Note

If we're going for requests then I'd love a retake on WHB Satan's "demon energy" scene where he assumes that MC will be submissive but is swiftly corrected when he ends up on his back getting milked and overstimmed because the more energy the human gets the longer they stay alive, right? You might as well take as much as you can when you've got the chance

Yesss!! I actually adore this idea since the devils stop after one session, wouldn’t it so much smarter to milk them for all then can give? It would let you live longer than a few hours!

Also I cant belive I never thought about pre leaking from horns until I played this game!!)

(Imagine the kings not lasting as long as their subordinates<3)

Satan (overstim, milling, horn play (little bit), hair pulling, demon ‘energy’)

To have Satan, a king of Hell feeling you up and kissing you in your best friends room was…odd enough, you didn’t even notice you were on Minhyeok’s bed until Satan’s hands were on either side of your head.

You could feel him grinding against you, his arousal obvious as he growls, grinning down at you. “You look so good beneath me, don’t worry, I’ll take great care of you.” He hissed out. You raised an eyebrow.

Him taking care of you? Oh no no no, he must be mistaken.

You’d have to fix him.

You reach up as if to stroke his face, but reach past him, and grab a handful of his hair and yank down. Satan stiffens and resists only for you to yank harder, forcing his face right against yours. He moans in response, only egging you on.

“No, I’ll be taking care of you, ‘your Majesty’.” You felt his manhood give a clear throb against you. His clothes blocking the appendage from entering you as it’s owner grinds against you. You grab as much of his long hair as you could, twisting it in your hand before yanking with as much force as you humanly could to the side, making Satan lose balance and flop beside you.

You released his hair only to mount him.

“Oh, you’re far more brave than Solo-“ You try to grab his hair again to make him stop, but accidentally grab one of his horns. You on instinct stroke the smooth horn, it’s slick, your hand glides up it with ease. “O-oh! Fuck, like that!”

He bucks up involuntarily and you continue your stroking out of curiosity. He squirms under you, mewling and the second you bring your free hand to his other horn, his eyes close as he bites his lip. You hesitate upon feeling a liquid seeping from his horns.

“Oh shit, are you bleeding?” You ask as you let go of one of his horns to see the liquid was…white/clearish and didn’t gave a scent like blood would.

Satan tried to laugh but it turned to a moan when you leaned over and liked him his horn. It tasted…salty and it made your mouth water. “Oh, it’s what happens when demons enjoy things.” He half heartedly explained. “Ok, t-that’s enough teasing, I’m ready to take control again.” He moans out.

You laugh in response. “Satan, you’re not a king here, this isn’t even your room, I’m in charge here.” You yank his pants and undergarments down enough to free his cock. It stood up excitedly throbbing as pre leaked from the red tip. “So do I need to ingest your cum?”

Satan rolled his hips on instinct and his dick slaps against his stomach. “N-no I mean, it works best if it winds up inside you, or on you.” He shrugged. “Pretty much just let it touch you a-and it helps.” You see him pause for a second before he shouts. “Oh? You wanna dom me? Me!?” He barks out a laugh and gently shoved you.

“Satan, you are mine, I’m going to claim you today.” You purr out. He rolls his eyes but does not make an attempt to slip out from under you. You finally grab his cock, stroking it in tune with his horn, making him twitch his hips forward with every stroke.

Satan moaned in a feeble voice before he’s spilling cum into his out stomach. “J-just like that! F-fuck it feels amazing!” You could practically see hearts in his eyes as he bucks into your hand, he collapses against the bed and lets you stroke him past his orgasm. “I-ooh, hold on, it’s, it needs a few seconds between sessions.”

You didn’t stop or slow down, your strokes didn’t give him a break, instead causing some whimpers to escape him as he tries to wiggle free. “Calm down, I’m just getting the ‘energy’ I need, I mean I’ll be here for a while, right?”

Satan hesitantly stopped squirming, instead just twitching and trembling whenever your strokes get a particularly sensitive point. “T-take all you can, demons have great stamina!” He tried to boast even as you stimulate his cock and horn.

He tries to move you off of him only for your grip on his horn to tighten to a near hypnotizing tightness. You feel the clear liquid oozing from his horns. “Oh you like this?” You yank on his horn to force him to eye level with you. Satan follows your ‘guidance’ without resistance (though judging how sensitive his horns are, this might be as much resistance he can give.)

Satan hissed, making a half attempt to pull away when your nails graze his horns. “You-I-I’m supposed to be helping you!” You nod in acknowledgment.

“You aren’t really good at it. But I am feeling better! Maybe a few more times and I’ll be good!” Your hand sped up on his cock as your other hand clawed his sensitive horn. Satan cried out, bucking up on accident and spurring his next orgasm.

He gave a low growl as his swollen cock flexes a few times and he’s cumming on his own stomach again. This time you release his dick as soon as he’s done, but you move your now free hand to his free horn. “H-hey! Not so rough-“ He yelped upon feeling you claw at both his horns.

He’s whining and trying to get loose enough to give you a kiss, but you hold him down. “They are dense, so I cant cause much damage to them,” You pause getting an admittedly dumb idea. “Actually…if I grind on them, can you still get off to that?”

Satan’s face is deep scarlet but he’s grinning ear to ear. “F-fuck yes,” He pants out. “That sound a-amazing but for now, I need a breather Solomon-“ You rake your nails down both his horns, earning a shocked yelp. To your surprise, he cums yet again, though this time you admittedly start to feel better.

“I can feel the energy. I want more, Satan.” He lets out an exhausted whine, trying to push you away half heartedly. “Or maybe…I should go to your underlings for more.” You pretext to think it over and look him over. “Yeah, you look like you have no energy left, maybe I should get S-“

Right as you let go of him, he pulls you back, growling. “Please, I have plenty more energy to give.” He purrs out, licking the side of your face “and I’ll actually call you by your name.”

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in hell is bad?#nsft #overstim #dom reader #sub satan #sub whb Satan #sub whb #sub what in hell is bad #horn play #horn kink

764 notes · View notes

hamsterclaw · 1 year ago

Text

Drift Kings

You and your brother Seokjin live completely separate lives, until one day when your worlds collide.

Pairing: Jimin x f! reader, Yoongi x f! reader

Genre: Drifting, street racing AU, smut

Word count: 9.5k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Explicit sex, swearing, mentions of drugs, cigarette smoking, illegal street racing

You know from the first time you lay eyes on Park Jimin that he doesn’t belong in your world.

He’s physically blessed, that much is obvious to anyone with eyes, but he’s all wrong.

His suit is beautifully tailored, but the material’s wrong. His shoes are expensive but in that modern, stylish way that screams new money.

You doubt any of the jewelry he has on is inherited.

He catches you staring, assumes it’s because of his good looks rather than that you’re finding him lacking.

He has the audacity to give you a once over of his own, like he has the right to judge you like you judged him.

You stay perfectly still, let him look.

You’re a Kim, and you’re used to people staring at you.

His lips curl in a smile that looks closer to a sneer.

‘You should wipe that sour look off your face, princess, before the wind changes.’

You’re too surprised to snap back at him, and a moment later, he turns away, like he’s the one dismissing you.

You’re still staring at his back when Seokjin, your brother, arrives with Yoongi.

‘Were you waiting long?’ Seokjin asks politely, gesturing for you to go ahead of him into the private room he’s reserved for dinner.

‘Not long,’ you say, still thinking about the very beautiful man who’s just cut you down.

***

Seokjin, is as unmarked as he ever was, at least from what you can see whilst he’s dressed in a three-piece suit.

You’re glad.

Your brother’s always loved cars. When you were growing up, he spent every spare moment in Yoongi’s family’s auto workshop, similar to how you spent every moment in your father’s office, learning the ropes of your family business.

There was a Kim needed to take over the company, and thankfully, your family didn’t have any qualms about which Kim sibling it was.

A life in business would have killed your brother, totally unlike a life spent drag racing on Mount Samo, you think, uncomfortable with the irony.

If your parents were still alive, they’d probably have things to say about Seokjin’s lifestyle.

At least he’s always with Yoongi.

Min Yoongi.

You sneak a glance at him over your plate as you eat.

Around you and Seokjin, his normally serious face relaxes into a smile, perfect teeth flashing often, eyes crinkled at the corners.

Your brother’s closest friend, you spent most of your teenage years swinging between a desperate crush on him and a desperate need not to be perceived by his intense, penetrating gaze.

Now that you’re older, the heat of your crush has settled into a burning ember he occasionally stokes by turning up when you meet Seokjin, all dark eyes and deep voice and the odd flattering comment that has the power to set your heart aflutter.

Apart from all that though, you know enough about Min Yoongi to know he’s got the heart of a hustler, and fierce loyalty to your brother. If your brother ever went down, Yoongi would be right there with him fighting to the bitter end.

‘You look tired, sis,’ Seokjin says, dropping a dumpling onto your plate.

‘I’m just closing on a three year contract with the Moiwa group,’ you say, not denying it. You’ve been working on a lucrative partnership with the tech company for months, and you’re finally on the home stretch.

You’re not sure how much Seokjin knows about the family business, he rarely attends board meetings, like you’ve never seen him race.

Seokjin loosens his tie, wincing slightly as he does so.

‘How’s your collarbone?’ you ask.

Four weeks ago Seokjin had broken his collarbone and three ribs on Mount Samo. He hadn’t told you about it, but as you are each other’s next of kin, you’d found out anyway.

‘Healing,’ Seokjin says, making up for his brevity with a brilliant smile.

You know what they call your brother on the circuit.

Chaebol. Often said with a sneer, despite the fact that he can put together an Evolution IX blindfolded and drive it in a way that credits all the tuneups he can afford to pay for.

‘I hurt my shoulder,’ Yoongi tells you, teeth flashing in the half-smile-half-snarl that makes you feel lightheaded when it’s directed at you.

‘I’m sure you have plenty of people to take care of it for you,’ you say, straightfaced.

Yoongi blinks, and his lip curls again. ‘Don’t you want to?’

You laugh. ‘Are you trying to be cute? It doesn’t suit you, Yoongi.’

‘Stop flirting with my sister, Yoongi,’ Seokjin interjects, distracting you from Yoongi’s pout.

He turns back to you. ‘Are you free this weekend? I was planning to visit Daejeon.’

‘I’m free,’ you agree.

Your parents’ graves are in Daejeon. You and Seokjin go a couple of times a year.

Your phone rings. It’s your PA, Daeun.

‘I should go,’ you say, apologetic. ‘It’s hectic right now at work.’

‘At least finish your food,’ Seokjin urges.

‘I’ll pick up something before I get home,’ you reply.

Seokjin frowns. ‘I’ll drop food off at your place.’

You smile. ‘I’ll see you this weekend, ok? Keep my brother out of trouble, Yoongi.’

‘And you stay out of trouble too,’ you add.

Yoongi throws you another grin. ‘For you,’ he promises.

‘This weekend,’ Seokjin says.

Both men rise as you leave the room.

***

Seokjin wanted to drop by Yoongi’s workshop on your way to Daejeon, and you have to admit, it’s been a while since you’ve seen his crew.

Jung Hoseok, the angel-faced mechanic turned racer who has a smile and personality that can light up a room and drives like he’s halfway to heaven.

Jeon Jungkook, the youngest, a baby brother to all who of recent years seems to be trying his hardest to hide the facts of his pretty face and endearingly cute little shit personality, by getting tatted and pierced and wearing exclusively black.

There’s an unfamiliar person though, and as he turns to greet Seokjin upon your arrival, you realise it’s the beautiful man who sneered at you in the restaurant.

‘Y/N, this is Park Jimin,’ says Seokjin.

Park Jimin gives you a smile that makes you long to slap him.

‘We’ve met. Turns out, I wasn’t far off when I called you a princess.’

His comment makes your hackles rise.

‘I wish I could say it’s a pleasure,’ you say coolly.

‘How did you meet?’ Seokjin asks.

‘It was at the restaurant that night,’ you tell Seokjin, trying to shut down the line of questioning.

You turn to Yoongi, who’s leaning against a workbench, watching the whole exchange with a bemused look on his face.

‘I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like Y/N,’ Hoseok remarks, kindly. ‘It must be your fault, Jimin.’

You laugh. ‘I’m sure I have a lot of enemies, Hobi.’

If Seokjin’s the chaebol racer, and Yoongi’s the drifting king, you’re the ice princess of Cheongdam-dong.

You’re well aware that your family’s laissez-faire attitude to succession isn’t necessarily shared by all. You’ve grown so weary of the misogyny in your society that it barely even registers to you, now. You learned long ago to apologise for daring to carry on your family business lineage.

You completely miss the look that passes between Seokjin and Yoongi.

‘I’ll be back by nine,’ Seokjin says to Yoongi.

That gets your attention. ‘A race?’

‘We’ll look after him,’ Jungkook assures you sweetly.

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Who’s going to look after the rest of you?’

***

Seokjin parks the car, cuts the engine.

You unbuckle your belt, and you both walk around to the trunk to get the flowers you brought.

Seokjin asks, casually, as you walk down the path to your parents’ graves, ‘How’s work going?’

‘Still busy,’ you say, shading your eyes against the brightness of the afternoon sun.

‘The deal came through,’ you tell him. ‘I spent most of last night celebrating with my team.’

‘Congratulations,’ says Seokjin. He’s had the foresight to put on sunglasses, you can’t see most of his face.

‘Thanks,’ you reply. ‘How’s the Supra coming along?’

Seokjin and Yoongi are working on tuning up a fourth generation Supra for a client from Hong Kong.

‘It’s coming along,’ Seokjin says. He smiles wryly. ‘Jungkook keeps asking if he can ‘road-test’ it.’

You laugh along with him.

‘Yoongi says he’ll let him if he can rebuild it after,’ Seokjin continues.

You know Jungkook’s talented, but he’s not as skilled as either your brother or Yoongi.

‘You can come watch the race tonight, if you want,’ Seokjin offers.

He’s never invited you before.

‘Sure,’ you say.

‘We’ll head off when we get back,’ Seokjin says.

You’ve reached the graves.

Seokjin kneels down to lay the flowers on the ground.

You wonder if it’ll ever get easier.

***

You’re sitting in a corner of Yoongi’s workshop, watching as Seokjin and his crew get ready.

The atmosphere’s crackling with anticipation, a wild energy that has adrenaline thrumming through your veins.

Seokjin and Yoongi are hunched over the popped engine hood of Yoongi’s Nissan GT-R, talking quietly.

Jungkook and Hoseok are roughhousing by the workbench. Jungkook’s dressed in black leather and motorcycle boots, a chain round his neck, and you wonder, again, when the maknae started to become such a menace.

Jimin’s sitting on the raised walkway over Yoongi’s workshop, arms on the railing, feet dangling off the edge.

He catches you looking at him, and the slow smirk that spreads over his face is, to your chagrin, equal parts infuriating and attractive.

You can’t deny it, he’s not your usual type but he’s so fucking attractive you almost can’t stand to look at him.

His blond hair is styled back, a stray lock falls across his brow as he stares at you, almost in his eyes. His full lips are curved, smile lines crinkling the corners of his eyes.

The way his jacket’s lifted, with his arms braced on the railing, shows off his flat stomach, the plain t-shirt he’s got on doing nothing to hide how cut his torso is.

Beside you, Seokjin clears his throat.

‘You can ride with me,’ he says. He glances up at Jimin as he speaks, and you wonder how long Seokjin was watching before you noticed.

***

You’ve been in Seokjin’s Honda before, but never on a race day.

The interiors are black leather, he’s modified the sound system, of course, but most striking to you is the way the engine vibrates with power, even when he’s driving the speed limit en route to Mount Samo.

Up ahead, Yoongi’s leading the convoy. You’d glimpsed the flash of his grin as he’d cut Seokjin off at an intersection a couple miles back, and the barely leashed ferality of it had made you fantasise, for the umpteenth time, about sleeping with him.

Bringing up the rear are Jungkook, Hobi and Jimin, keeping tight on Seokjin’s tail.

You look around with interest at the cars idling at the summit when Seokjin slides smoothly into a spot next to Yoongi.

Seokjin cuts the engine, and you get out.

You’d expected Seokjin to get a reaction, your brother is striking even when he’s not driving a midnight black Honda, crimson racing stripes cutting the car in half lengthways, but to your surprise, there are an equal number of eyes on you.

Yoongi’s lit a cigarette, the glow of the lit end reflected in his dark eyes as he moves over to make a space for you next to where he’s leaning.

Smoke curls around your face as he asks, polite as ever, ‘Do you mind if I smoke around you?’

‘I don’t,’ you reassure him.

Yoongi nods. ‘I usually just have the one.’

His lips curl. ‘Then another when I win.’

Seokjin says. ‘Jimin will drive you back down when he’s scouting. We’ll see you at the bottom.’

‘Scouting?’

‘For police,’ Seokjin explains.

You look at him sharply.

‘If you want, Jimin can drive you home right now,’ Seokjin offers.

It occurs to you then, just how separate yours and Seokjin’s lives are.

Yours is a world of meetings, boardrooms, euphemisms for what one really means.

And Seokjin’s is this, nighttimes and headlamps so bright they light up the city, and a physical rawness you never see.

Your brother looks chaebol but inside? He’s this.

‘I’ll stay,’ you say. ‘Good luck.’

Seokjin’s gaze lingers on you, but he doesn’t say anything else.

When Jimin arrives Seokjin takes him aside. They have a conversation you can’t hear, they’re several feet away and Hobi’s trying to show you pictures of his new puppy.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere, the deafening roar of engines, blinding lights as three new cars arrive.

One looks like it’s heading straight for your brother’s Honda.

You tense as it approaches at full speed, screeching to a halt barely a foot from the front bumper.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, and beside him Yoongi straightens up, grinds the remnants of his cigarette to ash under his boot.

‘Who’s that, Hobi?’ you ask, as the driver gets out.

He’s tall, like your brother, good looking in a flashy way, and the way he stares at your brother as he approaches makes your skin crawl.

There’s a tattoo running up the side of his neck, next to a jagged scar.

You slip past Hoseok and go to stand next to Seokjin.

‘Hyunjin,’ Seokjin says, neutral.

Yoongi just stares back, lip curled in a sneer.

‘Seokjin,’ the man replies. ‘Ready to be driven off a mountain?’

You tense, and Hyunjin’s gaze shifts to you.

‘I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom,’ Seokjin replies, but Hyunjin barely reacts.

He’s still staring at you.

‘Who’s this?’ he asks.

‘The person who’ll make you pay if you do anything to my brother,’ you snap.

He raises an eyebrow, gaze shifting between you and Seokjin thoughtfully.

‘You must be the ice princess. I didn’t think you’d be quite this pretty. I guess Seokjin keeps you hidden away for a reason.’

‘Shut up,’ Yoongi growls, as Seokjin shifts so he’s in front of you.

You realise Jungkook and Hoseok are behind you.

Hyunjin just laughs.

‘I’ll see you at the bottom, princess. If I beat your brother can I have a kiss?’

Seokjin says, voice low and even, ‘What about winner gets the loser’s ride?’

Your eyes widen. You know how many hours Seokjin put in on his car in Yoongi’s workshop.

Hyunjin scoffs. ‘I’m going to enjoy driving your car.’

He gives you another long look, and then he’s turning on his heel.

‘Go with Jimin,’ Seokjin says, glancing at you. ‘I’ll see you down there.’

You’re hesitant. ‘Seokjin —- that guy —-‘

‘Don’t worry,’ Seokjin says. ‘I’ll beat him.’

His expression softens.

‘It’s not my first race,’ he reminds you gently.

You realise Jimin’s got his car pulled up next to you, door open, waiting.

‘Good luck,’ you say, still uncertain.

Seokjin nods, waits until you get in the car, closes the door after you.

***

Jimin drives in silence, navigating the hairpin bends that make Mount Samo a drifter’s dream with a competence that makes you wonder why he’s not racing himself.

‘Is my brother going to be all right?’ you ask, plaintive in the quiet of the car.

Jimin doesn’t answer immediately, and you’re wondering if he heard you when you catch him looking at you in the rearview mirror.

‘Your brother will be fine,’ he says finally. ‘We’ll wait for him at the finish.’

You’re thinking about the way Hyunjin sneered at Seokjin.

‘Is it always like that?’ you ask.

Jimin takes his time answering this question too.

‘Seokjin and Hyunjin have a history,’ he tells you. He turns to you briefly.

‘You should ask Seokjin about it.’

‘Have you known Seokjin long?’ you ask.

Jimin glances at you again.

‘Not long. We started working together a few months ago.’

‘Do you race?’

‘Occasionally.’

‘Are you any good?’ you ask.

Jimin changes gears, slows to a stop.

‘Never good enough for you, princess,’ he says, flicking his gaze at you.

You feel chastened. It’s fair enough, you know that you can be a snob. It’s a learned behaviour, from your years trying to prove yourself as leader of the Kim conglomerate, but Jimin wouldn’t know that, and you doubt he’d care.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say.

Jimin parks the car, turns up the music. He glances at the clock on the dash.

‘Your brother’ll be down in twenty minutes. We’ll have an extra car to drive back - which is why Hobi and Jungkook rode together on the way here.’

‘The wager,’ you say, a question.

‘The wager,’ Jimin confirms.

‘It was all planned then?’

Jimin laughs, short. ‘Hyunjin’s predictable.’

He glances in the rearview. ‘I’ve never seen anyone drift like your brother.’

You’re processing this when he says, referring to your apology, ‘It’s fine. I’ve been nothing but a dick to you since we met.’

‘Are you any good at your job?’ Jimin asks.

There’s the faintest hint of taunting in his voice. You can’t blame him in all honesty.

You decide to tell the truth.

‘I’m inexperienced but I have a good team.’

You look out the window.

‘I don’t have a problem carrying responsibility. Out of the both of us, I was the better choice. Corporate life would have killed Seokjin.’

You press a thumb to your temple, massaging the tension headache that’s threatening to come away.

The silence in the car is deafening.

You glance at Jimin.

He’s staring at you, unreadable.

‘I’ll wait outside,’ you say.

You push your door open and step out into the cool darkness of the night.

A light rain starts to fall.

Behind you, Jimin gets out of the car. A moment later he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, the fabric warm from his body heat.

All he says is, ‘They should be here soon.’

***

Your heart accelerates when the gleam of headlights cuts through the dark.

The rain’s stopped but the tarmac of the road still glistens with wet.

You can’t see who it is, blinded as you are.

The car comes to a smooth stop not six feet from where you and Jimin, and a handful of others, are waiting.

The door opens as your vision begins to adjust, and your brother steps out.

He looks around, spots you and Jimin, lifts his hand in a wave like butter wouldn’t melt.

There’s a wave of cheering, drowned out by the roar of Yoongi’s Nissan as he cruises past, stops a little way past your brother’s car.

You don’t even notice when Hyunjin and the rest of the racers arrive, caught up as you are in the overwhelming wave of relief that your brother and Yoongi are all right.

You lose Jimin in the crowd that surges forward, eyes only on your brother as Hyunjin tosses keys on the ground at his feet, disgusted.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You check it distractedly as you head for Seokjin.

It’s an unknown number.

You’re swiping to answer when you collide with what feels like a brick wall.

You’d be off your feet if an arm hadn’t curled around you to steady you.

You look up into Hyunjin’s face.

‘Where’s my kiss, princess?’ he asks. His grip around your waist feels like steel.

You lean back.

‘I don’t remember promising you one,’ you tell him, bringing your arms up against his chest, trying to put more distance between you.

He laughs, holds tighter, starts walking you backwards.

‘Get off me,’ you warn.

‘Or what?’ he asks. ‘You gonna call your brother to come save you?’

‘She’s got more than one friend here, actually,’ comes a voice from behind you.

You turn to see Jimin, hands loose by his sides, expression hard.

‘She asked you to get off her,’ Jimin points out.

Hyunjin’s hand tightens painfully around your wrist for a heart stopping moment before he scoffs and drops it.

‘Maybe next time, princess,’ he says.

He leers at you as he steps away.

‘Are you ok?’ Jimin asks, nodding to your wrist.

‘I’m fine,’ you say automatically, despite the throbbing in your wrist. You’re used to showing no weakness.

Seokjin and Yoongi have reached you.

‘What happened?’ Seokjin asks, an edge to his voice.

‘We saw that fucker head straight for you,’ Yoongi says. The feral spark’s back in his eyes, he looks like he’s spoiling for a fight.

You tug the cuffs of Jimin’s jacket down over your wrists.

‘Nothing happened,’ you say.

Seokjin doesn’t believe you, you can tell, but you don’t want to talk about it.

Finally, he says, ‘I’ll drive you—‘

‘I can drive you home,’ Jimin says. ‘It’s on my way.’

***

You sit in the passenger seat of Jimin’s car, waiting as he grabs something from the trunk.

He gets in, tosses a heat pack into your lap.

‘He grabbed you pretty hard,’ he says. ‘You can use that if you feel sore.’

You look at it for a moment.

‘Thanks.’

‘I’m sorry I lost you for a moment there in the crowd,’ Jimin says, shifting the car into gear as he pulls out onto the road.

‘I’m not a kid,’ you say.

The heat pack feels nice.

‘You’re definitely not a kid,’ Jimin agrees.

His gaze flicks over you, so quick you wonder if you imagined it.

‘You don’t even know where I live,’ you say, with a flicker of amusement.

‘I’ll drive you anywhere you want,’ Jimin replies.

For the first time, he smiles at you, lips curving, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Where do you want to go, princess?’

***

Your back’s against the front door of your apartment, your head thrown back as Jimin presses heated kisses to your neck.

He’s beautiful, dark eyes and gleaming skin, you keep wanting to watch him but he’s kissing you so well it’s hard to keep your eyes open.

He’s got one hand under your top, smoothing circles over your skin, the other curled over your ass, squeezing your flesh.

‘Jimin,’ you breathe, your hand braced on his shoulder, fingers curling into the hair on the nape of his neck.

‘Yeah,’ he murmurs, silvery voice making you tingle. ‘Touch me, if you want.’

You slide a hand over the hardness of his torso, feeling the ridges of his abs, the tautness of him.

Skin over muscle over bone.

He’s hard all the places you’re soft.

You can’t stifle a moan as he rolls his hips against yours.

‘Where’s your room,’ he grunts, pulling a whine from your lips as he lifts his own lips from your skin.

You point, and he knits his fingers with yours, tugging you with him as he heads for your bedroom.

The door closes behind you, and in front of you, Jimin shucks his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

His beauty stops you in your tracks.

Jimin grins. He tilts his chin at you, all golden skin and bright eyes.

‘Stop staring,’ he says, bold, ‘and take your clothes off.’

You can feel your skin heat as Jimin fixes his gaze on you, watching as you fumble with the buttons on your blouse, undo the fastening on your jeans.

You can’t meet his gaze when you’re in your bra and panties.

Jimin takes two steps forward, dropping his own jeans.

You’re still looking down, so the bottom half of him comes into view first.

The waistband of his boxer briefs, stretched over taut skin, the very obvious bulge just beneath. Thighs so muscled your own thighs tighten against each other.

He lifts your chin gently so you’ll look at him.

‘Why so shy, princess? Look how hard I am.’

He doesn’t wait for a reply, lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle.

He walks you backward onto the bed, takes a moment to look at you laid on your sheets. His hand strokes over his rigid cock once, then he’s lowering himself on top of you.

He’s gentle, but you can feel the coiled power in his muscles as he grinds himself into the softness between your legs.

‘You really are a princess,’ he murmurs into the dip between your breasts, so lightly you know he’s just teasing.

He kisses the round of your breast, tongue flicking around your areola tantalisingly until you’re soaked, your hips seeking friction against his hardness.

‘Jimin,’ you plead, maddened with arousal.

‘Don’t worry,’ he soothes. ‘I’ve got you. Panties off.’

You lift your hips to pull your panties down.

There’s a rip of foil, a barely suppressed groan from Jimin as he unrolls the condom onto himself.

He positions himself above you, slides into you like he’s been doing it his whole life, and you moan, eyes squeezing shut at the stretch of him.

‘You like that?’ he asks, silvery voice deep now, breath hot against your skin.

‘Yeah,’ you cry.

He props himself on one arm, rolls his hips against yours.

‘Fuck,’ he groans.

He picks up the pace, eyes on you, flicking between your face and how he’s making your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts.

He’s glistening with a sheen of sweat now, hair flopped over his face, damp.

‘Look at you, princess,’ he murmurs, voice dropped low, breathless. ‘Look how well you take me.’

He flattens a hand over the curve of your lower belly, thumb flicking over your clit, purposeful, firm, making the pleasure build.

Slows, lifts your hips so he can fuck you deeper.

The curve of his cock hits so good you’re crying out with each rock of his hips against yours.

You come with a gasp of his name, and Jimin drops down on you, grinding, hips working.

‘Fuck,’ he groans, deep in his chest. ‘Take it, baby.’

You wind a hand around his neck, and his lips meet yours again, tongue licking into your mouth as he fills the condom.

‘Shit,’ he groans, pulling out, knotting off the condom, tossing it carelessly.

You’re breathless still, heart hammering in your chest, but you sit up, admire how he looks sprawled out on the covers of your bed, flushed and glowing.

‘You were right, you know,’ Jimin says.

He’d been looking up at the ceiling, but now he flicks his gaze at you.

‘You’re too good for me.’

You scoff. ‘Shut up. I never said that.’

Jimin laughs. ‘I didn’t say it was going to stop me from pursuing you.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Pursuing me?’

‘I said what I said,’ Jimin says.

He sits up, muscles flexing, hair pushed back. He drops a kiss on your exposed shoulder, teeth flashing as he follows it up with a playful nip.

As you’re getting up, picking up your clothes, you notice a flash of gold half-out of the pocket of his jeans.

You lift it out, curious.

Jimin says nothing as you rub your thumb over the gold badge, turn it over to see his ID.

‘You’re a cop,’ you say. It’s not a question, you have the proof in your hand, but it comes out querulous anyway.

‘I’m a cop,’ Jimin replies.

You’re trying to process. ‘Does my brother know?’

‘Seokjin knows,’ Jimin says.

He gets up, starts getting dressed too.

‘It’s illegal to race on Mount Samo,’ you say.

‘I’m undercover,’ Jimin tells you. He reaches for his badge, and you let him take it out of your loose grip.

‘What are you investigating?’ you ask.

‘Currently, your ass,’ Jimin says.

You crack a reluctant smile. ‘Could have told me you were a cop before we slept together.’

‘I usually wait for a second date before I get the handcuffs out,’ Jimin shoots back.

You laugh, but your mind’s still racing, wondering why Jimin’s hanging around with your brother and Yoongi.

You’re so preoccupied with your thoughts it takes you a moment to realise Jimin’s watching you.

‘I should get to bed,’ you say, feigning a yawn. ‘I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

Jimin asks, quietly, ‘Is there anything you want to ask me?’

You’re troubled, but you force a smile.

‘I’ll save my questions for when I’m less tired,’ you say.

Jimin’s got his jacket on, you’ve both moved out of the bedroom.

He says, ‘I’d like to see you again.’

Your smile becomes a little less forced.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

Jimin looks like he wants to say more, but all he does is nod, flash you a smile before he leaves.

The click of the latch falling into place as he pulls the door to sounds oddly final.

***

You’re tired.

You’ve been in and out of meetings all day. On top of that there’s been a problem with the city planning committee over the new property you’ve just acquired.

It was a hard fought battle but you’d managed to pip your competitor, Jungcorp, to the post. You’re not sure why Jungcorp had fought so hard for it, it’s an abandoned tower block in an unglamorous part of the city, but the land’s invaluable to you for development.

As far as you know Jungcorp’s got no vested interests in property development.

You look up, exasperated, as there’s yet another knock on your door.

It’s past 8pm, your feet are sore and all you want to do is go home and take your bra off, if you could only just finish reading and sign off on the city planning committee’s requirements.

Plus you thought you’d sent everyone from your executive team home.

Your frown softens when you realise it’s Jimin.

You’ve been texting back and forth since you hooked up, he’s called you a few times, but you’ve been too busy to meet.

‘How’d you get in here?’ you ask, getting up to greet him.

‘I’m a cop, remember?’ Jimin says. He looks as pretty as ever, dressed all in black, silverware in his ears.

‘I have security,’ you point out.

‘Jaebeom?’ Jimin asks, feigning innocence. ‘We used to work together.

You roll your eyes.

‘I thought you wouldn’t mind me dropping by unannounced like this,’ Jimin says, ‘because I brought food.’

He brings his arms round from behind his back to reveal a bag of food that makes your stomach growl, loudly and ungracefully.

‘When did you last eat?’ Jimin asks.

‘I had a protein shake for lunch,’ you say, eyeing him as he sets out boxes of noodles. ‘They’re apparently a complete meal.’

It’s Jimin’s turn to roll his eyes.

‘Prawns or chicken?’ he asks, holding out chopsticks to you.

You reach out and grasp his hand instead.

‘I’ve missed you a little,’ you say, tugging.

Jimin lets you pull him closer. ‘Yeah? I’ve missed you a lot.’

He’s close now, head tilted to yours, face barely inches away.

‘A lot?’ you ask, staring at his lips.

‘Yeah.’ His voice is husky now, and he dips his head to yours.

You meet him more than halfway, lips already parted.

Jimin’s hand curls around the back of your head as he slants his own to kiss you deeper.

‘I lied,’ he murmurs, crowding you against the edge of your desk.

‘I didn’t just come to bring you food. I came because I knew you’d look fucking sexy in your work clothes.’

He kisses you again, hips pressed against yours, hand slipping down to cup your ass.

You slip your arm around him, sighing a little as he kisses you, lips warm and sweet.

‘Eat, before we get distracted,’ Jimin says, pulling away.

You whine, disgruntled, but he’s insistent.

The noodles are hot, tasty, satiating the hunger you’ve been suppressing all day.

‘Thanks,’ you say, as Jimin gets up to clear away the food.

You’d help, but it’s the longest break from work you’ve had all day, and now that you’ve sat down on the comfortable sofa you’re not sure you can muster the willpower to get up.

Jimin looks at you knowingly.

‘Want a ride home?’

‘I should probably get back to work,’ you say, regretfully.

Jimin says, ‘You look exhausted. Here, I’ll take you home.’

You find yourself picking up your things, letting Jimin help you on with your coat, following him to the lifts.

Jimin curls an arm around you, and you lean into him as you wait for the lift.

He smells good, but more than that, he feels good, solid, his shoulder corded with muscle under your cheek.

‘You can lean on me,’ Jimin says. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but he holds you tighter when you try to pull away.

In the car, Jimin leans over to help you fasten your belt.

‘I can do it,’ you say, but he just smiles.

‘I said you can lean on me,’ he tells you. He starts the engine, puts on soft music, a lo-fi beat.

‘Sit back, princess. I’ve got you.’

You want to tell him to stop calling you princess but you’re so comfortable and warm the words won’t leave your lips.

You blink awake to find that Jimin’s parked outside your apartment building.

‘Sorry,’ you mumble, trying to orientate yourself. ‘Did I sleep the whole way?’

‘You talk in your sleep,’ Jimin tells you.

Now you’re fully awake.

‘What did I say?’

‘I didn’t know you liked my ass that much,’ Jimin says, thoughtfully.

‘What?’

He laughs. ‘Go to bed, princess. Want me to walk you up?’

‘I’ll be all right,’ you tell him. You hesitate, hand on the door handle.

‘Thanks, Jimin.’

‘Anytime, princess.’

He waits until you’re inside the doors before he drives away.

***

Yoongi rolls himself out from under the body of the Subaru he’s working on just as Seokjin approaches.

He stares at the pictures Seokjin hands him, jaw tightening, anger sparking, hot and bright, within him.

‘Does she know?’

‘Jimin says she doesn’t seem to know,’ Seokjin says, voice low, furious.

Yoongi hands him back the pictures, lip curled in disgust.

‘I think you’d better fucking tell her,’ he says.

‘It’s not just that,’ Seokjin says. ‘I got this, too.’

Yoongi listens to the recording on Seokjin’s phone, swears.

‘Shit, that asshole’s asking to be fucked up.’

‘Call the guys,’ Seokjin says, voice hard. ‘We get her and then we show him what happens to people who fuck with us.’

***

You’re hurrying, running late. You’re meeting a client from Norway in the busiest part of the city at 7pm sharp.

You glance at your watch just as the light goes green at a multiway intersection, watch the numbers indicating how long you have to cross tick down as you walk briskly across the white stripes on the road.

There’s a thunderous roar, a wave of screams, and the throng of people crossing with you disperses rapidly as you look around to see where the noise is coming from.

The crowd’s clearing, but you stay where you are in the middle of the intersection because you recognise the midnight black Honda with the red racing stripes heading straight for you, the sleek silver Nissan keeping pace alongside it.

Your brother drives slightly past you and executes a 90 degree turn so his car’s across your path, lengthways, tyres screeching.

The acrid smell of burning rubber fills your nostrils, but you almost don’t notice it, because three other cars surround you in quick succession, boxing you in.

To your left, Yoongi, dark eyes scanning you as if to assure himself you’re unharmed.

To your right, Hobi, his face more serious than you’ve ever seen him.

Behind you, Jimin, a shadow behind his blinding headlights.

Seokjin leans across the passenger seat, pushes the door open.

‘Get in,’ he says.

***

You have questions, but Seokjin waits until you’re out of the busiest part of town, when the streets get a little wider, the lights less bright, before he starts talking.

You realise he’s taking you to his apartment.

‘What’s going on?’ you ask.

‘Hyunjin threatened you,’ Seokjin says, terse, jaw tense as he navigates the expensive neighbourhood his apartment’s in.

‘He threatened me?’ you ask, sure you’ve heard wrong.

Seokjin glances at you. ‘The land you just purchased.’

You frown. ‘The square footage we fought Jungcorp over?’

‘Jungcorp is Hyunjin’s grandfather’s company,’ Seokjin says.

The puzzle pieces click into place.

You let out a low whistle. ‘Shit. And he calls you chaebol.’

‘The company’s in trouble,’ Seokjin says, ‘and they’re being investigated for running drugs out of Jamsil.’

He slides into a space in the underground car park, cuts the engine.

‘You know Jimin’s part of the narcotics squad.’

‘He didn’t say what he was investigating,’ you reply, sliding out the door, walking with Seokjin to the private lift.

Seokjin punches in the code, activates the lift, and a moment later you’re walking into his apartment.

There are pictures scattered across the coffee table in the lounge, and for once you don’t stop to admire the view of the city.

They’re all pictures of you. Full colour, high resolution.

Pictures of you in your office, walking into your apartment, at a client dinner. Even, to your horror, one of you in your bed, asleep.

‘Who took these?’ you ask. Your voice comes out tremulous, you barely recognise it.

‘Hyunjin had them sent to me,’ Seokjin replies.

You have to sit down.

‘They want you to give up the Jamsil property and land,’ Seokjin tells you.

You’re struggling to take all this in.

‘Or what?’

Seokjin doesn’t want to give you the details of what Hyunjin threatened to do to you.

‘You should stay at mine until this settles down,’ is what he settles for.

You look up at him.

‘I can’t give up the Jamsil land, Seokjin. It’s the biggest victory I’ve had since I took over the company.’

‘No victory is worth your life,’ Seokjin points out.

Logically, you know your brother is right, but you don’t know if he knows how hard you’ve fought since you took control of the reins of the Kim conglomerate.

The times you were challenged over decisions the board would have praised you for, if you were a man.

The tears you cried in secret when your spirit was battered and bruised from pretending you were immune to the snide comments, the demeaning remarks.

You know you’re stronger than the adversity you faced but it’s never been easy.

Seokjin studies your face, a look in his eyes that makes you wonder how much your older brother really knows.

‘Yoongi’ll take you home to get your things. I’ll fix us dinner for when you get back.’

***

Yoongi never really seems to expect anything from you when you’re together.

It’s a trait that you’ve come to appreciate more and more as the years go by.

He listened to your naive prattling about your friends on the odd occasion when he picked you up after school, never commenting except to ask if you wanted ice cream.

He picked you up sometimes when you were back from college, letting you choose the music you wanted to play, handing you snacks silently, sometimes smoking out the open window.

He drives quietly now, changing gears so seamlessly you barely notice even though you’re staring at his hands.

You remember once, a couple years ago, when you’d met by chance when you were walking to the metro after a disastrous blind date.

You’d been so stung by the experience the indignation had tumbled out of you, words jumbled, as he’d pulled up alongside you and offered you a lift.

Yoongi had listened all the way to your apartment, murmuring support in the lower range of his vocal register, a reassuring rumble if not any actual words.

As soon as he’d stopped the car you’d unbuckled your belt, intending to turn to him and thank him, and instead, you’d looked at him looking at you, his hair pulled back from his forehead in a tiny ponytail, eyes dark and unreadable, and you’d leaned forward and kissed him instead.

Yoongi had grunted a little, and you would have pulled away, if he hadn’t cupped the back of your head and sought your lips with a hunger that thrilled you all the way to your bones.

Heat had pooled in your belly, down low, as he licked boldly into your mouth, slid his big hands around your hips to steady you.

You’d pulled away, breathless, more than a little aroused, and he’d quirked a brow at you.

A question.

You think that if you’d showed any uncertainty, Yoongi would have stopped, and so you didn’t.

You’d taken his hardness in your mouth with a confidence fueled by the reverent, affectionate way he said your name, had learned what he liked by the way his breathing quickened until it was laboured gasps, then a single uttered, emphatic ‘fuck’ as he spilled down your throat, hand clenched on the steering wheel.

He’d given you a feral smile, thumbed away a smear of his cum from the corner of your mouth and put his hand up your skirt like it belonged there.

You’d come crying his name, once with his tongue buried deep in your cunt and another time on his cock as he drilled you into your bed.

He’d left in the morning, a kiss on your forehead and a goodbye so sweet it’s never mattered to you that you’ve never talked about that night since.

You sometimes wonder if he still thinks of it. You’ve never asked.

You look out the window as Yoongi drives.

He reaches into the centre console, tosses a packet of chocolate fish into your lap.

‘I’m not a kid, you don’t have to bribe me with snacks,’ you grouse, but you open it anyway.

The chocolate reminds you that you haven’t eaten all day.

‘Stop being cute and I won’t buy you snacks,’ Yoongi says, reasonably.

‘I’m not cute.’

He just snorts.

‘Want one?’ you offer.

‘You look like you need them more than me,’ Yoongi says, but he accepts the fish you place in his palm.

He walks you up to your building once he’s parked, waits in the living room as you pack a bag.

Once you’re back in his car you turn to him.

‘Did you see those pictures?’

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. ‘Yes.’

‘Seokjin’s worried,’ you say.

‘He’s your big brother,’ Yoongi says, neutral. ‘He worries about you like you worry about him.’

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him.

‘I’m not,’ Yoongi says. He glances in the rearview, signals to turn. ‘I’m angry.’

You put your hand on his arm. ‘You’re always angry,’ you point out, gently.

Yoongi huffs out a breath. ‘No one comes for you, especially not some half assed wannabe racer like Hyunjin.’

You’re touched at his anger on your behalf.

Yoongi looks at you. ‘Seokjin and I will take care of it.’

‘I can’t give up the Jamsil land, Yoongi. I’ve finally clawed myself some credibility.’

‘Fuck that,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘You’re not giving up jack shit for that asshole.’

His lip curls in a half snarl. ‘We’re not giving in even if I have to chain you to me to keep you safe.’

You raise an eyebrow at him.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow back.

He stops in front of the private lift to Seokjin’s apartment.

‘I think you’d like being chained to me,’ you say, unable to resist.

The smile he gives you is a mix of rueful and cocky.

‘Of course I fucking would. I’d make you like it too.’

He unlocks the doors so you can get out, rolls down the window as you get into the lift.

‘I think about that night all the fucking time,’ he tells you, voice low.

You look up at him in surprise, but don’t have time to reply before the lift doors shut between you.

***

Seokjin sets a plate in front of you.

‘Eat,’ he urges.

You pick up your chopsticks and dig in.

‘The responsible thing to do would be to tell you to give up the land,’ he says. ‘That’s what our parents would tell you to do.’

His words set off a pang of sadness that resonates in your chest.

‘If our parents were still here I wouldn’t be running the company,’ you reply.

‘I don’t want you to give up the land. I know how hard you fought for that victory.’

Seokjin takes another bite.

‘I know how hard you’ve been fighting.’

‘Running the company was always what I wanted,’ you tell him. ‘It’s just that it was supposed to be with dad at the helm whilst I found my feet.’

It’s the first time you’ve ever come close to hinting that it hasn’t been easy.

There’s sadness in Seokjin’s eyes.

‘I can put in some time at the company. I’m a Kim, too.’

‘The company is what I want,’ you say, very gently, ‘but it’s not what you want.’

Seokjin sighs. ‘What I want is for you to be happy. I am.’

You snort. ‘You have three broken ribs and a fractured collarbone.’

Seokjin smiles. ‘And you have no injuries. Let’s keep it that way.’

You clink your glasses in a toast.

‘So, Jimin, huh?’ Seokjin asks, sly.

You blink at him but don’t say anything.

Your brother manages to smirk at you anyway.

***

You’re in the gym in your brother’s building, running through your PT routine when there’s a flicker of reflection in the floor to ceiling window you’re facing.

Jimin.

‘Seokjin said you’d be down here,’ he says.

You look up at his reflection in the glass.

‘I’ve got a meeting with my board tomorrow,’ you say. ‘They’re going to want to congratulate me on the Jamsil acquisition.’

You get up from the mat, turn around, and realise he’s as sweaty as you are.

Jimin tilts his head, blond hair falling over one eye. He’s wearing a grey hoodie, unzipped, a white t-shirt underneath that’s moulded to his torso, sweatpants, hands shoved in his pockets.

The gold pendant he wears glimmers in the low light of the gym.

There’s a faint bruise on his jaw.

Unthinking, you step forward and brush a thumb over it lightly.

‘What happened?’ you ask.

Jimin stays perfectly still as you touch him.

‘Just some bangers down by the river,’ he says, vague.

‘Hurt anywhere else?’ you ask.

‘Check me over and see,’ he says, an invitation.

He’s ready for the kiss you press on him, sliding his arms around you, hands warm on the gap between your top and leggings.

You lose yourself in his kisses, only realising he’s walked you backward when your back hits the glass.

The cool press of the window against your shoulder blades is a startling contrast to the warmth of him.

Shit, why’s he so warm?

Jimin’s more insistent than usual, you can feel his erection, already rock solid, nudging at your core even between your layers of clothing.

He grunts, fingers tugging at the zipper down the front of your top, working your breasts free, hands cupping you possessively, pinching your nipples.

You’re aware anyone could walk in but you’re struggling to care, at least whilst Jimin’s hot mouth is pressed against your skin and he’s murmuring filth to you as he touches you.

You’re the one who ends up tugging your leggings down. They’re barely at mid thigh before Jimin’s surged forward, entering you to the hilt in one stroke.

‘Shit, Jimin,’ you gasp. It’s tight like this, your legs pinned together.

‘Turn,’ Jimin commands.

He pulls out, turns you, one hand cupping your cheek so your face doesn’t hit the glass, the other pressed into the small of your back so your hips are angled perfectly for him to enter you again.

He fucks you hard, drilling you into the glass, cock gliding in and out of you at a pace that makes stars form behind your eyelids.

You’re not wet enough but the friction adds to the thrill.

Your nipples tighten harder against the cold of the window.

‘Look at you,’ Jimin groans. ‘Fuck, I’m gonna come so hard.’

His hand kneads the flesh of your ass, squeezing so hard you know he’s going to leave handprints.

He groans again, long, drawn out, into the back of your neck as he spills.

You’re stil recovering when he turns you around again, drops to his knees, pushes his head between your thighs.

He looks up at you, flushed, breathless still from fucking you, eyes dark as he licks up into your cunt.

He hooks his hands over your bared thighs, parts you with his thumbs, and laps at your clit.

‘Jimin,’ you gasp.

‘Yeah, fuck,’ he moans. He’s flicking at your clit with the tip of his tongue, slow circles, fingers sliding into you, curving, pressing.

You can see his come leaking out of you, dripping down his hand as your cunt spasms around his fingers.

He keeps up the pace, fingers moving in and out of you, lips suctioning at your clit, and your fingers tighten in his hair as you come.

He moans like he loves the taste of you, licking at your arousal until your knees weaken.

You get re-dressed in a hurry, Jimin helping you with most of it, shucking off his hoodie and pulling it tight around you.

‘Come on. I’ll put you to bed.’

You’re boneless from your orgasm, weary from the stress of the last few days.

You lean on him as you head back up to Seokjin’s apartment.

Jimin waits, seated on the edge of your bed as you take a shower, pulls back the covers so you can get in.

You grasp his wrist as he gets up.

‘Where are you going?’ you ask, sleepy.

‘I’ve got more to do, princess.’

Jimin presses a kiss to your forehead.

‘It’ll be over tomorrow, ok?’

‘Yeah?’

You’re so tired you can barely keep your eyes open.

‘Yeah. Promise.’

You want to ask more but you’re asleep before he leaves your room.

***

You love the view from your office, in the nighttime but also on days like today, when the sun blazes bright, laying out the city before you.

In the distance, the silhouette of Mount Samo.

It always reminds you of Seokjin.

Seokjin had asked you to back down from the deal on the Jamsil land, just until he could ‘take care of things’, but your board meeting’s been planned for months.

The success of the acquisition was meant to be the cherry on the top of the cake, the final step in proving your worth to the company.

You’d tried, at dinner last night, to articulate to Seokjin how much you needed this, but had found yourself too close to tears for comfort.

You think maybe at the end he’d understood.

You breathe in, slow, trying to get your head in the game before you face your board.

Your PA buzzes with a reminder.

You take one last look at Mount Samo in the distance and turn.

Time to go.

The walk to the meeting room’s never felt so short.

Everyone rises when you enter.

You scan the sea of faces around the U-shaped table and are about to sit when the glass door swings open.

The murmur through the room makes you turn sharply.

Your brother, tall and broad and exquisitely coiffed, walks up to stand beside you at the head of the room.

All eyes are on you, but Seokjin doesn’t seem affected in the slightest.

He leans over, and says, simply, ‘I was wrong.’

You search his gaze, and realise how wrong you were to think Seokjin has no idea what you’re going through.

The realisation makes warmth course through you.

You compose yourself enough to say, ‘That’s why our parents left the company to me, brother.’

The laugh you share makes the tension ease in a way it hasn’t in days.

You turn back to your board.

‘Let’s begin.’

***

The meeting is a success.

Maybe you’re just flying high off the reaction to your report, but you think you’ve made a significant step towards proving your abilities.

Seokjin, beside you, loosens his tie as he starts the car.

‘Where are we going?’ you ask.

‘You’ve done your bit,’ Seokjin says, glancing in the rearview as he pulls out of the space he’s parked in.

His jaw tightens. ‘It’s time to do mine.’

***

You’ve never really been on Mount Samo in the day before, and the hairpin bends that Seokjin’s manoeuvring with ease are making you a little queasy.

Seokjin glances at you in the rearview mirror, amusement on his face.

‘I could drive this blindfolded,’ he tells you.

‘That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,’ you mutter, trying to keep your eyes straight ahead instead of gaping over the sheer drop you’re inches away from.

‘What have you got planned?’ you ask.

‘We’ve actually already carried out the plan,’ Seokjin tells you. ‘I thought you’d like to be there for the final part.’

You’re curious, thinking back to the night before, when Jimin met you in the gym and then left because he had things to take care of. You’d never heard Seokjin come back, you’d assumed that you’d been asleep and that he’d been quiet.

For the first time, you notice the dark circles under Seokjin’s eyes, marring his normally perfect complexion.

It strikes you that although you’ve been bemoaning your brother’s lack of involvement in your work life, you know very little about what he gets up to.

‘What did you do, Seokjin?’ you ask.

‘Nothing Hyunjin didn’t have coming to him,’ Seokjin replies.

He shrugs.

‘I set him up to meet again today so he could have a chance to win back the car I won from him the other day. I gave Jimin all the pictures Hyunjin sent me, the threats he sent against you.’

Seokjin’s lips thin into a hard line.

‘Hyunjin’s car’s been captured on CCTV in a notorious spot in Jamsil that the narcotics squad have been monitoring.’

You’re staring at your brother.

‘There are traces of narcotics in the trunk.’

Seokjin blinks. ‘Jimin knows I won the car, but he left with you that night so he hasn’t seen it driven by anyone other than Hyunjin.’

You see what your brother’s done.

You turn to him, realising only now, how carefully he’s been watching you this whole time.

Seokjin’s voice is carefully neutral. ‘This is the kind of thing your big brother gets up to.’

Seokjin doesn’t know about everything in your life, and you don’t know everything about his.

All you know is, he’s your brother, and you can stand up for him like he stood up for you.

You put your hand on his, where it’s loosely curled over the gear shaft.

‘Guess you’re a good big brother after all.’

Seokjin fixes his gaze on your joined hands, throat bobbing as he swallows.

‘I’m the best,’ he agrees, giving you a crooked smile.

***

When you make it to the summit, Yoongi’s already there, peering through binoculars.

‘Hey princess,’ he says, shifting over on the hood of his car to make room for you.

He hands you the binoculars, casual. ‘Check this out.’

You hold the binoculars up, and Yoongi gently pushes you in the right direction, fingers warm under your chin.

The scene’s a few hundred feet down from the summit, and for once you’re not distracted by the vertiginous drop.

There’s Hyunjin’s distinctive car flanked by a tactical team, all clad in distinctive blue and yellow jackets over bulletproof vests.

Hyunjin, hands above his head.

A flash of blonde hair you’d know anywhere.

Jimin cuffing him and guiding him to an armoured van.

Beside you, there’s the clink of a lighter as Yoongi lights a cigarette.

You lower the binoculars.

‘I guess that’s that.’

Seokjin lowers his own binoculars.

‘Guess so.’

‘Your boyfriend’s a good cop,’ Yoongi remarks.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ you reply.

Yoongi’s dark eyes fix on you with interest, but all he does is hum, noncommittal.

It’s barely a quarter of an hour before a car pulls up to the summit, parks beside Seokjin’s.

Jimin steps out, still in his regs, a sight for sore eyes.

He looks tired, but he smiles when he sees you.

‘We’ve got him,’ he tells you.

‘We saw,’ you say.

‘I’ve got to go down to the precinct, then they’re sending me down to Gwangju.’

He hesitates. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. It could be months.’

You reach out and give him a hug.

He smells faintly of sweat and gunmetal, and you think you like it.

‘I guess you should call me when you’re next in town then,’ you tell him, close so only he can hear.

Jimin turns his head, lets his lips brush your cheek.

‘Is that an invitation, princess?’

‘Take it however you want it,’ you reply.

Jimin laughs. ‘I will.’

He gives you a look so heated your skin warms. He nods at Seokjin and Yoongi, gets back in the car.

You all watch him drive off.

Yoongi finishes his cigarette, grinds it into the dirt at his feet.

‘Dinner?’ Seokjin suggests.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

Yoongi curls his lip at you, that familiar slow smirk that makes your heart skip a beat.

‘Wanna ride, princess?’

Seokjin rolls his eyes. ‘See you guys at the restaurant.’

You guess he really is the best brother ever.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#jimin smut #yoongi smut #jimin fanfiction #yoongi fic #bts smut #bts fanfic

591 notes · View notes

tourturestarradio · 2 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Pairing: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami (more added later) x Mermaid reader!

Prompt: After your family jewels were stolen you were determined to get them back joining you closest friend Monkey D. Luffy on his adventure to become the king of the pirates.

Warnings: none, this follows the live action!!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

⋆｡°✩ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ★⋆ ┊ ◦ ★⋆ ┊ . ˚ ˚★

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 dry I wrapped myself in the silk robe Sham gifted to me, leaving the bathroom I made my way down the long hallway I found my way to the wardrobe peeking my head inside I saw Nami and Zoro inside, but not Luffy.

I could feel fins glowed at the thought of what happened moments ago. I shook my head of the thoughts "Y/n hurry and pick an outfit" Nami called out "o-oh! um ok..." I looked around looking through the endless amounts of clothes.

Trying on many different dresses getting both Nami and Zoro's opinions on them I went behind the cover up thingy sliding on a new dress it was my (f/c), and it was a pretty dress I looked over it seeing it matched my standards for clothes 'no sleeves, doesn't cover my gills, bottom doesn't cover my fins...perfect!' I thought to myself.

I stepped out from behind the cover up thing "o-okay you guys hated the other ones, so what about this one?" I did a little twirl, Zoro stared wide eyed muttering "wow" while Nami smirked "that's the one" I smiled a little "o-ok!" Nami ran her fingers through my hair "I can help do your hair" she offered.

I shook my head "no it's okay. I got it" Nami tilted her head "really I mean your hairs pretty long I could tie it up for you-" she reached and gathered my hair up into a ponytail I panicked and swatted her hand away "No! I-I mean. ehem...n-no thanks" I flattened my hair out, "sorry...I-I didn't mean to s-shout at you"

I gulped and hurried out of the room to calm my shaky breathing.

Zoro watched as Y/n hurried out of the room Nami muttering "nevermind..." he glanced at the door then back at Nami "did you see what was on her back?" he asked, Nami looked at him confused "what?" Zoro continued "she had a scar on her back." Nami's eyes went wide for a moment "what?" Zoro nodded "when you were putting her hair up it looked like she had a scar on her back" he explanined.

Nami sighed "something happened to her, but I don't think she wants to talk about it.." Zoro nodded "she hasn't even told Luffy, maybe she's not ready to tell yet." Nami nodded "but we can't worry about that right now, we have a dinner party to attend." Nami stated.

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

Luffy and Usopp stuffed their faces with the small food "thish is shoo good" Luffy said through bites, Usopp nodded "I know right reminds me of the time I slayed a dragon. cooked over an open flame and ate it." Zoro picked up a drink ask Luffy shouted over to him "you should this!"

Zoro picked up a glass that was filled with alcohol "I got all I need right here." Nami was speaking with a man who looked like a sheep.

"I-It's so hard to walk in these..." Y/n mumbled, both Luffy and Usopp looked at her. Sucking in a breath they both began to cough up their food choking, Y/n panicked "o-oh my gosh! A-Are you guys okay?!"

After a second of choking they caught their breath "wow Y/n...you look great" Luffy complemented, Usopp nodded in agreement.

Y/n nudged him "you don't look too bad yourself" she laughed, Klahadore cleared his throat "may I present miss Kaya" walking down the steps Y/n smiled waving at her.

Kaya waved back at Y/n "you look beautiful" Y/n waved her off her fins glowing "u-um s-same to you!" a fluttery feeling grew in her stomach. Walking over close to Zoro she grabbed a drink "hey Y/n" he called out, she glanced at him "yeah?" he stared at her "how'd you get that scar?"

She tensed up almost dropping the glass she was holding "w-what are you talking about?..." Zoro gestured to her back "the scar on your back how'd you get it?" he asked, Y/n put the glass down "I don't...I don't kn-know what you're talking about..." she muttered.

Zoro looked at her "Y/n come on you-" she stopped him "even if I did have a scar i-it's none of your business of ho-how I got it." she stated, walking away. Zoro felt bad for making her upset Nami watched as Y/n left the room to follow Kaya and the others to the dinning room.

Going over to Zoro she looked confused "what did you say to her?" he stood up "I asked about the scar." Nami facepalmed "you idiot. you said it yourself "maybe she's not ready to tell yet" if she wouldn't even tell her best friend since childhood what happened why in the world would you think she'd tell you?" Zoro opened his mouth to speak but Nami stopped him "ya'know what nevermind. just apologize and don't bring it up again."

Nami went into the dinning room Zoro followed close behind and sighed.

Entering the lavish room Nami smirked "wow..." Zoro spotted Y/n sitting next to Luffy who was scarfing down food, she picked at her food not really eating much her mind obviously preoccupied.

Sighing he sat across from her while Nami sat in the empty chair next to Y/n, "Y/n. you okay?" Y/n seemingly snapped out of her dazed state "huh? oh u-uh i'm okay..." Nami tilted her head "you sure?" Y/n nodded "yes i'm okay. just thinking."

Kaya watched as everyone else ate their food Klahadore standing next to her "here Buchi has prepared your special soup" Buchi placed the bowl down Y/n looking at it in disgust "looks nasty." she muttered.

Nami looked at Kaya "Kaya it's your birthday you should be able to eat whatever you want." she stated, Klahadore quickly spoke "well Miss Kaya's medical condition necessities that I closely monitor her dietary needs" he sneered.

Nami cut back "does that also mean you need to speak for her?" Klahadore glared lightly at Nami and Nami glared back, Usopp could feel the rising tension so he decided to speak "Luffy didn't you need to take to Kaya about something?" he questioned.

Luffy nodded "oh yes! Usopp told me you owned the whole shipyard" Kaya corrected "my parents founded the shipyard and Merry has been running the business ever since they passed." Y/n frowned at the mention of her parents dying.

Was it starting to feel cramped in here or was it just her?

Standing up sharply she turned her head over to Kaya "may I...may I be excused?" Kaya looked confused but nodded "oh um yes you may."

Y/n walked out of the dinning room with her heels clicking against the floor, going outside in the garden she sat by the pond catching her breath. Breathing in and out she stopped herself from unwanted memories filling her head. Sitting on the edge of the water she watched as the flowers floated around.

Deep breath in and deep breath out.

Relaxing her shoulders she stared out into the night sky "Y/n" she jumped up and back "oh Zoro...it's you..." he stared at her "Y/n i'm...I'm sorry for asking you about your scar. didn't mean to make you upset" he admitted. Y/n felt her heart warm "it's...it's alright it's just...that scar holds a lot of memories for me." she muttered.

Lightly tugging her the top of her dress down Zoro looked at her back seeing a long jagged and uneven scar run down the middle of her spine like it had been cut.

He sucked in a breath it was bad. Pulling her dress back up she muttered "that's where my dorsal fin should be." Zoro slowly started to understand "it...it was cut?" Y/n nodded silently, "by who?" Y/n shook her head "I don't wanna talk a-about this anymore please." as much as Zoro would want to hear more he didn't want to push her.

"Alright.-" Y/n wrapped her arms around him, he tensed up "thanks for apologizing. And listening you're the first person I've ever told about that." Zoro sighed patting her head "you're welcome" she let go of him as he stood up "i'm going back inside. you coming?" Y/n shook her head "I need a moment to relax. and don't tell anyone about my scar...please."

Zoro nodded and walked away hoping the darkness of the night hid his blush well enough.

A hand snatched a sack off of the clowns head, he looked around the empty big top only to see no one there "is this the best way to ask for an autograph? I mean sheesh fans have gotten so toxic lately" he shouted out, only to be met with silence.

A gruff voice spoke "I'm no fan of yours" he let out a low growl "I run things here in the east blue. I'm here to remind you of your place in the food chain." Buggy stared at the shark man in front of him.

Standing tall in front of him Arlong spoke "you pull a jobin my seas, you gotta pay tribute." Buggy stumbled over his words "b-but Arlong baby you don't gotta worry about me, i'm small potatoes. Piratings more like a side gig."

Arlong clicked his tongue "Kuroobi tells me you ransacked orange town." Buggy sweat dropped "r-ransacked?! you should have seen the place when I got there. i-it was a real fixer upper." Arlong grew annoyed of his talking and grabbed him "you bore me, clown." opening his mouth to bite a chunk of flesh out of Buggy's neck Buggy panicked.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait! You know who's really out there disrespecting you? it's that little rubber prick in a straw hat named Luffy. and his little side kick Y/n" Arlong loosened his grip on him.

"Y/n...? So she's all grown up now...heh." Buggy nodded mildly confused about how Arlong knew Y/n but he spoke anyway "y-yeah and she's a real piece of work. annoying but nice eye-candy."

Arlong grabbed his face shutting him up swiftly "watch your mouth clown. now this Luffy, i've never heard of him"

Buggy explained "he knocked over a marine base in shell town, he's got a map to the grandline talking shit about finding the one piece." Arlong dropped Buggy letting him catch his breath.

Arlong scoffed "finding the one piece? An excuse for humans to spread their filth across the seas." Buggy sat up "listen why don't you, let me live and then I can help you find Luffy and Y/n?" Arlong grabbed the back of Buggy's head "and how do you plan on doing that?" Buggy smirked "I have eye's and ear's everywhere." he chuckled.

Letting him go a sack was placed over his head. Arlong thought to himself 'now what is my little Y/n doing swimming around with a human for?...'

Y/n sat munching on some brownies she made, duh to her not eating at dinner she grew hungry late in the night, Usopp was also in the kitchen shooting stones and the pots and pans "so you know how to bake?" Y/n nodded "yes I used to bake all the time with my brothers" Usopp looked a little shocked to hear she had brothers.

Looking at the pan he looked back at Y/n "can I have some they smell delicious" Y/n nodded "sure I didn't make a whole pan just for myself." Usopp immediately grabbed a thick slice biting down on it he felt like he tasted heaven on his tongue. "So good" he stuffed his face full of the brownies causing Y/n to giggle.

"I take it you like them?" He slowed down and nodded his head swallowing his food, brownie crumbs were around his face "you got a little something" she pointed to her face he lifted his hand to wipe off the crumbs but he missed completely.

Y/n sighed trying to stifle a laugh "a little more to the left" he missed again causing Y/n to huff pickling up a napkin she carefully wiped off the crumbs from his face. Usopp felt his heart rate increase 'no, no Usopp you like Kaya remember. Kaya.' he reminded himself.

Y/n put the napkin down chuckling "you okay" Usopp blinked "u-uh yeah I-I'm totally fine" 'someone save me!' he screamed in his mind, as if the heavens heard his please Luffy and Zoro walked into the kitchen "you couldn't sleep either?" Luffy asked.

Usopp shook his head "not after a dinner like that." Luffy walked over as did Zoro "I hope I didn't get you in trouble with Kaya. sometimes I get carried away" he reached out and grabbed the brownies Y/n made.

Usopp chuckled "oh nah it was worth it seeing that look on Klahadore's face, I thought his head was gonna explode." he laughed, out of curiosity he asked "is all that stuff you said true? ya'know with the clown and the Axe hand?" Luffy nodded "mhm! Every word."

"The one piece, you really going after that?" Luffy nodded "yep and i'm gonna be the one to find it and become king of the pirates" Luffy smiled.

A/n: Another chapter down!!! Boom! what do y'all think happened to Y/n? alright see y'all next chapter have a good day/night!!!!!

Tag List: @luuffyswife @ghostlyworld @valen-yamyam16 @juhdoche

71 notes · View notes

layla4567 · 1 year ago

Text

NSFW ALPHABET // LOKI

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He will be a true gentleman, he will hug you gently, holding you to his chest while he gives you tender kisses and massages your back. Of course he'll conjure towels to clean you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Favorite part of his body I think would be his hands, he realized how big they are to be able to cover and squeeze each part of your body but at the same time they are soft and delicate to massage and caress you. And his favorite part of your body is your legs from thigh to calf, he loves to bury his head between them and leave burning kisses (and sometimes little bites, like a kitten)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes to cum inside you and sometimes on your thighs but generally he doesn't like to get dirty so he does it inside you

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

As we know that Loki is a rascal, he sometimes pinches your butt even when there are people around just to annoy you (I think it's not that dirty but he's quite polite)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh yeah, Loki is quite experienced. I think he lived long enough not to know how to do it. He knows how to please anyone and it's his favorite thing

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he can see your face, those are his favorites. Normally he will be on top of you but he likes to see how you ride him and take control too.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Nah, I don't think he'll make jokes, he'll take it seriously. Unless you are nervous he will try to make you laugh before, during (sometimes) and after sex.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He has a little pubic hair in the upper area of his pelvis but normal, neither much nor little. I don't think he cares much about your or his hair either.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Loki is romantic and elegant, caresses, soft kisses, massages, etc. He wants to please you and make you feel like the queen/king that you are for him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Loki only masturbates when he's away from you, why would he do it when he's with you? Unless you want to help him

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

✨praise kink✨. He loves to make you feel like the queen/king that you are, because you are his and he will let you know it by whispering praise in your ear.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

It depends on how needy he is, generally he will do it in a comfortable bed in the privacy of an elegant room (royal vibes) but if the urgency is very great, he could even do it on the floor of wherever they are both.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Be daring with him. Loki usually flirts shamelessly with you because he loves to see you blushing shyly, but when you dare to follow his flirtation, things will escalate very quickly.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Kinks where you are suffering (knife, breathe play, etc) He wouldn't dare hurt you

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loki is a giver because he loves to praise you and be between your legs watching you squirm for him, something about being in control turns him on. But if you want to give him oral sex, Loki won't say no, especially if he had a tiring day.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

That depends, he can be sensual and romantic or he can be fast and rough. If you are both in a loving and cuddling mood before having sex, he will take the time to be gentle. On the other hand, if he is angry/jealous about something, well, you better prepare yourself.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

No, I don't think he does quickies. He can fuck you against a wall hard or on a bed slow and soft, but for all that he will take his time to please you and reach his own pleasure as well.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He can be in bondage and tie you or be tied (always with your consent) he is not opposed to using sex toys either, the truth is he is not someone who backs down easily so he will do what you want to do, he has no problem with that (except something that involves hurting you)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He is a god, he has a lot of energy and could do more than one round but he will stop if he notices that you can't keep up. Maybe if you're not tired he could do 2 or 3

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I think the important thing here is not whether he has it or not because he can literally conjure anything, magic, remember? At first he won't want to use them (especially on him), he doesn't know much about Midgardian things. But over time he will learn to appreciate and use them, and he will use them on you only if you want.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's the god of mischief so, yes, he obviously likes to tease you. He will probably overstimulate you or not let you cum until he says so.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loki is not one to scream or moan very loudly but he does gasp and moan softly, sometimes he can even whimper or grunt gutturally.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Although Loki likes daggers and fighting with them, he will never use them in bed, it's ironic but he doesn't like knife kink.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I would say 7 or 8 inches and average thickness. If in its jotun form, 10 to 12 inches and very thick

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Let's say he's average (? I don't see him as a guy who is horny all day (obviously he can tease you and flirt with you mischievously but that's another thing) But if you play along or are wearing something provocative you'll soon be in a bed

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Quite quickly, generally he is not tired but when he is next to you and sees you sleeping next to him, Loki catches that and sleeps peacefully with you

#marvel #x reader #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #loki laufeyson #smutty #smut #loki smut #loki odinson #loki #alphabet #smut alphabet #marvel smut #female reader #gn reader

311 notes · View notes

cherry-bomb-ships · 2 years ago

Text

Cant believe I'm just getting around to posting it but huge thanks to @self-shipping-payaso for this awesome commission!! Even as a YCH, it's still super unique and cute, and I appreciate how kind they were and willing to change things up for me! Go give their commission page a look! :3

[💜 Reblogs are all seen and very appreciated! 💜]

#stg this is definitely going on my carrd once i have the time and energy to update it #but this is so cuuuuute i wanna make it my lockscreen too 🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖#legit how i feel when im picking an f/o to thi k about for the day ehehehee #self shipping #self ship community #oc x canon #ok to rb #💜: love burning like the sun #💜: the man of my schemes #💜: where have all the good men gone #💜: you drive me wild #💜: long live the king #💜: harmony of our chaos

44 notes · View notes

divinityandfanfics · 5 months ago

Text

“One in Millions”

NEBULA

a/n: this is part 1 :3

blurb: “streamer gojo has millions of fans, and fangirls. when he announced a meet-and-greet, he spotted you in the crowd. eventually, falling in love and approaching you after the event is over.”

PART 2

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ STARRING: GOJO SATORU

WARNINGS: simping , questionable fangirls , swearing

REMINDERS;

☆ super famous streamer gojo

☆ female pronouns used for reader

☆ reader is just an ordinary fan of gojo

☆ like the DSMP, gojo is part of a gamer team named Jujutsu Kaisen

☆ non-curse au

»»————-　♡　————-««

satoru didn’t have a clue on what streaming was,

before his bestfriend, suguru introduced him to it.

he thinks it was kind of smart.

recording without the need to edit it later,

with the only consequence being that you had to perform live.

suguru told satoru and their other friends (megumi, yuji, toge, and ryomen) about it too.

eventually, they all started a gaming group.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

satoru was a normal streamer.

play games, get paid.

and, it actually pays much more than he first expected.

so he continued.

he didn’t expect people to like watching a stranger play games in front of a camera live,

a very pretty stranger at that..

but if it pays well, it pays well.

at first, he got a couple hundred people watching his streams, due to him being part of the new gamer group.

satoru grew, both to appreciate his fans, and in popularity.

he was now the most popular in their group,

jujutsu kaisen.

the members,

suguru geto,

yuji itadori,

ryomen sukuna,

toge inumaki,

megumi fushiguro,

oh, and him, satoru gojo.

like suguru, satoru had many fans- and fangirls.

but his playful demeanor, and him not being very mature led to suguru getting more simps.

i guess personality does matter.

but, that’s not the point.

satoru still had fangirls, millions of them.

women flocked in his chat, going

“omg gojo marry me!!1!1!!1”

“one chance gojo”

“JUST THE TIP GOJO PLSS”

“i would oil up for gojo tbh”

“gojo expand my domain like u did in that one fighting game🙏🏻”

“gojo my glorious gorgeous blue-eyed king”

“GOJO I LOVE YOU SM”

he was used to it now.

he was a huge streamer, with a lot of simps.

the weird comments helped fuel his ego,

so he let them be.

he never did any of those boyfriend-experience type stuff, he thinks those are pointless.

suguru and ryomen did BFE, though.

as long as people simp for just his looks, voice or anything he does normally on stream,

he doesn’t need to respond with flirty messages.

so, he just played games that are popular or those that chat recommened him to play.

eventually, he hit 20 million subscribers.

he was filled with joy.

and suguru, catching up at 18.5 mil,

requested they start a meet-and-greet where the group would be up in a stage, answering random questions from fans.

satoru thought about it for a moment, before agreeing.

a meet-and-greet would be fine.

so, the jujutsu kaisen meet-and-greet begins next month.

satoru talked about it on stream, saying the other members will also be there.

everyone was hype,

and people can watch it at home.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the time has come.

the time to meet fans in person has.

satoru and the other members went to the meet-and-greet.

the millions of fans were seated infront of the stage, and it filled the entire place.

the first up the stage was megumi, his fans screaming for him.

second, yuji, his fans cheering his name.

third, sukuna, his fans screaming his name.

next, toge, and his fans yelled for him.

then, suguru, and his fans started to yell weird shit at him.

1 - “suguru daddy!!”

2 - “babygirl!!”

3 - “SUGURU I LOVE YOUUU!!”

4 - “I WANT HIM!!”

5 - “he’s so hot in person what the fuck”

6 - “girl shut your ass up im tryna record”

7 - “OH MY DAYS SUGURU GETO PLEASE MARRY ME”

8 - “not the full name LMAOO”

9 - “i need him biblically bro”

10 - “what the actual fuck (9’s name)?”

9 - “listen, hear me o─”

11 - “WOO GETOO”

12 - “GETO I LOVE YOUR VOICE!!”

and all he does is wink at his audience.

and then, people started to squeal, waiting for satoru gojo himself.

the lights went out, replacing them with bright blue ones.

“whoever designed this wants to fuck gojo.” toge whispered to megumi.

megumi nodded at his comment, looking at satoru who was going to go up the stage.

the moment fans saw satoru’s feet land on the stage, they started making hella noise.

1 - “BITCH RECORD PROPERLY AND STOP SIMPING”

2 - “DADDY’S HOMEE!!”

3 - “gojo!!”

4 - “GOJO KEEP WALKING I’M SO CLOSE”

3 - “motherfucker what the fuck did you just say”

5 - “RAHHH GOJO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH”

6 - “SOMEONE PLAY HIS THEME SONG”

7 - “IS YOU SAY DADDY’S HOMEEE”

6 - “I SAID PLAY IT USHER SINGS IT BETTER”

7 - “FUCK YOU (6’s name)”

8 - “OH MY LORD GOJO I LOVE YOU!!”

9 - “GOJO COME HOME THE KIDS ARE WAITING”

10 - “SOMEONE RECORD THIS FOR ME”

and satoru started to chuckle, reaching the other group members as he strided across the stage.

11 - “OH MY LORD HE LOOKS SO SEXY”

12 - “bro shut the fuck up”

13 - “don’t worry (11’s name) i agree”

“wow satoru, you really got bitches, huh?” sukuna asks.

“well, i mean, you and suguru have more than me.” satoru scoffs, fixing his sunglasses.

“no worries, satoru. you’re still the most popular, remember?” suguru pats his bestfriend on the back.

satoru fakes a pout, avoiding suguru’s gaze.

just then, one of the staffs climb up the stage.

“alright, quiet down everyone!”

“today, we will ask the famous group; Jujutsu Kaisen, some questions!”

“we will give everyone 10 minutes to submit their questions in this box, which will be distributed to each fans!”

“the fellas in the navy blue chairs are megumi’s, in the orange chairs are yuji’s, white chairs are toge’s, red chairs are ryomen’s, black chairs are suguru’s, and lastly, baby blue chairs are satoru’s!”

and the staff start distrubuting the boxes, paper and pens.

and they all start to write down questions.

after the 10 minute timer went off, the staff went to pick up the boxes again.

~~~

“alright, let’s answer some of fushiguro’s!”

the staff with the mic signaled megumi to come closer to the center.

“so, fushiguro,”

“‘who was the man that walked in your room in one of your streams? he seems hot,’ by abby!”

...

“you mean my father?” megumi answered, mic in his hands.

the other group members laughed,

wait,

was his dad really that hot? (yes)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“alright, question to gojo!”

and satoru confidently walks over the center.

“‘are you single? you look very attractive’ by melanie!”

“yes, yes. i am very single, and ready to mingle!” satoru winks over at his audience, and they start going crazy.

1 - “REALLYY?? MARRY ME THEN”

2 - “OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO SEXY”

3 - “oh my fucking god he looks so good”

“hm, next question,”

“‘do you have any specific type, gojo?’ by.. oh! it’s by yuki-senpai!”

“yuki tsukumo, the famous streamer?” satoru asks.

“yes.”

“well, i guess i like girls.. who are kind, and affectionate. those who can support me even if i’m being a quote unquote, ‘little goober.’”

“with a very pleasant face that won’t make me vomit everytime i look at them!” he smiles.

the fans started to cheer, finally knowing satoru’s ideal woman.

“you didn’t have to make it so deep,” suguru let out an airy chuckle as he said that when satoru returns to the group.

“it’s true though.” satoru smirks.

“wow, and i thought you only cared about looks. i’ve been lied to.” suguru fakes a pout.

“blegh, wouldn’t want a pretty woman who only wants me for my money,” satoru chides.

“ehh, fair.”

satoru sat on his comfortable chair, watching the next question, which he assumed was for ryomen.

as satoru was eyeing the audience,

everything was chill,

until

he spotted you.

you were wearing a white t-shirt with a big jacket ontop, with some comfortable leggings on, headphones sat on your shoulders.

your backpack was nuzzled on your back, and you were seated on a baby blue chair.

you looked heavenly.

your pretty, doe eyes focusing on the stage.

your pretty plump, kissable lips.

you were perfect.

it almost made satoru drool.

“whatcha lookin’ at?” suguru spoke, snapping satoru out of his thoughts.

“nothing.” satoru shrugs.

“are you looking at a pretty woman that will possibly use you for your money?” suguru mocks.

“shut up, we don’t even know her yet.”

“so you were looking!” suguru laughs.

“ughh..” satoru takes another glance at you, before facing his friends, attempting to forget about you.

you were just another one of his manic fangirls.

another one of those women that will not hesitate to say the freakiest shit to ever come out of a human mouth.

satoru sighs,

butterflies flying in his stomach as he pictures your appearance in his mind.

he eyes the crowd again, searching for your face.

bingo,

found you.

“who’s that?” he mutters,

unfortunately loud enough for the black-haired fella to hear.

“what’s that, satoruu?” he cheekily said.

satoru gives up, letting suguru lean on his shoulder.

“who are you looking at?” suguru said, his face basically squished with satoru’s.

“that pretty girl right there.” satoru points at you, quickly taking his hand back.

“ooh, she’s pretty.”

“no shit, suguru.”

“well, maybe you should ask for her number? she’s a fan of yours!”

satoru lightens up.

right, you’re a fan!

and you’re sitting on a baby blue chair.

meaning..

you’re a fan of his!

(he was so mesmerized, that he forgot about it.)

“i’ll ask for her number later i guess..” satoru mumbles, pink tinting his cheeks.

“never saw you fall this hard for someone. nor fall in love in general.”

“well then now you have.”

“update me on how it goes later, alright?”

“i hate you, suguru.”

“yeahh, but you weren’t going to ask her if i never told you.”

“shut up.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“now’s your time, satoru.” suguru reminds his blue-eyed friend.

“i know.”

“what? because you were staring at her for the rest of the meet-and-greet?”

“what!? no! i’m not a creep!”

“uh-huhh..”

as the staff told everyone the event is over, but they can talk with their idols for the last time before going home if they want.

you stay seated in your chair, interacting with your phone.

satoru spots another girl seated next to you,

if he were to guess,

that’s probably your friend.

“(y/n)! did you see how gojo winked!? he was soo winking at me!”

“yeah, yeah. keep feeding your delusions, (f/n).”

“hey!” your friend scoffs.

“he’s a famous streamer, there’s a 90% chance he will never like you back.”

“10% is still big.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“c’mon (y/n)! you’re a fan of his too!”

“yeah, but i watch for the gameplay, not to get butterflies from his voice, or looks.”

ah, so you’re different.

you’re not one of those.. people.

you’re a normal fan, who watches for the gameplay.

finally.

satoru couldn’t say the same for your friend, though.

“c’mon (y/n)! let’s go talk to gojo!”

“ughh, fine.”

satoru shared a glance with his bestfriend, signaling you were coming.

suguru looked towards you, and told him to act normal.

satoru didn’t know how to do that, though.

the butterflies were starting to spawn in his stomach.

it almost hurt.

“hi! we’re fans!” he heard your friend speak.

“oh, hello.” he turned his head to the both of you.

he eyed you both, well, mostly you.

“greetings, my friend would like your autograph.” you handed out a notepad, with a pen.

“stop using deep words! it’s not needed!” your friend pointed at you.

“i’m talking to a famous streamer, of course i’m formal about it.”

“meh, i guess you’re right.”

satoru took the things you handed to him, writing his name on the cheap notepad.

“here you go.” he handed them back.

“thank you very much, my friend will definitely hug this all nigh─”

“thanks! thanks gojo!” your friend quickly put a hand on your mouth.

she took the notepad and pen, turning you around to leave.

“see, wasn’t so hard now, was it?” suguru smirked.

“suguru, my stomach hurts.” satoru confessed.

“that’s just the butterflies, ignore them.”

“when am i going to tell her?”

“shit, i completely forgot.”

“suguru!”

“chase after her, now!”

“alright alright─”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you and your friend were already outside, you were waiting for your friend as you scrolled on your phone.

you heard the doors open, and you took a glance.

you saw satoru leave, whipping his head left and right,

like he was looking for someone.

he looked at you,

“there you are!”

huh?

he was looking for you?

“oh, uhm, hello?” you said.

“hi─ haha-”

“what do you need?”

“i need to ask you for something!”

you tilted your head in a sign of confusion.

“you─”

...

“your number!”

your eyes widen, was the satoru gojo asking for your number?

“well, do you have your phone with you?” you ask, turning your head to him.

“i─ yeah!”

you opened your hand toward him, signaling for his phone.

he placed it on the palm of your hand.

you put in your number, giving it back to him.

“th─ thank you!”

you heard the bathroom door open, your friend squealing as she opened it.

you turned your head to glance at her, and satoru quickly went inside again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“so, how did it go?” suguru asks.

“good, i got her number.”

“congratulations! you won’t die alone now.”

“suguru! we’re not even together yet!”

“yet.”

“i hate that you’re right..” satoru’s head drops.

“i do want to make her mine. it would’ve been easier if she was one of those fangirls, but i don’t want them, they’re weird and freaky.”

“just shoot your shot, you’ll get there eventually.”

“sigh, you’re right.” satoru looks at his phone, planning to call you later tonight.

LETS GO 🫶🏻 finally done with part 1!!

hope you enjoyed, because part 2 is also done >:)

#jjk #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu satoru #satorugojo #jujutsu kaisen #satoru x you #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

82 notes · View notes

nemo-in-wonderland · 2 months ago

Text

Dorothea Marianne Starrick - Infographic

"Oh, do you care, I still feel for you So aware, What should be lost is there

I fear I will never find anyone I know my greatest pain is yet to come Will we find each other in the dark My long lost love

Safely away from the world In a dream, timeless domain A child, dreamy eyed, Mother's mirror, father's pride

I wish I could come back to you Once again feel the rain Falling inside me Cleaning all that I've become

My home is far but the rest it lies so close With my long lost love under the black rose You told I had the eyes of a wolf Search them and find the beauty of the beast

All of my songs can only be composed of the greatest of pains Every single verse can only be born of the greatest of wishes I wish I had one more night to live"

"BEAUTY OF THE BEAST" - NIGHTWISH

(first template by @phillipsgraves, thought I took the liberty to add the second page myself).

SO.

I *FINALLY* MANAGED TO FINISH DOROTHEA'S INFOGRAPHIC.

Good gods above, it took me FOREVER.

I started it around the same time I started Luscinia's, and I worked on and off on it (that freaking Family tree took me FOREVER.

F-O-R-E-V-E-R.

But now I am finally done, and oh my gods, I am so freaking happy with how all of this turned out!!

FUN FACT:

Dorothea's maternal side is COMPLETELY comprised of Templars. She descends from the Swedish Branch of the Brahe Family (Templars that operated both in Denmark and in Sweden) and the Bielke Family, who operated at the court of King Charles XIV John and, subsequentially, King Oscar I of Sweden.

(and I've written such delicious headcanon when she discovered that some of the favours her family benefitted from were due to her ancestor, Magnus, being the paramour of King Charles -gods, Phillip and Dottie got a field day with that one, lemme tell you).

On the Starrick Side, instead, you will see that the family actually took the name not from Dorothea's Great Grandfather, but from her Great Grandmother, Dorothea Harriet Starrick, a woman of sparkling intellect and the reason why the Starrick Family was initiated on the path of wealthness.

WELL, THAT IS ALL FOR NOW.

I HOPE YOU WILL LIKE THIS!

--Nemo

#Assassin's Creed #Assassin's Creed Syndicate #Crawford Starrick #Jacob Frye #Dorothea Starrick #Ship: Jottie #My ocs #Nemo Writes #My Writing #long post #the starrick-frye bunch #In the Heat of the Moment

48 notes · View notes

wukong-s-only-wife5000 · 1 year ago

Text

LMK!Wukong: First Meeting.

Pair: Wukong x Human F!Reader.

Authors Notes: As requested. :3 Also, liked how this turned out so the following shots will be based off it.

The spiders in this shot aren't the same as Spider Queen's henchmen. This shot takes place in the modern era, long before the Macaque episode.

Enjoy!

Your task was simple; go to town, get the food, go straight back home. Sweet as honey and easy as blinking, so why did the obstacles in your way have to be so… life-threatening? It was supposed to be an easy trip, so why did you end up having to run from a bunch of spider demons?! You'd just lost the group that chased you and you were so out of breath that your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest.

Inside your house, you couldn't see the disaster since you lived so far away from the village. Now, you had to hide behind a building that smelled like alcohol, secure behind two large barrels you assumed also had alcohol in them. You tried so hard to get your heart rate down, but you were pretty sure you were having a panic attack.

Your body froze and then tensed before you covered your mouth to stop the sob when a shadow walked past you. You relaxed a bit when the demon cluelessly walked right past you, probably too tall to even notice your smaller form.

“What do we have here~?” a voice from above made you tense so much you pulled a neck muscle. You craned your head back to see one of the spider demons with spider legs above on the side of the building. “C'mere!”

“AH!” You yelled out and as you were about to bolt, the demon spider was kicked through a few trees about 20 feet away before it could pounce on you. You looked to see who your saviour was and, let's just say it wasn't who or what you'd expect.

“Fear not, mortal! I am here!” the monkey grinned and took an overly confident champion pose. You looked at the monkey demon like he was crazy.

“Thanks?” you asked more than said. Were you supposed to know who he was?

“Seriously?” he looked at you as his shoulders slumped. “You don't know who I am?”

“Should I?” you shrugged before you noticed a group of spider demons as they rushed to the ‘Monkey King’ as they had called him. You clung onto him out of pure instinct.

“Whoa, easy there, girly,” he chuckled before he noticed why you reacted as you did. He detached you from him and set you aside before he attacked the approaching arachnid demons. You were honestly amazed by what you saw the overly dressed monkey do.

Monkey King? You'd never heard of such a person, but maybe it was high time you got up to date on some things. You didn't have wifi where you lived and since your place was so secluded, you never heard anything close to gossip. You continued to watch in amazement as he quickly had those spider freaks running with their tails between their legs.

“You okay there, kid?” you were snapped out of your thoughts and looked up at the monkey who didn't even seem to break a sweat.

“Um… yeah,” you nodded before your previous actions made your cheeks flush. “O-oh, I’m sorry about… ya know.”

“Hm? Oh, you mean you clinging to me for dear life?” he asked with a grin, a clear sign he was messing with you, but his words made you too embarrassed to notice. “Eh, don't worry about it, I'm just messing with you, kid,” he laughed a bit.

“Yeah… I'm not a child,” you folded your arms.

“With your strength? I hope not,” he teased, which made you clear your throat.

“A-anyway, thank you for… ya know, saving me and taking care of those spiders,”

“No problem,” he grinned, his fists on his hips as he slightly looked down at you. “So, what's your name, cutie?”

Cutie? You weren't sure how red your face was at that point, but it felt hot from the blush.

“Oh, it's (Y/n),”

“Well, it's nice to meet you, (Y/n). I am Sun Wukong, the Great Sage equal to Heaven! Otherwise known as the Monkey King,” he introduced himself with such a bright smile you had to squint a bit.

“Uh huh…”

“You seriously never heard of me?”

“Sorry,” you looked at him apologetically. He sighed in defeat but quickly shook it off.

“I should probably go,” he said and glanced off to the side.

“R-right,” you nodded when you remembered you still had some things you needed to get before you could head home.

“Do you live around here?”

“Close, but not here,” you said sheepishly as you rubbed the back of your head.

“Lone wolf, huh?” he let out an amused breath before he glanced around with a slight frown.

“Something wrong?”

“Do you live in the forest area?” He looked at you kind of seriously.

“Yeah, why?” you answered before you thought the worst. “Are there more of those spider things around?”

“It’s okay!” Wukong said as he tried to settle your nerves. “It's not that, those guys are long gone now. I just think that it’s not smart to go off on your own,”

“I've done it every day,” you pointed out with folded arms, but the thought of running into those demons didn't sit well with you. “But if you want to walk me home I won't stop you,” you said as you tried your hardest to seem confident, which made Wukong laugh.

“I like you, (Y/n). you're funny,” he snickered before he whistled and summoned a cloud; he hopped onto the cloud and then turned to you. “May I?” he asked as he offered his hand to help you.

Against your will, not only did your heart skip a beat, but you also took his hand. The shopping was long forgotten when you saw the cloud, unexpectedly, it was so soft and fluffy! You let out a yelp and clung to Wukong as he’d taken off without any type of warning whatsoever.

“Warn me next time!” you yelled at him over the wind that blew past your ears.

“Oh ho, next time, huh?” he glanced at you when you two were high enough to see the layout of the land.

“You know what I mean,” you hadn't realized your blush had subsided till that second when the blood rushed back to your cheeks.

“That your place?” he asked. You looked around his body to see what he was referring to and when you saw it… you couldn't help but notice exactly how far away the village was.

“Yeah, it is,” you responded.

“Wow, how do you get Wi-Fi or anything else from way over there?” Wukong mused before he took off again, luckily you'd prepared yourself that time.

“I don't,” you rubbed the back of your head then let out an ‘oof’ when your body slammed into his as he suddenly stopped.

“You don't have Wi-Fi or cable or any type of service?!” he asked as if you offended both his ancestors and insulted his bloodline.

“Yeah?” you raised a brow.

“Do you have electricity or are you going to tell me you live in the light of the sun and candlelight,”

“Why do you sound so offended?” you mused a bit. He looked like a feisty little monkey and you had to admit it was really cute. “I have electricity… and ac,”

“Oh, thank the gods,” he said and placed his hand on his heart, but still looked at you like you were a new breed of creature.

“What?” you questioned the monkey king.

“What do you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, you have no wifi or cable. Do you even have a TV or video games?”

“No?” you looked at him as he reacted like you stabbed him in the heart.

“Damn… I need to teach you about the best things you mortals have ever made!”

“Uh, no thanks,” you said nervously. “I'd just like to go home, please,”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed in exasperation as he moved towards your humble abode. “If you don't have a TV or any of that stuff, what do you do?”

“Well, I read,” you looked at him in amusement. “You do know what reading is, don't you.”

You didn't notice this, but that statement felt like an attack to him… ya know, since he can't read.

“Of course I know what reading is, I read all the time!” he said a bit too defensively.

“Can't read, huh, tough guy?” you saw through his bullshit, he slouched.

“Not a word,” he confessed and helped you off his cloud before he hopped off himself.

“That's okay,” you smiled at him. “Maybe to repay you for saving me, I can give you a few lessons.”

“Huh?” he looked at you in slight shock.

“It's the least I can do,” you smiled at him before you walked to your front door. You didn't see it because your back was to him, but it was his turn to blush.

Sure, he'd been treated well by few humans in his lifetime, but you… you had this way about you that made the immortal’s stone heart beat.

“Sure, if I have time,” he tried to brush it off like it wasn't a big deal.

“Well, you know where to find me,” you smiled at him as you unlocked your door. “Can I offer you a drink or something before you go, oh Great Sage?” your teasing made him grin.

“Got any peach chips?”

#request #x reader #lmk #lmk x reader #lego monkie kid #Lego: Monkey King #lego monkie kid sun wukong #monkey king #sun wukong #wukong #lmk sun wukong #lmk sun wukong x reader #wukong lmk #lego monkie kid wukong

178 notes · View notes

kaylopolis · 2 months ago

Text

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Paris: Epilogue

Alastor x F!Reader

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Dear Hoteliers,

Helluva Boss events take place after Apology Tour and after the most recent Helluva Boss short “Mission 4: Chupacabra.”

<3 Stay smutty

Paris: Epilogue

Content Warning: Self Harm, abuse, mental health, mentions of suicide

Just Outside Levittown, Envy

Tom Trench: “Five years after 'The Massacre,' V Tower is finally being rebuilt!”

Katie Killjoy: “That’s right, Tom! The Sins of Lust and Gluttony purchased a 50/50 share of the building three years ago, but after a long legal battle with Lucifer Morningstar, reconstruction can finally begin!”

Tom: “Today marks a new era between Hell Natives and Human Sinners after the Sins won the right to purchase property and run business within the once forbidden Circle! What does this mean for the travel ban on the other Six Rings? What does this mean for the economy now that Hell Natives can run and own businesses within the Pride Ring? And who will soothe the King’s butt after it was kicked in court?“

Katie: “In other news, Massacre memorials are set to begin tonight…”

You clicked the radio off.

Has it truly been five years already?

Vox.

Velvette.

Crim.

The hundreds of Souls who all got in the way.

Carmilla who tried to stop you but died trying.

The THOUSANDS of Souls after who died for no reason.

Massacred.

Charlie tried to intervene, but Vaggie wouldn’t let her near you.

Rosie focused on getting everyone away from you.

Lucifer was hurt but thankfully lived.

In the end, it was Angel who stopped you. Angel who was the only one able to get through to you...

Then it was Husk who carried you through the portal to this safe house where you still remained.

The Entertainment District had been leveled by the time you had finished.

And the red staining your fingers still hadn’t faded, no matter how hard you scrubbed.

It was the least you deserved.

Eve has been quiet since then, popping up for short moments of conversation and then disappearing. It’s almost as if all the power used to take out half of Pentagram City had drained her batteries.

Or…

Perhaps she had known that, after the destruction, you had truly given up.

No more Endgame. No more games in general. No schemes or plans or revenge.

You simply just wanted to be.

You would have ended it if you thought Eve wouldn't stop you.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Turning off the faucet, you start the kettle and head for the door.

“Tomatuh!” Rosie pressed a kiss to your cheek, her arms filled with supplies she often brought along despite your protests. Mostly food but sometimes gifts - clothes she made herself.

“Shh,” you took the goods from her. “You’re early, tea isn't ready yet”

Rosie hesitated in the doorway.

“Is something wrong?”

“Well,” The Overlord adjusted her gloves.

Something was wrong.

“Tomatuh, you know I love you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But…?”

“Can I come in yet or what?” Vaggie stepped into the kitchen.

You grit your teeth. “Rosie!”

“Hey!” The moth demon stepped in front of the Overlord. Still the warrior she was created to be. “Rosie forbade me from coming but I pushed myself through your stupid portal anyway!”

“That portal,” You held your ground, trying to look as formidable as possible - which admittedly was more pathetic than you assumed given the state of your health. “Is for Rosie only. It is not to be used for gallivanting across the Rings!”

No one was allowed here save for Rosie. The portal opened at the same time everyday - automatic magic she helped you to set up. It opened right on the porch and closed the moment she stepped through.

For Rosie. It was too much of a risk for the others to know your location. They can be captured and they can be interrogated by Heaven. Rosie was a much bigger fish to go after than say someone such as Husk.

“Listen here, asshole! I’m here because Charlie asked me to deliver this personally!” The ex-Exorcist shoved a box into your chest. “The only reason she isn’t here is because she’s at home in our bed balling her eyes out!”

The box…

“Vaggie,” Rosie pulled her back. “That’s enough.”

…it smells like…

No. That can’t be.

“…so ungrateful for everything we did for you!”

“Vagatha, that is enough! Go wait outside.”

The forest after a storm…

“She didn’t mean it.” Rosie grabbed your attention.

Your fingers started to tremble. “Where did this come from?”

Rosie pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Charlie had it boxed up at the Hotel. Apparently they did some fall cleaning with all the new Hotel guests and Angel accidentally unboxed it.”

Oh, Angel.

“Charlie’s been a mess ever since. She insisted that be sent to you right away.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I think I’ll take my tea at home today.” Rosie pulled you into a hug. “I love ya, tomatuh. Don’t you ever forget that."

And then she left.

Leaving you alone with a piece of him.

Oh! What could it be? Eve materialized on your kitchen counter.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. Your entire body and mind froze, completely entranced with the box in your hand.

All of Alastor’s stuff had been boxed up and either moved to his radio tower or to Rosie's. You forbade anyone from going to the tower - not that you yourself had returned to it since. Rosie has been there a few times to clean and check on the place, but other than that…

“There were only a few things missing…” The package was wrapped in a thick layer of dust. The only evidence that the box had been opened was the few fingerprints around the edges. Angel's fingerprints? Charlie's?

You peeled the tape off carefully, afraid that ripping the box would somehow mare his memory.

"Holy shit," you collapsed over the box and sobbed.

Alastor's coat lay folded inside - the black pinstripe suit jacket he died in. Speckles of golden and red blood crusted the surface, the fabric ripped diagonally across the chest. Atop sat Alastor's microphone, busted in half along the pole.

Something inside your chest snapped as your fingers traced the cut.

“Mourir d’amour, vivre de haine…" You mumbled.

That’s what Alastor had said to you when he died.

Dying for love.

I miss him too. The embodiment of power leans over your shoulder and huffs. Eve was fun for a while, but I agreed with you. Her plans were small and easily fixed. I never even introduced myself to her. Then I met you, and your plans were extraordinary - I didn’t even think of making Heaven destroy itself. Then we met him. She motioned to the jacket. You fell in love with the man, but I’m why you fell in love with his thirst for power and chaos.

You rubbed the tears from your eyes. “I could feel his magic even before we met. That day I came to the Hotel and Sir Pentious attacked, I felt his static moments before he appeared. I always knew before he was going to enter a room and when his shadow was nearby. Others could not. We had a connection long before the deal we made atop his radio tower - a pull I could never quite put my finger on. I've never had that with anyone else, not even Eve. You’re the reason why I could always feel his magic? Why I had access to his static even though I voided the contract? Why I could summon his magic during the Extermination?”

Oh, no. She waived her hands. I have nothing to do with Soulmates.

“Wh-what?” You stammered.

Look I know things but my magic can’t do everything…

“No. Not that. Can you explain the Soulmate part?”

Wait. You didn’t know? Ha! Oh, my God this is rich!

You blinked. “But Angels don’t have Souls…”

She shot you a dumb look, And who told you that?

You shrugged sheepishly, “Dad?”

Ugh! She rubbed her face. How can you be so smart and yet so dumb at the same time?

“Hey!”

Angel’s have Souls, babe. Soulmates share their Souls. One Soul in two bodies.

“But why would Dad make me a Soulmate?”

Answer: he didn’t. He’s a dick. But hear me out. You have been so sad and so alone for so long, do you ever think that maybe you wanted it enough that YOU made it happen. YOU willed it into being? Your upbringing wasn't precisely the picture-perfect happy childhood.

“That’s insane!”

Oh, well. Excuse me. I’m just the Book of Knowledge, I don’t know anything.

“I made Alastor?”

No! Eve threw her hands in the air. You'd shush her but no one else but you could hear her. You made a Soulmate! Fate decided who. Fuck, girl. It took thousands of years to find him, not like the Soul just popped into a body and called it yours. The Soul is made and ripped into two, it’s probably been floating around the Ether waiting for him.

“Oh…” You fisted the lapel of the jacket, finding comfort in the feel of the jacket in your hand.

That’s a compliment. Some people get shit Soulmates. Sounds like Fate was picky with you.

That made you feel a bit better.

Wait.

“Why are you trying to comfort me? You never try to comfort me.”

It’s not comfort, bitch. It’s pity.

You rolled your eyes, “Thanks.”

Eve didn’t disappear. She sat back on the armchair and watched as you folded the jacket into a nice pile on the table. “What?”

The embodiment of power crossed her legs and rested her chin in her hand. Nothing. Just waiting.

“Waiting for what?”

For you to figure it out.

“Figure what…”

Why I'm pitying you with this knowledge.

Whatever...

You grabbed for the pieces of microphone left inside the box but accidentally knocked it off the table instead. The cardboard came crashing down along with the metal. It smacked against the tile, eliciting a wave of green sparks as the microphone came to rest a few feet away.

Holy shit.

… green static.

Oh, shit!

There it is. Eve smiled.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.

That's not possible. Green static was Alastor's magic. Alastor is gone. Therefore, so should his magic.

But if his magic was still here...

Angel’s have Souls, babe. Soulmates share their Souls. One Soul in two bodies.

You looked at your hands.

It wasn't possible.

You grabbed the jacket and held it against your chest, letting Alastor's natural musk drown you in a sea of his memory. Of his hands in your hair. Of his cockeyed smile whenever his true self shined through. Of his laugh, absent of the radio static.

Blue flame lit up your right hand and in your left...

Green.

Holy shit.

“Wait but how do I…?” You spun, preparing a barrage of questions to through at Eve, but just as you had figured it out, the embodiment of power disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Bitch.

Eve wasn’t going dormant, she was just ghosting you - literally.

But then again, you already knew where to start.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath as you made your way to the front door.

“Oh, my stars!” Rosie was curled up on her couch, tea cup in hand, clearly enveloped in some book on her coffee table as you stepped through the portal.

Right. You kicked her out before her daily tea time.

“I need a favor.”

Rosie’s look of confusion turned serious, “Okay.”

While you told your tale to Rosie, you watched her look of concern turn to outright denial. “No!”

“Rosie, If there is even a small chance that this could work -.”

“And you die in the process?” She interrupted in a whisper. “This is irresponsible and based off of knowledge fed to you by her. Remember the last time you let Eve influence you?”

How could you forget? You took out half of Pentagram City.

You stepped back, your teeth clenched in anger. Not at Rosie, you could never get made at Rosie, but she was making it so easy to. “I’m doing this Rosie - with or without your blessing.”

She huffed, “If Angel were here, he’d talk some sense into you.”

“Good thing he isn’t.”

Rosie stared you down for a long time, waiting for you to break, but you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

“You know," she said, placing a hand on your cheek, her pupilless eyes softening. "I think of you like a daughter."

"I know, Rosie."

"I'm supposed to stop you." She smiled sweetly.

"I know."

"I'm not going to."

Your shoulders relaxed. "I know."

Rosie knows how powerful you are. She knew the day you practically fell on top of her that first day in Hell, and she knows now, even with tears in your eyes. She saw your resilience despite the countless days Carmilla tortured you. She knew your past and what you had come to endure. If Rosie truly believed this would kill you, she'd stop you.

You have been slowly decaying over the years. Alastor's death had taken its toll.

At the beginning, you couldn’t get out of bed. Rosie kept you alive, kept you fed and clean. If it wasn’t for this woman, who knows where you’d be right now. Yet, even now, you still found yourself crying in the kitchen whenever jazz came on on the radio. Or felt your heart skip a beat whenever a man in a dark suit and fedora walked past. Or felt that you couldn’t go outside for days after it rained for fear of it smelling too much like him.

You could barely maintain weight as you found it hard to eat. Your muscle was long gone and eyes permanently sunken from the years of crying.

Everything felt heavier. The world felt heavier.

The Overlord dropped her guard. “If you somehow get your hands on the Grimoire to do this, and that is a big ‘if,’ be safe. For my sake."

You beamed, the first time you had truly smiled about something in years. “Thank you, Rosie!” You pulled her into a hug. “I need one more thing before I go.”

After the battle atop V Tower, Lucifer had taken your cloak - the one inscribed in Leviathan. At some point over the years, your brother didn’t know what to do with it, but he certainly didn’t want to keep it. Not after the destruction you caused at the Massacre. The cloak - along with your things at the Hotel that the Hotel Natives helped clear out - were sent to Rosie. You reclaimed most of it for your beach house in Envy, but what you didn’t use Rosie stored for you.

Including the infamous cloak which started all your Shadow Overlord business.

After a quick kiss and a hug ensuring you’d be back, you snapped a portal to visit an old friend.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” The imp dove behind his desk. “There’s a front door for a fucking reason people!”

The office was empty, save for Blitz sulking in his chair while he cleaned some sort of jewel on his desk. Where the others were at you didn’t know but were thankful for it. Normally this office was chaos and you really didn’t want that right now.

“Hello, Blitz,” you pulled back the hood.

“Whaaaaaaaaat?” The imp’s jaw fell.

“I need the book.” Straight to the point.

His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead or something?” Blitz slowly climbed back into his chair.

Fuck, why did it smell like a barnyard in here?

“Not quite,” you took a seat.

When was the last time you did something like this? The last time you played the role of Shadow Overlord? When was the last time you donned this dusty cloak, sat lax in a chair, and demanded something of a Soul so nonchalantly as if it wasn’t important at all?

Did you miss those days?

“I need the Grimoire,” you repeated.

Blitz did not like the lack of explanation that you were giving him. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

You clenched your fist beneath your cloak. That’s when you noticed the inter-dimensional gem sitting atop the table.

He doesn’t have it.

“How is Stolas these days?” You asked, running a finger across his desk.

The imp slowly pulled the gem back. You could literally portal across dimensions, if the imp thinks you seek a little trinket from Asmodeus then he wasn’t as smart as you gave him credit for.

“You know, bitch. You can’t just show up here making demands after all these years and expect us to jump when you say how high!” He jutted a finger out in your direction.

This was going swimmingly.

You stood. “It was so nice to see you again, Blitzy.”

“Fuck you, Angel bitch!” He flipped you off as you stepped through the portal.

Blitz is clearly pissed about something. Given that he now had an inter-dimensional gem and not the Grimoire, you were about to find out why as you knocked on the door of its owner.

“Gerald, if my dad Hell Eats one more pint of ice cream, just cancel the fuckin’-. Oh.”

Octavia answered the door.

You pulled back your hood just a touch and waived awkwardly, “Hey.”

And then she slammed the door in your face.

“Octavia, wait!” You practically jumped on the door, panic building in your chest. “Please! I need your help!”

Silence and then, “You left me!”

You blinked. What is she talking about?

“You dropped me off after the hospital and you left! I never saw you again!”

Oh… She means after Stolas told you off and forbade you from seeing her again.

“Your dad -!”

“I know what my dad said!”

“Then you know -!”

“Who cares what my dad said, that isn’t the point! I thought you were my friend, but it turns out you’re just like everyone else!” You heard feet stomping away.

Shit. Leaning against the door, you slowly sank to the ground. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to be left behind too.”

Great. Now what are you going to do?

You pulled the chain from beneath your shirt and held it between your fingers. Eve was right, Alastor was an emerald man.

Wrapped in gold as if rays of the sun, was a green emerald ring. You had thought it would be a ruby or a diamond, but green represented Alastor’s magic and that felt more suiting.

“I miss you so much it hurts.” You choked.

It had taken exactly one year before you could open the leather box Alastor left behind. You felt so guilty doing so, knowing it would never be his hand which placed it upon your finger. So, you never put it on, but you couldn’t let it go either. Thus, here it sat, hooked around a chain hanging over your heart.

“Octavia, is that my ice cream?”

SLAM!

The back of your head smacked tile as the door swung open.

“Oh, my,” A blurry Stolas put a hand to his lips.

“Hey, Stolas,” You grunted.

“Thestral?” Then his face fell flat. “Mikaela Morningstar. I thought I told you -“

“Wait!” You held your hands up. “I need your help. Please, just hear me out!”

The Prince took a look around, noticing the eyes stopping in the street to stare. “Come inside.”

One cup of tea and an ice pack later…

“You know, I don’t always harbor fugitives in my home.” The Prince stood astutely, one pinky feather out as he sipped from the fine china.

“I’m not looking for you to hide me.” You ignored the tea, the bubbles of anxiety in your chest too much to handle right now. “I’m looking to borrow the Grimoire.”

Stolas did not look surprised.

And then you explained why.

“… I loved him and he’s gone. If you had a chance to save someone you loved, wouldn’t you?”

Stolas eyed you, “And you’d be willing to die for him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“This goes against everything the Goetia stands for.”

“I know.”

“Everything I’m supposed to represent.”

“I know.”

“Why are you asking me and not trying to steal it?”

You huffed. “I’m tired, Stolas. I’m so very tired.”

So tired your bones felt like led.

The Prince sighed. “I’ve always wanted that.” He placed the cup down gently. “I just... want someone to care, if I stay or go. I want someone to want me. To want to see me. To hold me. To look at me and think 'You're the only one I want! I desire to hold you and talk to you, and never let you feel so... alone…”

Ah, now you understood.

You placed a hand atop his wing. “I’m sorry about Blitz.”

And he lay his other atop yours. “Follow me.”

____________________________________________

You landed atop the balcony, a layer of dust parting in your wake.

The metal was absent of any signs of what took place here. You had Rosie to thank for that. She came by and cleaned up everything after…

His stuff was still here, but the curtains were drawn so you didn’t have to see any of it. You might break down again if you did.

Nothing’s changed. Eve materialized in a puff of black smoke wearing the same clothes she died in. The same clothes you killed her in.

You didn’t let your mind dwell on it too long. “Let’s get started.”

You drew the Circle of Rebirth in the same spot Alastor died - courtesy of Stolas' Grimoire. The Circle is a form of ancient and forbidden magic, guarded by the Goetia but not forgotten entirely. You vaguely remember hearing rumors of it from a time you could no longer remember.

Different from a Summoning Circle - which knew the recipient’s Soul location - or a Trapping Circle - which trapped beings of other planes within it (the same Circle Eve used to trap you in the airplane hanger a millennia ago), a Circle of Rebirth was meant to trap a dying Soul’s fragments so one could piece them back together.

Technically, that meant the person had to die while in the circle for it to work.

Do you get where I am going with this?

You stood, hand covered in red chalk, and talked with Eve as you finished up the final touches. “So, a Soulmate is of one Soul in two bodies. That means Alastor’s Soul did not fade when he died. I’m carrying it.”

But it’s also technically yours. Eve sat back against the railing, a smug look on her face.

“So, we do what I did accidentally all those years ago. We rip my Soul in half.”

I like it! Eve practically cheered.

And if it doesn’t work then you die… Cool. Okay. No stress at all.

You grabbed Alastor’s jacket and cane, and placed it on your lap as you sat at the center of the Circle.

Eve bent over so she was eye level with you. Are you ready to die?

You died five years ago when Alastor took that bullet for you…

“If I die, what happens to you?” You lifted a brow.

Hmmm, Eve thought a moment. There's this adorable little Princess Morningstar I've been dying to corrupt!

Charlie!

You saw red. “Eve!”

But before you had a chance to lunge, Eve melted into a mass of ink and began the spell.

A hurricane erupted around you, whipping your hair about your face and blinding you from the world.

It exploded into the sky, bringing with it lightning and rain. A cacophony of torrential pain fell upon you as the rain pelted your skin and the wind tore at your flesh.

It felt as if your entire being, every molecular connection, was slowly being ripped in half. Green and blue light exploded from your scar as your Soul slowly seeped out from your form.

Eyes filled with burning tears, you watched as the specks of green slowly floated away and collected into a solid mass before your eyes.

The mass slowly took shape, giving birth to arms and legs…

Power is of two kinds…

...and tall ears…

One is obtained by fear…

Details set in. Alastor’s face took form in a hue of green. His eyes… His lips…

And the other by love…

“Alastor?” You screamed over the wind. You screamed through the pain.

Power derived from love…

And then the ink set in. From the wind itself the liquid trailed into the blue, swirling about it as if oil in water.

The demon smiled.

…is a thousand times more powerful than fear.

And then everything exploded.

____________________________________________

As if submerged in a river of silk, your body slipped away.

No sights. No sounds. No touch.

You were the world, and the world was nothing. Everything existed all at once and yet not at all.

You were the absence of existence, yet you continued to exist. Without form and body, you were consciousness as its birth and end.

You were dying.

If you had told yourself at the beginning of time that this is where you would end up, you would have said to yourself that you were nuts.

Before everything, you were a soldier. A general. A physical representation of God’s Will.

And everything was perfect.

Carry out missions. Train. Report. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Existence was simple and predictable, but that's what you liked about it.

Then the beatings began.

You questioned it at first. Why did God only ever call you to his office alone? Why were you the only Angel with bruises and marks after meetings?

Why was he so angry?

Then the answer became apparent because he told you.

Everything that went wrong in his life was your fault.

YOUR FAULT.

Even if it had nothing to do with you or your missions… It was your fault.

Then you tried to control the uncontrollable in order to lessen the beatings.

Which just made things worse.

Because it was your fault.

You kept it hidden because you were ordered to. But also because it would have been embarrassing.

How could God’s General, leader of his armies and vanquisher of the Leviathans not even protect herself?

Things changed; you rebelled and ran away with Eve, thinking that was the fix you needed. You thought you had moved on. You thought you had healed. But trauma is a scar that never heals, doomed to rip open again and again.

There might have come a day when you had moved on. When God was cold and dead beneath your feet, and everyone who let this happen had been destroyed or long gone by the time you broke down Heaven’s Gate.

That was the plan at least.

Power and chaos and revenge… That was what was missing from your mantra: revenge.

But, here you are: a pesky story of revenge that went nowhere.

And now you’re dead.

And it’s all your fault.

You wonder what would have happened had you not met Alastor. Had you shown up to the Hotel that day and he was woefully absent from the cast, still in Heaven with Lilith - or if Lilith had never recruited the Overlord to begin with.

You felt your thoughts starting to slip away.

Dying is confusing.

But painless.

The end of existence began creeping in, growing ever closer as if tidal waves on either side of you.

Thankfully, painless.

And you were okay with that.

"Not so fast, my doe."

____________________________________________

In an explosion of greens and blues, you were flung back. Your head hit the wall of glass with a loud crack, and your body scorched from the heat as the explosion dissipated.

The thunder ceased. The rain dried. The wind slowed.

Nothing but the silence of death filled your ears - is what you thought, anyway, but death had been painless. This was not death.

"Fuck," you groaned. The scar across your front burned as you sat up. The skin beneath your shirt felt fragile as if newly minted during the moments of your... hallucination?

And when the world stopped spinning, you froze.

A body lay curled in the fetal position, directly at the center of the Circle of Rebirth. Green steam floated off the figure, now wrapped in the black jacket he died in. In his hands, he held a microphone he often used as a cane, freshly made whole once more.

The demon groaned as words flew across his bare skin.

Holy shit.

"Alastor?" Hesitantly, you crawled to the Circle.

An ear popped up, turning in your direction as you stopped just at the edge.

"Alastor Hartfelt?" You reached slowly for his shoulder.

Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

A sob tore through your chest. "It's me. It's..."

"My doe."

The next thing you know, you had arms wrapped around you and warm lips on your own. You sobbed into his mouth, the same familiar mouth belonging to the demon you loved.

His hands were soft as they cupped your cheeks, as the scent of the forest after a rainstorm filled your nose. His hair curled around your fingers, knotting itself as you plunged them deeper.

Alastor pulled you into his lap. Cocooning you in his warmth. He was always so warm...

The demon broke the kiss, catching his breath as he said, "Shed not tears for me, my doe."

Red irises glinted with tears of their own. A green "X" was now present between his eyes were the bullet once hit.

"You left me," you sobbed. Rivers of woe flooded down your face and soaked into his gloves.

"I did not." He rested his forehead on yours. The demon breathed, simply enjoying the mere presence of you. "I never left. I have been here the entire time."

You blinked. "What?"

"I have held you long into the night when you could not sleep and guarded you when you did. I was the shoulder you cried on when you needed to and dried your tears when you were done. I caught you when you crumbled and helped you find your feet once more. I ensured no harm ever came to you and no enemy ever found you." Alastor dried the tears on your cheeks.

"I have stood by your side every moment since that day." He went for the chain around your neck and broke it in two.

"I promised you I would never leave, and I did not. I have been at your side for the past five years." He unhooked the ring, and you watched as he slipped it on your finger. "You just didn't know it." The demon pressed a kiss to your hand. “Your personal guardian angel.”

Life flooded back into your body. "Alastor!" You flung your arms around the demon, burying your face in his jacket as you sobbed.

"I love you, my doe." He held you tight.

You shook your head, "Al, I am so sorry. It's all my..."

"Stop," He held your face in his hands, his claws brushing your cheeks. "Saving you was my choice, and I'd do it again, given the chance. Your death is mine to claim, remember?"

You chuckled. How ridiculous that sounded, given the current circumstances. "How could I forget?"

Pressing another kiss to your cheek, he chuckled.

God, you missed that sound.

With his hand in yours, you watched the words from the Book of Knowledge flow from your skin into his. "How is this possible?"

Blue fire erupted along your fingers, calling to his green static.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Alastor's heart.

"My Soulmate." The demon's purr filled your chest with warmth. "That explains everything."

"I always thought it was an old wives' tale, something you told children at night before bed." You watched the green static dance across your arm, bending and moving at your will.

And the ink. The ink flowed along Alastor's jacket as if it were his own.

Long ago, you killed the Second Lady because she had tied her Soul with the power from the Book of Knowledge, thus tying it to yours. By splitting it in half, the two of you now share it, along with your original magic.

Power and chaos and love...

"Thankfully not." Alastor was solid beneath your touch. His breath filled your lungs with new life. His magic tore the weight from your bones. His heartbeat synced with yours and willed it back to full strength.

You felt reborn.

Al brushed the hair from your face, the warmth from his breath hot on your skin.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Your body chanted.

Alastor was alive.

____________________________________________

A few days later, in Paris, France, Earth...

Alastor grabbed you by the waist and flipped you around. Backing you to the railing overlooking the Seine.

“Mr. Hartfelt!” You gasped.

“Mrs. Hartfelt.” The red in his irises sparkled deviously. With his hands on your waist, the demon dipped down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips - to which you did not protest.

“What’s next, my doe?”

You breathed in his scent, his natural musk kicking up the butterflies in your belly. “Now we wait. It’s Lilith’s turn to play her part.”

“Hmm,” the demon hummed in thought. “And after?”

You smiled wider. “I’m afraid those plans have not changed.” You went for Alastor’s fedora and placed it atop your own head.

Alastor tilted his head back and laughed, a few sparks of blue popping off his shoulders. “I love you.”

You smiled, climbing to the edge of your toes to meet his lips. “Forever?”

“Always…”

And then the Radio Demon kissed his Shadow, marking the beginning of the end for humanity. All because a demon fell in love with an Angel.

To power, chaos, and love, dear readers…

Thanks for reading, Hoteliers <3

-> Afterword

Tagged Hoteliers:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff @mommymilkers0526 @eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick @cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @sawi1987 @mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah @diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta @reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages @chibistar45 @rapunzelbro @stephydearestxo

35 notes · View notes

tieronecrush · 1 year ago

Text

hot & heavy

chapter ten: a hidden gem, my own goldmine

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 10k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, ESTABLISHED relationship FINALLY, spanish cause joel is latino, fingering, unprotected p in v, dirty talkkk king joel miller, soft (and soft dom) joel, possessive joel, mentions of depression diagnosis and symptoms, struggling with self, discussion of co-parenting, angst, MAJOR doubt! and a slumber party! yay!

a/n: thank you as always to the bestie/cousin/sister wife/sweet, sweet gf @northernbluess for beta-reading this chapter, seriously i can't write without you so you're stuck with me. also this chapter is a little heavier in spanish then before, so if there are any corrections needed, please comment or message me! i went through multiple translations to try to find the best/most common, but things are bound to slip through the cracks.

Joel’s been catching up with some chores around the house this evening after Sarah’s gone to bed: dishes are washed and put away, counters wiped down and floors mopped. He reset the living room after he put the laundry in the dryer, settling onto the couch with a long sigh. Hands rub at his tired eyes, muscles aching for his bed but he is determined to stay up until you text him that you’re back at your friend’s house safe.

A few of your friends from college ended up with jobs in Austin, and tonight you’d all arranged to go out downtown. You had, sweetly, invited Joel to tag along but when you mentioned that the only other guys there would be boyfriends of your friends that were your age, he politely declined. Well, he used his daughter as an excuse because he didn’t want to admit that he was a little insecure about the age difference, even still.

It’s not even a large one, you’re twenty-five and he’s thirty-three, but with a nearly ten year old kid and his own business, he’s willing to bet he’s in a much different place in life than your friends' significant others. And if there isn’t a lot of common ground, Joel knows he’s not the most social or conversational.

Resting his eyes, his head rolls back onto the couch while the TV drones on about the latest Astros game. A short buzz from his phone in his pocket peels his eyes open, yawning quietly as he fishes the device out and flips it open.

FROM: Mariposa

Cn u pcik me up pLs????

While deciphering your drunk text, another couple are delivered and he keys down to see them as he chuckles at the antics.

I miiss u

Eveynoe is w their BFs n I wnt mine

Plesaseeeeeee J

Before he can type a response to you, an incoming call blocks out his screen, his thumb hitting the accept button quickly and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Feelin’ alright, Mari?”

A hiccup on the other line makes him laugh quietly again, your voice coming in over the music and people in the background, “No, not alright. M’sad.”

“Why’re you sad, sweet girl?”

“Cause you’re not here. Every—everybody’s…No I didn’t want a vodka water, gross! I wanna vodka soooooda with lime…Oops, sorry J. What was I saying?” A giggle from your end pulls a smile on his face, only slightly worried at your level of intoxication.

“You were telling me why you’re sad.”

“Right! M’sad cause all my friends have got their boy—” One hiccup. “Boyfriends here. And you’re aaaallllll the way at home.” Another hiccup. “I wanna be home with you.”

“I see. Well, I don’t want you to be sad, darlin’, so m’gonna come pick you up. How’s that sound?”

He hears a gasp into the phone and your voice gets quieter, imagining you holding the phone or turning your head away to a nearby friend.

“He’s coming! Jus’ to pick me up though, we gotta get back for Sar—Sarah…Yeah, she’s so cute…Well, yeah duh, he’s a DILF…I mean, to me I guess he’d be a DIAF…‘Dad I Am Fucking’…Oh, shit!” There’s a rustling as he laughs to himself overhearing your conversation, a smug smile on his face from you bragging to your friends. “M’sorry, J, god I totally forgot I was on the phone!” You punctuate your sentence with an incredulous laugh before quieting down to hear Joel.

“That’s alright, Mari. M’gonna drop Sarah with Tommy and then come and get you, okay? Can you tell me where you are?” Joel is already standing from the couch, grabbing his keys from the entryway before making his way upstairs to get Sarah into the car.

“Ummm…One sec!” The line rustles again while he stands at the top of the stairs. “Okay, we’re at that place on 11th, Nickel City.”

“Yeah, I know where that is, sweetheart. Be there soon, okay?”

“Okay. Tha—” One last hiccup. “—nks, J.”

“Anytime, amor. Anytime.”

With Sarah dropped off at Tommy’s, Joel goes into town to pick you up. It takes another twenty minutes from Tommy’s place, finding a parking spot not too far from the bar. He slips in the door and starts to comb his eyes over the crowd, most people stepping out of his way from his intimidating frame while he weaves through the masses.

Spotting you off to the side at a high-top table, some friends he recognizes from your photos dotted around the surface as well. You’re wrapped up in a conversation with the person next to you while you sit on a stool, Joel��s eyes finally landing on the person you’re talking to. It’s another man, about his height, maybe a few inches shorter. He’s got light hair, a clean-cut look with some fancy shirt on. Clearly, the guy is flirting with you, standing closer and leaning an arm around the back of your chair. Knowing how drunk you sounded over the phone, it occurs to him that you likely don’t even realize this guy’s body language, a primal possessiveness taking over his judgment.

He’s waited years for you. There’s no way in hell he isn’t putting on a show for this guy to send him a message.

Joel rolls his shoulders back, chest raising with the corrective posture. He saunters over to the table, politely smiling and waving as your friends must recognize him and welcome him to the group. He walks right up to the other side of your chair, placing a hand on your lower back and brushing against the skin exposed by the tank top you’re wearing.

A small gasp exhales from you with the surprise contact, turning your head and beaming when you see him. The look makes the wings of his butterfly flap faster, beating in time with his heartbeat.

“You’re here! M’so happy to see you.” He matches your smile before he is crushed in a hug, your arms around his neck. Unraveling from each other, you turn back toward the other man, before one of your other friends comes over to tell you something, pulling you away but still within arm’s length for Joel to keep his hand on you.

Joel reaches his hand out toward the man, “Nice to meet you…”

“Colton.”

“Nice to meet you, Colton. Are you one of the college friends?”

Colton gives a weak handshake to Joel, shaking his head with a laugh, “No, actually, never met any of ‘em until tonight. Well, except Taylor. M’relatively new to town, met Taylor through work, so you know how it is. Trying to make some connections.”

Joel has to hold back his eye roll, annoyance clear on his face at the skirting around that this Colton is doing. Joel’s heard it before from Tommy — going up to a girl and using the ‘new in town’ line to get a conversation started and to hopefully get them to leave with you to ‘show you around’.

Mine. You’re mine, he repeats to himself, the jealousy pumping in his veins.

“So’re you one of the college friends? Or an Austin friend?” Colton makes polite conversation while you turn in Joel’s arm and wrap your own around his back. Tugging on his t-shirt the fingers of one of your hands slip under the material and skim across his skin. Joel clears his throat, chuckling dryly as he keeps his gaze on Colton.

“Uh, not quite. M’the boyfriend.” His head nods to his side to you, a tight, smug smile on his face as he watches the gears in Colton’s head turn.

It’s not happening for him tonight. Or ever.

“Oh shit! You must be Joel! We’ve been waiting for you. I’ve just been making sure she’s had some water and didn’t wander off before you got here. She’s been talkin’ about you all night, made me think about how many times I’ve drunkenly ranted about my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Taylor’s my girlfriend — she’s the one with blonde hair right across the table.” Colton beams down the way as Taylor makes eye contact with him, waving to the woman as she smiles back at him.

The man is a golden retriever. And Joel thought he was some douchebag trying to hook up with his girlfriend. Joel opens his mouth to apologize for his cold behavior, but before he can your head pops up from his chest, grabbing his attention. Hands at his back scratch your nails against his skin, humming contently as you press a sloppy kiss to his jaw.

Colton considers his duties relieved and goes to find his girlfriend before Joel can thank him, leaving the two of you at the end of the table. Joel pulls his chin in to look down at you, smiling softly and moving a hand to the back of your neck.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, jus’ happy you’re here. Missed you.”

Joe presses a kiss to your forehead and you hum again, swaying sleepily in his arms. “M’glad you called me, Mariposa.”

“Can we go home now please?”

“Yeah, Mari, ‘course we can. You want me to bring you to your house?” His hands move to your sides, running up and down against the fabric of your tank top. You hook your arms around his neck and shake your head, a tiny “humpf” accompanying it.

“No, home.”

“My house?”

“Yes! Home. Wanna sleep in your bed, s’comfier than mine.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I can bring you home.”

A warm stirring is felt in his chest, steadying you in your stance and keeping an arm around your waist. You say goodbye to your friends, all of them waving to you both as Joel steers you through the bar and to his truck outside.

Joel calls Tommy on the way home, his brother telling him that Sarah’s out cold and he can bring her back in the morning when she wakes up. He presses for an answer about why Joel had to drop Sarah off, but Joel ignores Tommy’s question again and hangs up.

Safely back at his house, he helps you out of the truck and inside, walking behind you on the stairs as you stumble. It’s like a baby deer learning to walk — he’s never seen you this drunk, tipsy, sure, but never at this level. A smile crosses his face as he imagines a moment like this in the future with you, maybe after a night out for the two of you or maybe even after your wedding.

Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, tripping over your feet at the landing and recovering on your own. His hand hovers at your back, ready to break your fall if it happens.

“I’m alright, m’alright. Jus’ tripped a lil’.”

To be safe, Joel holds your hips the rest of the way up and into his room, sitting you on the edge of the mattress and gathering a t-shirt from his drawers for you to wear to bed.

“No, I want the funny one that I like,” you whine, waving a hand back at his dresser. Joel shakes his head to himself, chuckling about the fact that you still have a preference for sleep attire.

He grabs the shirt you’re talking about, a worn and washed one that he got as a joke from Tommy a few years ago. He normally wears it to sleep himself, if he wears one, or around the house if he knows he won’t be going out. It’s faded black now, yellow text that reads ‘I do know it all…I just can’t remember it all at once.’

Upon finding it in his drawer last week, you laughed hysterically and made him put it on for a Polaroid. You’ve also requested it every time you’ve stayed over since.

In front of you again, with the correct shirt, he kneels down and pats the outside of your thighs. “Can you stand for me, sweetheart?”

Using his shoulders as support, you stand on sea legs, swaying back and forth as he looks up at you. “Can I take off your skirt, darlin’?”

“Yeah, you can, cutie.” You giggle and sway wider, playing with the curls at the top of his head, turning his head to your will as he unbuttons and unzips your denim skirt. “You got some grays mixed in here, mister.”

“M’getting old, Mari. No surprises there.” He chuckles and helps you lift each foot to step out of the tube of material completely, rubbing a hand on your calf before he stands in front of you again. He’s faced with a pout, brows knit together in anger.

“You’re not getting old. You’re literally in your thirties. Not old.”

“Say that to the gray hairs then, sweetheart.”

“Gray hairs—“ Hiccup. “Mean nothing ‘sides the fact that you’re gonna be a silver fox. My silver fox.”

A content smile, closed lips, pulls the corners of your mouth up. Heavy eyelids cover your irises halfway, the sight of you so drunkenly drowsy is utterly adorable to him. Fingers grip the bottom of your tank top, kissing your forehead.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Take it all off, bay-beeee.” Your swaying causes you to stumble again, Joel catching you before you fall back onto the bed. Once you’re steady, your own hands slip under his shirt, running over his tummy while you press sloppy kisses into his neck. “Mm, want you so bad, J.”

“I love you, darlin’, and you know I want you all the time, but not tonight. You need to get some water and go to sleep. For a while.” A defeated sigh blows against his skin, rocking back on your heels and Joel holding your weight to bring you to stand straight again. “Arms up, baby.”

You comply without another ask, lifting your arms as if they’re heavy weights, allowing Joel to tug the material over your head. With a slight slap sound, your arms drop back against your sides. Joel takes off your bra for you and gets you into his t-shirt, giving you a small kiss. He walks you to your side of the bed, tucking you in.

“Be right back, sweet girl. Gonna get you some water and then you can go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay.” You sigh, nesting into the sheets and duvet. Your eyes close, soft hums filling the room as he runs downstairs, filling a glass of water and grabbing ibuprofen to leave at your bedside for the morning.

Returning to his room, he coaxed you to sit up, having you drink half the glass. He changes for bed himself, stripping down to his boxers and slipping under the covers, pulling you closer with an arm around your waist.

“G’night, Mari.”

“Mm, night, J. Thanks for coming to get me and bringing me home. Like sleeping next to you lots more than a sleepover with my friends…”

“Like sleeping next to you too, Mari. Missed you all night. M’glad you’re home now.”

“Nightie night.”

“Nightie night, sweet girl. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He pinches your side playfully, breathing a laugh out of his nose at your yelp and squeezing you closer. With a kiss to the top of your head, he lulls you to sleep with his fingertips running up and down your spine, thoughts going right back to those flash images of a future with you.

“Love you, Mariposa.”

There’s an ache all over your body, eyes too sore and crusted over with sleep to peel open when you first wake up. Light peeks through the curtains, shining onto the bed and directly at your face, making you groan into the pillow and attempt to roll over.

Unfortunately, your body is telling you to get up, find water or pain meds or some coffee, you really wouldn’t be all too picky at this moment. Rolling over onto your back, you reach out to your side and feel bedding underneath your hand, pouting to yourself when you finally open your eyes and see Joel’s gone. As you sit up, you can hear the shower turn on in the bathroom attached to his bedroom and you can hear some quiet humming from the other side of the door. A smile crosses your face, the idea of a shower nestling itself in your mind and feeling like it would be the only thing to get rid of all of this hangover.

On the nightstand next to you, there are two burgundy-colored tablets and a half glass of water, vaguely remembering last night when Joel made you drink the other half before going to sleep. Washing down the ibuprofen with the entirety of the water, you start to recount what you can recall from the night before, cringing internally when you get to the point that Joel showed up to pick you up. You don’t really remember getting home, but looking down at the t-shirt you’re wearing clues you in that Joel must have done most of the work to get you into bed.

Slipping out from under the duvet, you set the empty glass back down and slink over to the bathroom, twisting the knob and opening the door. The squeak of the hinges breaks your sneaking attempt and Joel’s humming stops.

He speaks up over the sound of the water, “Mariposa? That you?”

“I sure hope no one else would be sneaking into the bathroom this morning. Unless you have another drunk girlfriend you had to pick up from the bar,” you laugh at the self-deprecating joke, picking up your toothbrush and squeezing out a dollop of toothpaste to clean your teeth. And to get rid of the taste of tequila lingering on your tongue.

The shower curtain slides back a bit and Joel’s head sticks out, goofy grin on his face with curls hanging on his forehead. “Nah, just got the one. How’re feeling this morning?”

“Like I got beat up by a bunch of vodka sodas and a couple of tequila shots.” Your words are muffled around the foamy toothpaste, leaning back against the counter facing him.

“Yeah, you were pretty drunk, darlin’. But it was honestly cute, you’re a funny drunk.”

Turning back toward the sink, you fold over the sink to spit out and rinse your mouth out, groaning softly, “God, please tell me I didn’t do or say anything embarrassing.”

“Nothin’ too bad, but there were some things that I will be committing to memory,” Joel laughs and winks, the noise getting louder as you groan again and roll your head back.

“This is the worst part about getting drunk. People holding stupid shit you said over your head.” Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you look at Joel across the few feet separating you and watch him shake his head and grin sweetly.

“I’ll tell you what you said, sweetheart, but I think you’re in too physically fragile of a state right now.”

“God, you are right about that,” you sigh and shake your head, propping yourself off the counter you were leaning on, crossing the tiles to be only a foot from Joel’s face, “Can I join you? A shower sounds like exactly what I need right now.”

He nods quickly, halfway through the question and you chuckle at the antics, pulling the t-shirt over your head and slipping off your panties to leave both in a heap with Joel’s clothes. He opens the curtain for you and steps back toward the other wall while you close the curtain and drag yourself under the stream of water.

A sigh relaxes your chest and shoulders, closing your eyes as you let the warm water run all over you. Joel’s hands brush across your skin, the feeling of his work-worn palms sending a tingle of excitement down your skin and chilling your body even under the hot water. His thumbs cup under your breasts while the rest of his fingers splay out on your ribcage, tips of them toward your back as he holds you closer to him.

“Mm, you’re so beautiful, d’you know that, mi Mariposa? La mujer más hermosa del mundo (The most beautiful woman in the world),” Joel mumbles against your skin when he nestles into the crook of your neck, curving his back to fit with you perfectly. His hands wander from your ribs, circling around your back and drifting down to the swell of your ass where they settle with a gentle squeeze.

“I think I’m getting better at Spanish 'cause I understood that. And it was very sweet, thank you, J. I think you’re the most beautiful man in the world.” You giggle and feel Joel exhale a chuckle against your neck, peppering slow and spaced kisses along your shoulder.

“You also told me something else about what you think of me last night. Well, it was to one of your friends but you were still on the phone with me so I heard,” he stretches to full height again with a smug smirk, squeezing your ass again as you sigh.

“Oh god, what did I say to you? Did I feed your massive ego?” you tease, bringing your hands up to his shoulders and lightly scratching your nails against his skin.

“I learned that I am a DILF last night. Or according to you, I am a DIAF to you. Dad I Am Fucking.” He can barely get the last sentence out around his loud laugh, your embarrassed reaction of wide eyes and jaw dropped egging him on more.

“Stop, I cannot believe I said that. And that you heard! You’re never going to let me live that down.”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. Not a chance,” Joel can’t wipe the giggly smile off of his face as he continues, “Oh, and you also were definitely really into me getting you into pajamas last night. I asked if I could take off your shirt and you said ‘Take it all off bay-beeee’. Which was very tempting.”

“Oh my god, if you don’t stop telling me all of this right now, I won’t take anything off for you again.” It’s a thinly veiled threat, both of you know it holds zero weight.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

“Thank you,” you breathe out as you turn toward the shelf in the shower, reaching for the body wash before Joel intercepts your hand, holding it in his and lowering it to your side. He presses his chest to your back, the contact also nudging his hard cock into the flesh of your ass.

“Y’know, I woke up this morning after you were all over me last night with a fucking hard on. Aching for you. And then you come in here and ask to join me in the shower, made it come right back…” he leans down, kissing your shoulder, up your neck and to your ear, “D’you still want me, Mariposa? Hm?”

One of his hands drifts to your inner thighs, coaxing your legs apart and swiping two fingers from your entrance to your clit. Your arousal coats his fingers, a quiet whimper leaving your lips in an exhale, eyes closing and head rolling back against his shoulder.

“You still want me, mi dulzura? Feels like you do,” his lips are against your ear, voice low and gravelly, and he slowly circles your clit as you continue to whimper and writhe in his arms, “Sounds like you do, too, mi amor. Y’know, we have the whole house to ourselves, Mariposa. I want you to be loud for me while I touch you. Understand?”

Lost in the sparks of pleasure slowly building, your words get caught in your throat as one of your arms reaches up to wrap around to the nape of his neck. At the lack of response to his question, Joel pinches your clit before pulling his hand away.

“No, no, no, please. I understand. I’ll be loud for you, J. Please touch me…”

You grip the curls at the back of his head, biting your lip and opening your eyes again to look at Joel’s head at your side. His hand comes back, his thumb rubbing your clit while his middle finger sinks into you until the first knuckle. He keeps his eyes on your face, slowly working the finger in and out of your cunt, never giving it to you fully.

“Fuck, don’t tease me, Joel. Please, pretty please, gimme more.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, his nose nudging at your cheek to turn your head straight toward the tiled wall, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

“You want more, Mariposa?”

“Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Mm, and are you going to be good? Give me all your pretty sounds that I love?” Joel pushes his entire middle finger into you now, holding it there, “If I give you what you want, you gotta be loud for me, pretty girl.”

“I will, I promise.” You wiggle your hips to get any more friction building, grumbling in frustration when Joel’s other arm tugs your hips back against him, strapping you to him like a seatbelt. The thumb against your clit leaves, and as you’re about to complain again, Joel adds another finger and starts to thrust them in and out frenetically, the heel of his palm rubbing the sensitive bud at the front of your folds.

A sinful moan rolls from your gut, bouncing off of the walls of the shower and drowning out the sound of the water for a few seconds. You can feel Joel’s satisfied smirk against your skin, his mouth dipping to the crook of your neck to suck at your pulse point and leave his mark. His hand continues its rapid pace, your legs bending as they start to give out the closer you reach to the edge. To attempt to hold your weight, you lean your arms against the tiles, feeling yourself being held up by Joel’s arm tightened across your hips.

“Fuck, Joel, feels so fucking good. Oh!” Your voice pitches up when his fingers graze that spot inside your walls, the sound catching in your throat. Joel pushes deeper with his fingers, hooking them to find that same spot and petting against it with small strokes of his fingers. The sounds coming from you are uncontrollable, head falling back against his shoulder as a mess of his name, lustful whimpers and whines, and wanton moans echo in the steaming shower.

“That’s it, pretty girl, I can feel how close you are. Nearly squeezing my fingers out of ya.” Joel’s small groan vibrates against your shoulder, his hard-on being pressed into your back and leaking pre-cum. You can feel yourself clench around his fingers, the edges of your vision blurring as you near your peak. “Gonna come for me, Mari? Gonna be a good girl and come all over my hand so you can be ready for my cock?”

His words are the final push, pleasure oozing around his fingers and dripping down your folds, warmth spreading in your body as your nerve endings tingle. You can hear yourself moaning his name, small encouragements spoken in your ear as Joel continues to fuck his fingers into you throughout your orgasm. When you’re fully present in your body again, Joel slips his fingers out of you slowly, turning your head and kissing you deeply.

“Need you so fucking bad, Mariposa,” he says against your lips, kissing you fervently before speaking again, “Wanna bend you over and make you take my cock, and you’ll tell me how good it feels filling you up. You want it, pretty girl?”

“Need it, J. Please, I need you so bad.” You kiss him this time, pressing your hips back and grinding against his cock, the rumble of a mouth muffled into your mouth as your tongues meld together. Joel pulls away and grips your hips, turning both of you so his back is facing the stream of water.

“Hands against the wall, amor, arch your back for me—” You follow his instructions with one of his large hands skimming along your spine, folded to an angle at your hips. “That’s it, baby. So good for me.”

Joel takes his cock in his hands, teasing his tip at your entrance and earning a whine from you. A dark laugh is heard faintly from behind you, an equally quiet sigh of relief when he gives you just the tip.

“Mm, fuck, Mari. Estás tan apretado, y húmedo, y cálido. Nunca me voy a cansar de este coño. (You’re so tight, and wet, and warm. I’m never going to get tired of this pussy.)”

Before you can formulate any sort of response, despite not fully knowing what he said, Joel gives you a few more inches of his cock, stuttering out a moan from you before his hips set a rough, desperate pace. Grunts and groans, moans and whimpers fill the bathroom, your names exchanged back and forth as he fucks you from behind. His hands hold tightly onto your hips, digging in to surely form bruises to match the hickey at your collar, and to keep you from being rammed into the wall with how hard his thrusts are.

“More, fuck, gimme all of it, J. Want you to fill me up, make it hard to fucking walk straight.”

There’s a vibrating rumble that resonates in your own chest, Joel completely pulling out on the downstroke and heaving his chest up and down with shallow breaths.

“Fucking dirty girl. Mi chica sucia. Filthy, baby.” He runs his fingers down the line of your spine, still arched for him. You feel him lined up at your entrance again, whimpering for him and pressing your hips back to try to get him inside. Joel chuckles, shaking his head, “Mm, can’t get enough of my cock, can you, sweetheart? Greedy little thing.”

Your jaw drops open with a toe-curling moan, Joel’s hips thrusting his throbbing cock into your waiting cunt to fill you completely, the same rough and hard pace set as he makes you knock forward and brace against the wall with every movement.

“Take it, darlin’. Oh, fuck, aguantarla. Puedes aguantarla, mi dulzura. (Oh, fuck, take it. You can take it, my sweetness.)” Joel’s head rolls back with another guttural moan, tilting forward to watch his cock disappearing into your dripping hole. “Fuck, such a pretty pussy. And it’s all fucking mine, isn’t that right, Mariposa?”

“Y-Yes! Fuck yeah, it’s all yours, J. No one could ever fuck me like you,” you glance over your shoulder and he makes eye contact, a wide, knowing smile on his face. Your cunt clenches around his cock, his brutal pace hurtling you toward the edge. Just as you’re about to ask for that little bit more, he reads your mind and slips one of his hands around your front, errantly rubbing circles in your clit.

“Can feel you around me, Mari, know you’re close. You gonna let me fill you up with my come? Gonna milk my cock with your tight pussy?”

All you can do is nod, eyes shutting tightly as moans squeak out of you. One hand reaches back to grip his wrist as he keeps you right there at the edge.

“Say it, baby. Say it back to me and I’ll let you come. Give you just what you need.”

A deep breath brings enough air into your lungs to rasp out, “Please fill me up, Joel. Wanna milk your cock of everything you can give me, want you to be dripping out of me all day. Remind me of how only you can have my pussy.”

“Fuck yeah, that’s right, sweetheart. Such a good girl.” Joel eyes that you have a hand bracing you still, letting go of your hip as he fucks you, rubbing your clit continuously. He reaches his free hand around to your mouth, prodding his thumb at your lips and humming when you take it into your mouth and suck. After a minute, he pops out his saliva covered digit and brings it back to your body, pushing into the tight ring of muscle facing him. The sensation of stimulation at all three places barrels you to your high, pussy gripping his cock as everything tenses and pleasure rocks your body and clears your mind.

With the tightness felt in both holes around him, Joel takes one, two, three more thirsts before he’s spilling into you, ropes of come coating your walls and lazy jerks of his hips fucking it deeper into you.

After a moment, Joel pulls out of you slowly, gathering all that dribbles out of you and pushing it back inside with his fingers, causing a shudder down your spine.

The two of you come down from your peaks, the water running cold now. Still needing to clean yourselves, Joel washes your body while you shampoo and condition his hair as he folds over to gently exfoliate your legs. The tasks get swapped, Joel washing your hair while you wash his body.

Stepping out, he grabs a towel for you, wrapping it around you tightly and giving you a sweet, chaste kiss. He gets another towel for himself, both of you drying off and heading back into his bedroom to get dressed again.

You sit on the edge of his bed in your clothes from last night, one of his shirts pulled over your tank top and tucked into your skirt. As you comb your fingers over your wet hair, you look at Joel as he pulls on a pair of jeans standing next to his closet.

“Hey, I have a question for you, actually.”

“Shoot, darlin’.”

“Am I remembering correctly that last night when you came to the bar, you were acting a little jealous toward Colton? Did you think he was flirting with me or something and you got all possessive?” you giggle quietly.

Joel blushes and shakes his head with an overexaggerated eye roll. “Pffft, no. Don’t remember it happening like that, probably a bit clouded in your memory.”

Laughing more, you stand up and cross over to him, hands splayed on his soft tummy and head tilted away from him.

“Oh, sure. Sure, J, we’ll go with that if it makes you feel better.” Reaching up you give his cheek a gentle pat and wink at him, giggling faintly before he gathers you up in his arms and gives you a kiss.

“Good, 'cause it does make me feel better. ‘Sides can you blame me for getting a little jealous? We’ve waited like three years to get this right with each other, m’not letting it go.”

“Me neither, which is why you don’t ever have to be jealous cause it’s only you, baby.” You send him a wink and a grin, giving him a kiss before you both hear the front door open, Tommy’s voice echoing upstairs as he calls out for Joel. He looks down at you, biting his lip.

“I didn’t think he’d be bringing Sarah home this early. Uh, d’you mind that he’s here or should I jus’ say…” he trails off awkwardly, waiting for your thoughts on how to broach the fact that you’re over here, in Joel’s shirt and clearly have stayed the night with your wet hair from the shower.

“If you’re fine with him knowing, we can tell him. That is if Sarah hasn’t spilled the beans already.” Joel laughs faintly and nods, running his hands up and down your arms.

“That is highly possible. But guess we’ll have to find out when we head downstairs. And I’m apologizing now for any stupid shit my brother says.”

“You act like I don’t know Tommy already.”

“You don’t know Tommy as my girlfriend. He’s going to give you some shit, and he’s going to give a lot to me for keeping it from him.”

“Think I can survive Tommy Miller. Now, c’mon, get a shirt on, and let’s go. I need some coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Joel descendsed the stairs ahead of you, rounding the corner into the kitchen and greeting his brother as Tommy pours himself a cup of coffee. Sarah is already at the table, cereal bowl in front her as she eats and reads her book. Joel grabs two mugs from the cabinet, earning a confused look from Tommy before you walk into the room, the confusion melting into mischief. His brother nudges at Joel’s arm and winks.

“Ah, así que esta es la razón de su aventura nocturna en la ciudad. Puedo ver por qué estabas tan desesperada por mi ayuda. (Oh, so this is the reason for your late-night adventure into the city. I can see why you were so desperate for my help.)”

Joel’s eyes roll into the back of his head, “Cállate, Tommy. Necesitaba que la llevaran a casa, así que le di una. (Shut up, Tommy. She needed a ride home, so I gave her one.)”

“Claro, claro. Un paseo. (Sure, sure. A ride.)”

“Pendejo de mierda (Fucking dumbass).”

“¿Qué? No estoy diciendo que haya algo malo en ello. Estoy feliz de ver a su hijo si significa que usted consigue algunos. Finalmente. (What? I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I am happy to watch your child if it means you getting some. Finally.)” He laughs when Joel glares at him, Tommy crossing over to the table and covering Sarah’s ears. “Además, ella está jodidamente caliente. No sé lo que ve en un viejo como tú. (Plus, she’s fucking hot. Don’t know what she sees in an old man like you.)”

“Yo tampoco. Y deja de hablar de ella así. (I don’t either. And stop talking about her like that.)” Joel’s voice grits out the last sentence, his short fuse being tested with Tommy’s teasing this morning.

“No, realmente, ella es casi diez años más joven y podría conseguir a quien quisiera, pero ¿eres tú? Mejor empieza a apostar por los caballos, hermano. (No, really, she’s almost ten years younger and could get anybody she wanted, but it’s you? Better start betting on the horses, brother.)” His younger brother comes back to stand next to him, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

“Déjalo. (Quit it.)” Joel sends him another glare, grabbing the milk out of the fridge to add some to your cup.

“Maldita sea, tal vez tengo que contratar a una niñera para Sarah cuando está en mi casa. O tal vez la contrate yo mismo. (Damn, maybe I gotta hire a nanny for Sarah when she’s at my house. Or maybe I’ll hire her myself.)”

When Joel looks back at Tommy, he sees him eyeing you as you talk to Sarah at the table, smacking him upside the back of his head.

“Tommy, si no te callas la mierda ahora mismo, lo juro por Dios. (Tommy, if you don’t shut the fuck right now, I swear to god.)”

“Qué? Ella tu novia ahora? (What? She your girlfriend now?)” The young Miller questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Sí, lo es. Así que deja de hablar de lo caliente que es mi novia. (Yeah, she is. So stop talking about how hot my girlfriend is.)” Joel states matter-of-factly, shutting the fridge after returning the jug of milk.

“I understood some of that actually,” you say with a proud smile on your face, one of eager mischief on Tommy’s across the room.

Joel whips his head to you, wide eyes, “What did you understand?”

“You called him an asshole. Something about Sarah. The word girlfriend was thrown in there.”

Joel sighs quietly in relief, picking up your prepared mug of coffee.

“Oh, and something about you being old. And that your brother thinks I’m hot. ” Tommy sputters on his drink as he starts to laugh loudly, a deep blush warming Joel’s cheeks. You walk over to him and take the mug out of his hand, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Cause you’re not old and Tommy just wishes he wasn’t single at thirty years old.”

Joel laughs and Tommy waves your comment off, rolling his eyes before winking at you, “Oh please, you wish you found me before this old man.”

“Sure, Tommy. You can think that all you want, but I met you both on the same day.” Joel barks out a laugh, a smug grin on his face from you holding your own toward Tommy.

Joel looks at his brother, a smile growing on Tommy’s face, “Well, maybe you needed to get your eyes checked that day, Posey. Cause you’d have to be blind to not pick me over the decrepit ass.”

“Y’know, I’m happy to set you up with one of my friends. She likes the type of cute guys who think they’re funny.”

“I know I’m funny, Posey, so not sure if it’s gonna work out. But yes, I would like to be set up with this friend of yours, please…” You laugh and nod, sipping your coffee before answering.

“I’ll work some magic for ya, Tommy.”

“I like this one, Joel, better keep her around so she can be my wingman.”

“You say ‘this one’ as if there have been others,” Joel rolls his eyes and continues, “And I certainly don’t need your advice on that front Tommy. She’s got me as long as she wants me, but please dear god, you should not be his wingwoman. Don’t subject yourself to that torture, Mari.”

The three of you chat to catch up, Tommy genuinely asking about your time in Boston and telling you how glad he is that you’re back around to make his people happy again. The comment swells your heart before your attention is pulled to Sarah as she asks about having a sleepover with you.

“I would love to throw a sleepover with you, sweet pea. I’ll bring over all the goodies to your house and we can stay in your room and watch movies and paint our nails and do all the fun girly things.”

“Yes! And Daddy and Uncle Tommy aren’t allowed ‘cause no boys.” She points at the two of them, both of them frowning and sighing.

“Can I at least be at home, mija?” Joel jokes, and the three of you laugh as Sarah seriously considers her answer.

“Yeah, that’s fine, but you gotta leave us to do the sleepover things ourselves.”

“Deal, Bug. I can do that.”

“Oh yes! It’s all decided then, we’ll have a sleepover when your week at camp is over.” You clap your hands together and grin, already planning everything you need to do this week to prepare for it.

“Damn, Mari, you brought a lot of stuff for one night with Sarah.” Joel eyes you from head to toe, a duffle on your arm, and shopping bags in your hands. He takes the plastic bags from you, holding the back door open for you before following you over to the island to set down all of your purchases. “You do know it’s only Sarah, right, darlin’? None of her friends are coming. This is a practice run for a sleepover.”

“I know, but I wanted to make the first girly sleepover she has at her house fun. I loved having my friends stay over when I was younger, and I dunno, you’re a boy so you don’t get it.” Rustling around in the bags, you start to pull out snacks and candy, along with fun new nail polishes and nail stickers, new hair clips, some young-girl-friendly makeup, and new pajamas for Sarah and you.

“Sweetheart, this is all really nice, but let me give you some money for it all. This is a ton of stuff.” Joel glances at the counter covered in supplies, and before you can answer he’s walking to the front door to get his wallet from the entryway table.

You call out after him, “I’m not going to take it so don’t bother trying! It wasn’t even that much anyway.”

Popping back around the corner into the kitchen, cash in hand, he shakes his head with a mocking laugh, “You’re funny. Even if it was five dollars, I’m giving you ten. Now please take the cash.”

Joel stops in front of you, hand out with a hundred in his hand. A dry laugh leaves your chest, pushing his hand away as you continue to sort through everything from the shops, “Not happening. This was way less than a hundred dollars too, so definitely not accepting that. Go put it back in your wallet, Miller.”

“You’re so goddam stubborn sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah, and you’re not?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I know I’m stubborn, that’s why this argument is happening. And why I am about to do this.” Joel steps behind you, slipping the bill into the back pocket of your shorts. You groan, fishing it out and shoving it back in his hand, pushing at his chest.

Joel rebuttals with another attempt, stepping toward you but you step back, backing around to the other side of the counter as he follows closely. You hold your arms out to keep space between the two of you, not being able to hold back a laugh as you start to pick up the pace in your cyclical chase.

“Joel! I’m not taking your damn money, leave it!”

“Mariposa, please, we both know I am way more stubborn than you and m’not gonna stop unless you take it.”

Shaking your head, you turn around to actually move into a speedwalk-jog kind of walk around the kitchen, serpentining your steps.

“Darlin’, I can still catch you if you walk like that.”

“Well, I’d like to see you try.”

Joel takes that statement as a challenge, suddenly catching up with you and wrapping his arms to your front, slipping the bill in the waistband of your shorts before letting you go, putting his hands up in the air.

Wordlessly, you snatch the money from your bottoms, throw it on the counter, and go back to the pile of purchases on the counter. After all of that, you start to unload the drinks in the fridge and open the pantry to throw the sweets and other snacks on one of the shelves. Joel stands and watches you, eyes going back and forth between following your movements to all of the things lying out, including the money.

A feeling kicks up in your chest, tightening your insides with a wring. Small moments send you back to feelings like these, unsupported by actual occurrences but your brain doesn’t care about what actually happens; it prefers the what-ifs. What if this doesn’t last, what if you’re too young, what if you’re too anxious, too broken, too much and it all comes crumbling from under you before you fully realize it? What if this is one of those moments you look back on as a sign? It’s taut and consuming, begging you to say something about it to release the corkscrew.

“If this is too much or if I’m overstepping a — I don’t know — a parental boundary 'cause she’s not my kid, and I know that, of course, but I wanted to do this for Sarah. M’not the nanny that you have to reimburse anymore, I just thought it would be fun to make it like how my sleepovers used to be as a kid…”

Joel’s brows stitch together with what looks like confusion or concern, rounding the kitchen island and standing next to you. A hand on your hip closest to him presses into the flesh there, turning you toward him as the other hand reaches up to tilt your chin to him. Your eyes avoid his, embarrassment heating your body with licks of flames.

“Can you look at me? Please?” His voice is unwavering but shy, boyish. You answer with a flick of up, meeting his own stare. “Mari, sweetheart, this isn’t about anything like that. I know you aren’t ‘the nanny’ anymore, and if I’m being honest, I don’t think you were ever just ‘the nanny’ to either of us. I was being pigheaded, and I didn’t want you to take on doin’ all of this yourself. It’s jus’ automatic for me to want to cover for Sarah, with any sort of activity. Not that I don’t want you to do all of this. I can’t even begin to explain how much it means to me that you care so much for Sarah. I’m just, I’m being her dad. And not giving you the means to do things for her yourself. M’sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, J. I should have better explained myself from the beginning. I want to be a part of your lives, I want to….I don’t know, I don’t want to take the place of her mom, obviously, but I want to be someone she can do girly things with if we’re gonna be together for a while—”

“Not if, Mari. I don’t plan on letting you go without a serious fight,” Joel’s thumb brushes against your cheek as he holds your gaze, “I am so grateful and so relieved that Sarah has someone like you in her life. ‘Specially right now with everything around her mom leavin’, you’re exactly what she needs. What we both need…I will take the money back. But next time we’re splitting it, and every time after that ‘til it’s time that it’s coming outta a joint account.”

When Sarah arrives home from her playdate, Joel retreats upstairs after ordering pizza for the two of you (and him, because he claimed he was gonna sneak down) to watch something on the small tv in his bedroom. You and Sarah changed into your new pajamas and got all of the snacks moved into the living room, trekking blankets and pillows and stuffed animals from her room and around the house to build a nest on the floor in front of the couch.

Sarah had chosen The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants out of the stack of movies you had rented, popping it in and sitting back with you while you had her pick out a color for her nails. The two of you talked about camp and the past school year, her confessing a crush she has on a boy in her camp group this year. There’s only a few details you get from her as you paint her nails, giggling with her when she gets shy and telling her about your first crush.

Sarah eventually is the one to paint your nails, turning out a bit messy and abstract during the process but nonetheless it was fun. As she’s finishing up a second coat on the last nail of yours, the doorbell rings for the pizza and Joel jogs downstairs a minute later to answer the door. Carrying the boxes over to the kitchen after he paid and tipped, he grins at you and nods to the set up.

“Is that every pillow in our house?”

“Well, no, you still have the ones on your bed cause you were sitting on ‘em,” you reply as you walk into the kitchen behind Sarah, fingers splayed apart, careful not to smudge. The younger Miller does the same, looking up at Joel when she stands next to the pizza box.

“Daddy, can you get the slices for me? I don’t want to mess up my nails that Posey painted for me. Look at them! They’re so pretty!” She raises her arms up to give Joel a look, his hand taking one of hers and inspecting it.

“Gosh, Bug, these are just gorgeous. Mari did a great job,” he grins at you, giving you a wink at the same time an idea pops into yours.

“I could do your nails, J. They could match Sarah’s!” Your suggestion is immediately supported by his daughter, her small stature jumping up and down in front of him.

“Yes, yes! You need to get your nails painted, Daddy!”

“Wasn’t this sleepover ‘no boys allowed’?” he arches a brow before he grabs a piece of pizza, plopping it on a plate for Sarah to take into the other room, “If I can stay for longer than it takes to paint my nails and hang out and eat your snacks, you can absolutely paint my nails.”

Sarah takes her plate from her dad, grinning ear-to-ear as she retreats back to the blanket nest. Joel makes a plate for you, carrying it out with his own and setting them on the coffee table. With a groan, he lowers himself to the ground, leaning his back against the couch and holding out his hands to you.

“Go for it, sweetheart.”

“D’you want the same thing as Sarah or something different?”

“Hmm, what d’you think, mija? Should we match?”

“I think you should give Daddy the color I gave you, Posey. It’s so pretty!” she leans back against you, using you as a backrest while she eats her pizza carefully with her wet nails, engrossed in the movie.

“Alright, guess it’s decided then. We’ll be matching,” you smile at him, taking one hand in yours to pull it closer, relaxing it against your thigh as you open the polish bottle. Concentrating on the tasks at hand, Joel wiggles his fingers when you aren’t in the midst of painting to get your attention, holding up a piece of pizza near your face.

“Eat, darlin’. Gotta fuel your artistic brain,” he winks and smiles sweetly at you, earning a quiet laugh before you lean in and take a bite chewing as you go back to painting. You switch hands after a few more bites, giving him a break to eat his own pizza and you yours while the three of you watch the movie. Once your job is done, you close the bottle tight and set it on the table, getting Sarah’s attention to look at it.

“How’d I do, Sare-Bear? Does your dad look pretty?” Her giggles pull some from all of you, nodding and clapping her hands together.

“Daddy, you need some of my pretty stickers and then Posey needs to take a picture with her camera.” Sarah stands and moves over to the pile of beauty supplies, grabbing the pack of nail stickers you bought and picking out a sheet. She sits next to Joel, stickering around his face as he closes his eyes and lets it all happen.

“Is this what happens all the time at girl sleepovers?” He peeks an eye open at you, getting a wide smile and shrug.

“Guess we’ll have to have some more for you to really find out.” Sarah steps back from her handiwork, and you pick up the Polaroid camera, lining up the shot from the side of Joel where there’s multiple star stickers clustered around his eyes. The shutter snaps when he looks at you, spitting out the image. You hand it to Sarah to watch it develop, showing you both quickly before going to hang it on the fridge along with a few other of your shots. You snap another of him looking at you directly, soft rounded eyes filled with affection.

Once you set the camera down, holding onto that photo for yourself, his hands find your thighs, running over the soft cotton of your PJ pants.

“Thank you for doin’ this for her, she hasn’t been this happy and giggly since before you left last summer.” Joel leans in, giving you a gentle, lingering kiss. “I love you. So, so much, Mari.”

Instead of answering, you give him another kiss before Sarah walks back in, settling between the two of you on the floor nest, cuddling up within your little unit of three to finish out the movie.

A few nights after your slumber party, you sneak over to Joel’s again before bed, using the key to the back door that he had made for you. He’s sitting on the couch, a line of sight to the door and a sleepy smile tugging at his lips when he sees you.

Padding your feet across the floors, you climb onto the couch next to him and curl your legs under you while you lean into his side. His arm wraps you up and his lips press against your forehead with a content sigh.

“Hi, Mari.”

“Hey, J.”

“How was your day, darlin’?” he asks as he turns off the TV, fingers ghosting up and down your bicep.

“Good, it was good. Babysat for the O’Connors today with the little baby. She’s so adorable, just a day full of baby giggles.” You grin and Joel smiles back at you, nodding along, “And then after that I drove to therapy and had that for an hour and then went home and waited to come see you.”

“M’very glad you’re here. Can’t sleep without you anymore,” he kisses your temple, “How was therapy, amor?”

“Today was a little hard. Talked more about maybe looking into medicine cause I feel like it isn’t fully there yet. But I do feel like I am happy. Like in my heart. My brain just can't keep up. Still have a lack of interest in things and not a lot of energy like I used to.”

Joel hums an acknowledgment, looking down at you on his shoulder, “M’here if you need to talk about anything, sweet girl.”

“I know. Thank you,” you give him a chaste kiss, smiling drowsily, “How was your day?”

“Pretty alright. Had to go fill in for someone who called in sick today at a job site so I’m exhausted from all the lifting and using machinery. But the framing is all done which means there’s something that looks like a house standing on the lot,” Joel chuckles softly and glances out the front window, “And then, uh, ran into your mom when I got home. She must’ve been running out for something but she stopped to talk and invited me and Sarah and Tommy to celebrate the Fourth with y’all.”

You sit up, grinning excitedly, “Really? Oh my gosh, that will be so fun. Our first official holiday together. Even though it’s just the Fourth of July. Kind of lame.”

Joel chuckles along with you, nodding his head and avoiding your eyes, “I mean, I told her yes ‘cause I didn’t think you’d mind. But the more I got to thinkin’, I guess, I just—I think I need some more time before we tell your parents about us.”

Your face falls before you can hide it, Joel’s hand immediately reaching to cup your cheek delicately, “M’sorry, sweet girl. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to do it at a family event and maybe it might be best if we can sit them down sometime to talk about it all.”

A slow nod keeps you quiet, in your thoughts, rambling out an agreement as you bring your eyes to Joel’s again, “Yeah, yeah, I understand. I agree. Would be best to wait a little while longer.”

“Thank you, darlin’. M’so glad you agree. We’ll find the right time, eventually,” Joel gives you a tender kiss, lingering against your lips for a few more dopey exchanges. He pulls away, standing up and gathering you up with him, leading you to his bedroom and getting into bed with you, “Night, Mariposa. Love you.”

“Night, J,” you reply meekly, the small sound of your voice easily brushed off as fatigue. Joel keeps you close, spooning you with his front against your chest, falling asleep behind you quickly. You can’t rest, especially after that short and decided conversation.

Why did you agree so easily? And why was he even asking for more time? His daughter knows, his brother knows, your friends know. What’s any different about your family? Is he afraid that if he breaks your heart he’ll have to move? But why would he even think about that possibility when all he’s told you is how much he loves you, how he’ll be yours until you want nothing to do with him anymore?

Every reassurance that he’s given you is flooding your mind, those doubts and fears worming their way into the sweet memories and poisoning them with twisted words.

Every time he’s said he loves you, does he mean it? Or is he only saying it to say it, to placate your anxieties about the future of you two by committing in a way?

Is this push back about telling your family a response to you not being ready to say ‘I love you’ back? Is he getting fed up with waiting for it?

Are you too much too quickly? Weaving yourself too tightly into his life and his daughter’s life? Is he going to start to drift, to put off telling your parents until he can end it?

These thoughts cycle in an endless loop, keeping you up while Joel sleeps soundly beside you. Nausea stirs in your stomach, rapid heart beating from the spiraling of your mind keeping you wide awake until the early hours of the morning.

The only way you can manage to fall asleep is turning in Joel’s arms, cuddling into his chest and breathing in his scent to halt the carousel of negativity in your brain long enough for his even breaths to lull you to sleep.

One last question flashes to you before you’re finally asleep:

What happens when Summer ends?

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @sw33tp1xie @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @beee-haw @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @jupitre @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @livingdeadmaria @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @angie2274 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain @northernbluess @cannolighost

#joel #writing #joel miller x reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller series #tlou fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic

283 notes · View notes