#fics will be added in routine updates

[sagesolsticewrites]

Hi! I’d like to request a John “Bucky” Egan fic where he tries several times to flirt with the reader, but the reader is super oblivious about it and just thinks he’s being nice. It becomes something everyone on base talks about and gets invested in. Maybe other people set up a scheme to get them together or make the reader realize how he feels. Idk, just something funny and cute like that ig 😁

Thank you so much for requesting, Nonnie, I’ve been having so much fun with these Masters of the Air requests! I loved getting to write for our best boy Bucky 🥰 Shoutout to @blurredcolour’s Trust fic (an absolute masterpiece, check it out y’all!) for helping with the writers block on this one 😅 (Reminder that requests are open! Feel free to check out some of my favorite prompt lists in my pinned post 😊)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Oblivious

“There’s my favorite nurse!”

You rolled your eyes at the phrase that announced John “Bucky” Egan’s every visit to sickbay.

“Hello, Major,” you said, turning to greet him with a mock-exasperated smile.

Bucky clutched a hand to his heart as if wounded, a hurt expression on his face. “How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Bucky, sweetheart?”

“At least a few more times, Major,” you reply, unable to hide a smile at the usual volley of friendly banter.

Major John Egan had been unusually friendly to you since the first moment he’d sauntered in to introduce himself to the medical staff as Air Exec. Your colleagues had blushed afterward and playfully insisted that he had paid you more attention than the others, but you just laughed and shook your head, insisting that he was just being nice.

This visit was simply another instance of Bucky being friendly to you; well, that and Harry Crosby’s airsickness had gotten the better of him again and he was checking up on the navigator.

You stepped aside as Bucky approached Harry’s cot, ready to update him on the goings-on since the last mission had returned.

He threw you a kind smile before perching on the stool next to Harry.

“How’s my girl treatin’ you, Crosby?”

Harry happily told him how the base had gotten a new shipment of airsickness pills and you had slipped him a spare box for his own personal use, and Bucky’s smile grew wider and wider.

You were glad to see how happy he was at the news that his friend was feeling better, and you quietly excused yourself to tend to the other patients.

Bucky sighed as you walked away.

“She still hasn’t picked up on it, huh?”

“No, Croz, she hasn’t.” sighed Bucky, “She thinks I’m just bein’… nice or friendly or something. Which I am!” He added hurriedly, “But I just…I like her so much. I wish she’d notice.”

“She will, buddy,” Harry replied, with a comforting pat on his friend’s hand, “She will.”

Bucky headed out after a few more minutes of conversation, giving you a wink and a smile as he walked past your station.

“Bucky visited again, huh?” Rebecca, one of your fellow nurses, sidled up next to you with a teasing grin.

“Yes, Major Egan came by to visit Lieutenant Crosby,” you replied, putting emphasis on their ranks.

“You’re sure that’s all he was here for? Somehow he never shows up here without an excuse to see you…”

“He’s just being nice, Becca,” you insisted, “You know how these soldier boys are.”

“But he’s always—”

“Becca,” you cut her off as gently as you can, “I really don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Alright, alright,” she held her hands up in surrender, “Bucky is an off-limits topic, gotcha.”

The conversation turned to the current hot gossip, and you idly chimed in when it seemed appropriate, losing yourself in your routine tasks.

Rebecca broke off to check on Harry again, narrowing her eyes as she noticed Harry watching you.

“Something Nurse L/N can help you with, Crosby?”

He jumped, gaze darting to Rebecca as she approached.

“No ma’am, I just…”

He scrambled to think of some excuse, but all he could come up with was: “I’m trying to think of some way to get Y/N to notice Bucky!”

Rebecca blinked in surprise, then plopped down onto the stool next to his bed, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Oh thank goodness it’s not just me! He’s been at it for months but the poor girl’s just so oblivious…”

“I keep telling him to just talk to her like a normal person, but he insists on dancing around it!” Harry instantly agreed, glad to have someone besides Jean to talk to about this. “He’s been so distracted lately. If he doesn’t do something soon, I’m worried it might start to affect his flying.”

Rebecca pressed her lips into a thin line, twisting a strand of hair worriedly.

After a few moments of quiet, she spoke up again, green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I’ve got an idea.”

———

“Hey Bucky,” Harry said at breakfast the next morning, “I’m gonna pop down to the infirmary to visit Winks, wanna come with?”

Bucky quickly agreed— he’d been meaning to check on Winks yesterday as well as Croz, but got caught up in… well, you.

As they entered, Bucky made a beeline for Winks while Harry caught Rebecca’s eye and gave a subtle nod, which she returned, signaling her part of the plan was complete.

She had removed the step stool you always used from one of the supply closets, now hidden under one of the cots nearby. When you weren’t able to reach something on one of the higher shelves, well…

Good thing Bucky was so tall.

“Y/N, would you mind grabbing some more bandages for me? My station’s running low.”

“Sure thing, Becca!” You called, stepping away from your current station to check the supply closet.

“Becca…” your confused voice called from the closet, “Do you know where the stepstool went?”

“It’s not there?” She called back, sounding equally confused. “Let’s see, um…”

She scanned the room, putting on a good show of looking for someone who could help.

“Oh, Bucky! Would you mind helping Nurse L/N grab something from the supply closet for me?”

“No problem, Becca,” came his reply, accompanied with his trademark winning smile as he nodded to Winks and made his way over to the supply closet.

It was much smaller than he’d anticipated, and barely half a foot was all that separated you as he asked, “Alright, what do ya need, sweethea—”

The pet name was cut off by the sound of the supply closet door closing.

And locking.

You lunged for the handle as Bucky reached up to turn on the single lightbulb, both of you calling out in confusion.

“Becca! What?”

“C’mon, guys, this isn’t funny!”

Harry’s voice came through the door, clear and determined.

“Just tell her how you feel, Bucky! Your tactic clearly isn’t working!”

“I— what?” You turned to Bucky, hoping he knew what in the world they were talking about.

Bucky hesitated, but seeing as it seemed he had no choice…

“Well this isn’t… exactly how I wanted to do it, but…” He took a deep breath, twisting his fingers together in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety, “I really like you, doll. I’ve liked you since I first laid eyes on you. And I’ve tried every way I know how to tell you, but nothin’ worked, so…” He gestured around at the supply closet, “I guess it came to this? Which wasn’t my idea, by the way. Just for the record. I would never…”

His voice faltered, and you realized just how close you were to him. You didn’t remember moving forward. You were just suddenly there, so close the two of you were almost breathing each other’s air.

“You… you like me?”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Doll, you think I call every pretty girl workin’ here my favorite nurse?”

You flushed at the compliment.

“I thought you were just being nice, I didn’t…”

“I mean, I was bein’ nice,” He said with a shrug, grinning, “Just not quite in the way you were thinking.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, and being this close to you, he couldn’t hide the bob of his throat as he swallowed nervously.

“I’d, uh. I’d really like to kiss you right now, if that’s alright with you, sweetheart.”

You nodded slowly, “I think I’d really like that, Major Egan.”

“It’s Bucky, sweetheart,” he murmured softly as he leaned in, capturing your lips.

You may or may not have spent more than a few lonely nights in your bunk imagining what it would be like to kiss Major John Egan.

Your imaginings were nothing compared to reality.

This was magic unlike anything you could have dreamed.

Your arms wound around his neck as his wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You toyed with the dark curls at the nape of his neck as he slanted his mouth against yours, deepening the kiss. Needing to be closer, you tried to step towards him, but merely succeeded in pressing him back against the shelves.

Ordinarily you would apologize, but something like a thrill ran up your spine when you felt him grin into the kiss as his back hit the shelves, knocking rolls of bandages and boxes of gauze onto the floor.

His right hand moved to cup your cheek, keeping your lips connected as his other hand splayed across your back, pulling you impossibly closer as you arched into him.

You could still feel him grinning as he murmured against your lips, “Knew you were feisty under that good girl act.”

“Bucky,” you whined softly as he pulled away from you, chest heaving.

“Oh, now she uses my name,” he teased breathlessly, bumping his nose playfully against yours.

The two of you flinched as sunlight spilled into the dim closet, a harsh change from the dingy yellow lightbulb you had become accustomed to.

Harry and Rebecca stood in the doorway, wearing twin smug grins.

“Looks like our work here is done,” Becca said, shooting you a wink as she bid farewell to Harry with a two-fingered salute, “Pleasure working with you, Lieutenant Crosby.”

“Same to you, Nurse Carter,” Harry replied, and he turned back to the two of you, a genuine smile on his face.

“About time, Bucky.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky waved off his friend’s I told you so, “You gonna congratulate me or what?”

“Congratulations,” came Harry’s mock-put-out reply, accompanied by a genuinely congratulatory clap on his arm. “You got a good one. And it only took months of unsuccessful flirting—”

“Hey, I got her in the end, didn’t I?” He squeezed you closer, grinning down at you.

Your lipstick was all over his mouth, and you’re sure the Victory Red on your own lips was in no better shape.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care, however, as he pulled you in for a tender kiss.

Which you broke for a moment to point out, “He isn’t wrong, you know, it was months of unsuccessful—”

Your teasing was promptly cut off with a “shush” mumbled against your lips as Bucky silenced you with a kiss.

[elixirfromthestars]

The Biker's Tulip 🌷 | Collection

⊹₊🌷⟡⋆ A small town, a biker, and a florist—each one carrying the burdens of their past, and yet despite that, finding solace in one another along the way...

⊹₊🌷⟡⋆ This collection will follow the entirety of the Biker!Bucky and Florist!Reader (Tulip) universe.♡ ︎𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ It will follow multiple drabbles + fics showing glimpses of their love story. I didn’t plan this out like a set series, but more like a free flowing collection of pieces to showcase Bucky & Tulip ♡

⊹₊🌷⟡⋆ Pieces for this collection will be posted whenever the muse hits. I have a lot of little scenarios (and headcannons) planned out, but nothing concrete. So if anyone would like to know anything about these two, you are free to send suggestions into my inbox and I might just write it!! ✉︎ᯓᡣ𐭩

⊹₊🌷⟡⋆ Since there is no set time when this little collection will be updated I will be making a taglist for it. Let me know through my inbox, comments, etc that you want to be added!! Although sometimes taglists can be weird and glitchy, so in case you don’t want to miss any parts I do have a library blog you can follow @elixirs-library. I only repost my writings on there, nothing else!! ♡

I love these two so much, and I hope you enjoy their story. Happy reading!! ⊹₊🌷⟡⋆

main masterlist ♡ || playlist loading...♡

Pieces are ordered chronologically in their timeline:

Tulip ⟢ how you met

The 107th ⟢ coming soon...

Usual ⟢ when you become a part of his routine

to be continued…

Winter Special ⋆⁺₊❅.

coming soon…

Bucky’s Tulips (taglist): @/chrissisheadisinclouds @/hzdhrtss @/marvelstoriesepic @/almosttoopizza @/emlovesfictionalcharacters @/hisredheadedgoddess28 @/avengersfan25 @/bwbatta @/buckysversion @/danzer8705 @/themurdockverse @/pono-pura-vida @/oldhabitscreaming @/nameless-ken @/lomlbuckybarnes @/calwitch @/violetpassionfruit @/marvelqts @/squeezyvalkyrie

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss.

Note: EEEE! Here is chapter two of my little mini-series! Thank you all so much for your patience for this update, to say it has been hard has been an understatement. An odd thing to put into the notes of a fanfic, but From the River, to the Sea. 🇵🇸

Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Changes

The next few days were the same routine as usual, but with a new addition; A man who had been at deaths door, recovering in your bed. 

The lighthouse, you knew. 

You knew the way to light it, tend to it, care for it. It had been your life for many years ever since your Pa had died, leaving its responsibilities to you.

It had been him who taught you everything. He who had raised you to know what you now do, to do as you now do each day. And you were thankful. Thankful to not be married to a Fishermans son, or market boy at a young age, to squeeze out child, after child, in a marriage that had no love or care but rather a societal duty. 

But now, there was a man in your home. 

A man on your small, little, isolated island which you sought refuge in. An island and isolation that had been all you had known, and yet now, here he was, laid in your bed with hair like spun silk that lay around his head, a violet eye you had only heard in the tales on shore, a scarred cheek and sharp mouth. 

Was he a pirate?

You had heard of those, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to be as brash and roguish as those stories either. And whilst his presence was not all begrudged, it did throw your small little world into a loop. So with the duties of old, came the duties of new. 

You would rest, only shortly, wake, and tend to the lamp, the storm slowly moving away inland, but the winds too high to take your small boat alone, or send your pigeon with a letter to alert them of the wreck and lone survivor.

Thereafter, you could come back inside, fix yourself a tea, and here began the new routine; you would make two instead of one. 

Two plates or bowls of food. 

Two cups or glasses of water, or tea.

Two of everything. 

One for you.

And one for the man. 

A man who still had not told you his name.

That was until that evening.

The winds had begun to yield, but the soft grumbling of thunder still prevailed in the near distance.

You were eating the last of your stew together, though this time, he was seated at the table. You having dragged the only other chair on the island down the many stairs of the lighthouse to the cottage. 

He was still rather pale, and wheezed and coughed on occasion, but after his many days in your presence, you realised that he was not pale because of his ailment, but rather, his skin was just as white as the porcelain William’s wife owned. His cheeks however, gained some colour, and his lips were no longer cracked and dry, but now hydrated.

And plump.

And soft.

And-

“-Aemond.”

The spoon you were holding clinked back onto the side of the bowl.

“Pardon?”

“My name,” The man put another spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewing before swallowing politely, “Is Aemond.”

You tested the name on your tongue. It was definitely not a common name from around your part of the world.

“I take it you are a long way from home?” You chewed on a chunk of potato, watching as the man nodded.

“Aye.”

“Your ship-“

“-Vhagar.” So that’s what its name was, “Sunk to the bottom of the sea, I presume.” His lips pulled down at the sides.

You nodded solemnly, “Was your family-“

“-No. No family. Just me and my crew.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before nodding, “I’m sorry. Though we have the Gods to thank. They favoured you when they washed you ashore.”

Aemond, the man before you, scoffed, “Favoured. Sunk my ship and my men. Drowned me.”

You sucked your teeth, feeling slightly guilty about your choice of words, “Yes, and yet you are here. I prayed-“

“-You prayed?”

A nod, though his gaze seemed more intrigued than mocking, “To the Drowned God. Prayed to anyone who would listen to spare your life.”

You watched as the corner of his lip twitched, “And why should a Lady such as you, pray for a sailor such as me?”

“I’d hardly like to deal with a corpse on my beach." You stirred your stew, "And I am no Lady, I have told you this.”

The snort from his nose made way into a smile that was contagious. 

At least you could be blunt.

And in some ways, you supposed that he liked this bluntness. 

You shared your meal together quietly, the crackling of the fire and sound of rain and occasional thunder outside. You found, much to your displeasure, that you did not mind having his company after all.

He did not talk to fill the space, and seemed to think deeply before he spoke, at least when he was not irritated or slightly offended by your own remarks. All in all, he was a welcomed presence in your modest home.

And that was what scared you.

“Do you often have drowned men wash ashore?” His spoon was delicately placed in his bowl, bread devoured shortly after given to him. The way in which he ate, the manner in which he sat back, rod stiff, indicated to you that he came from some form of high society, far higher than you, and likely came from money and wealth that you could do naught but try to imagine. 

You smiled coyly, “You’re the first. An achievement to some end, I am sure.”

The corner of his lips pulled again, yet this time, it developed into a full smirk, “Then I am honoured to have been the first, Miss.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you had to look away.

The way in which he spoke, the way his voice became deep and smooth like the whiskey in your cupboard, had sent shivers down your spine with the implication that perhaps there was a double meaning to what he said.

To what you had said. 

But then he continued, “And how does a woman of your stature become the keeper of this Lighthouse?”

“My Pa. He was the keeper before I. Taught me all there was to know. It was just me and him on this island for a long, long time, and now it is just me.”

“Is your father-“

“-Dead.”

“I see.” Aemond nodded, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be.” You gave him a small smile, “He died doing what he loved.”

A silver eyebrow raised above the man’s seeing eye, “And what was that?”

“Drinking on the job.” You poked your tongue in your cheek to stifle the laugh as you watched Aemond’s composure become flustered, “It’s okay,” You reassured him, “You can laugh. My father was not a solemn man. I like to think he enjoys my humour.”

A hum was all you received, though he did not smile as you had hoped.

You had not fully seen him do so yet, and although there was glimmers of a more playful and relaxed man, you wondered in that moment if perhaps he was simply just a rather stern and serious sailor after all. That his nature was to be stiff, and bold, and unbendable.

And if he was to be that, a small flicker inside of you wished to make him bend. 

Gods, what was wrong with you?

Had you grown so lonesome in your isolation that the first man to wash upon your shore, literally, was whom you would grow some sort of desire for?

Sure, you were no stranger to pleasure, chasing your own peaks with your hands as often as you’d like, of course, if it did not endeavour to endanger the care of the lighthouse. And now, that a man was sat before you, kept in the confines of your home by storm and ailment, you wished to taste what it truly meant to be pleased. 

It had of course crossed your mind once or twice on your rare travels to shore. Speaking to the locals in shops or on the street, friends of William, or any decent man who cast you a glance. You had thought about it seriously, allowing some sort of dalliance to form, to warm a mans bed and then leave on the morrow to go back to your life of solitude. 

In fact, it had almost happened. 

A sailor named Dalton Greyjoy had caught your eye on the occasions he would be on shore at the same time as when you were. He was sailor from a well known, and well to do family. He came and went as he pleased, and it was no secret that he liked his women. Dalton's hair came below his ear, curling slightly atop his head, the colour as black as night and with his eyes to match his hair; a piercing, deep black which captured and lured anyone who caught his gaze.

And you had caught his, on more than one occasion, and each time, he had tried to woo you. Tried to offer a trip on his sturdy ship which carried more than one hundred men. Or a tour of his home which lay on bountiful lands on shore.

He had even offered a drink in the local tavern, and a meal, with a desire to speak to the ‘beautiful woman who keeps my ship from ruin’. 

And you had thought on it, had almost given in, and when you had rejected him the last time, you had meant to offer him refuge on your island, should he ever so need it. If he was ever so inclined to have a tour of your own homestead, of your lighthouse which kept him from ruin. 

But when you had moved to tell him thus, he was gone, back to the seas for the Gods only know how long, perhaps months, before he returned to shore. And that had been two months ago, and you had almost kicked yourself at the missed opportunity of having a man warm your bed, and then leave. 

The convenience was lost.

You were under no impression that it would be anything more than a release for the two of you, and in your eyes, it was perhaps, a perfect arrangement. Yet, you had strung him for too long, and the seas had called him once more. 

You had thought to wait to look for his ships arrival as it passed from you to shore, and lowered its anchor within eyesight. You had thought that perhaps at the sight of it, you would send your pigeon to her, the large ship, or to shore to send word of your request of his presence. But then, you thought, perhaps you would make a quick stop to the markets, weather permitting, and keep your eyes widened for the dark black hair which you sought. 

But now, as the man you had come to know as Aemond, grew stronger with each day, the desire to meet your desires with Dalton faded, and were now replaced for the desire of a man who was the stark opposite.

No black hair, only silver. No black eyes, only lilac.

Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

Would he hold you passionately? Whisper in your ear? Give you pleasure that you had only read of?

This was what you thought of, thighs clenching as you pulled the old wick from the lamp to replace it with a new one, careful to not spill any oil around the lamps enclosure or yourself. You were exhausted as you lit the flame, night crawling towards you rapidly.

There was not much rest that you could get when sleeping on the worn down lounge of your home, mind reeling at the thought of the handsome man not too far from you in the warmth and plush of your bed.

Once you were positive the lamp was fine and well lit, you trudged down the stairs, eyes struggling to stay open as you made your way back to the cottage, the wind blowing your hair roughly as you closed the door behind you.

The fatigue dragged you down, limbs feeling as heavy as stone as you moved to make yourself some tea, feeling all the more exhausted than before, eyes half shut.

Once your tea was made, you sat on the couch and stared at the fire, blowing the steam away and sipping on it to warm your chilled bones. The lighthouse was cold inside, no warmth but the lamp, and despite wearing your warm layers, the cold still nipped you to your core.

There were no thoughts as you moved half asleep around your home, pulling the heavy waxed coat from your shoulders to place on the hook by the door.

Your boots came next, and then your socks, and finally you pulled away at your dress, untying your stays as it slid down your hips to the floor.

You trudged to your room, having extinguished the lamps and candles in the cottage, leaving the fireplace to burn through what was left of the night.

It was dark as you pulled back the sheets, mind in memory and eyes already shut, as you slid into bed in only your slip, pulling the sheets up to your neck as you lay on your side.

Then sleep came just as quickly as your eyes closed.

-

It was hot. 

Too hot. 

There was a warmth that radiated around you as you slowly rose to consciousness.

Then, came the weight. 

A weight of something wrapped around you, behind you, heat seeping into your spine. You blinked sluggishly, confused as to what it was as you shifted, feeling whatever that warmth was shifting with you. Solid.

Arms. 

Two arms.

One under your head, the other draped over your middle, hand splayed across your stomach as your back was pressed into the flush of someones chest. 

Not someone.

Aemond. 

You jerked, suddenly awake and out of the bed, looking down at the man who looked tiredly up at you, corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he fought away a smirk. Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks in embarrassment. 

You had been in bed.

With him.

Tucked into him.

Oh Gods.

Your mouth opened and shut as your brain misfired, unsure of what to do our say. 

Do you apologise?

Gods, you had been so tired you hadn’t even realised. 

You were suddenly mortified at the thought of what he must now think of you. 

He must-

“-If you want to get into bed with me, all you must do is ask.” Came the low timbre of Aemond, who now smirked freely at you. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you became flustered, a small squeak escaping your lips. 

Aemond’s eye bore into your own as you stood there, bare feet on the cold flagstones below, chest heaving as you were at a loss of words. His eye then roamed lower, taking in your appearance as you felt the heat of his gaze blanket over you.

It was then, that you realised, you were in nothing but your thin shift.

“Gods. Fuck.” You swore, turning quickly to throw on an old dress, foregoing your skirts, stay and stockings.

You kept your back to him as you hastily did up the many buttons, suddenly cursing each and every one of them as your fingers struggled to do them up the more you become flustered, all the while you could still feel his heated gaze upon you from the bed.

You uttered an embarrassed apology, too ashamed to even raise your eyes to look at him, before you fled from the cottage, forgetting your coat, and not even doing up the laces of your boots as you shut the door behind you and raced towards the lighthouse. 

You had never quite climbed the steps as fast as you had in that moment, desperate to get away from his salacious gaze, and your burning embarrassment.

What had you been thinking? Climbing into bed with him like that? He must think you desperate. Depraved. Unkempt.

Gods be good.

The embarrassment made tears prickle at your eyes.

Though the lamp in the lighthouse was fine, and there was no true reason for you to monitor it, the worst of the storm having moved away, you did not return back to your cottage. You stayed in the cold, no coat and shoes half tied, shivering in the stone walls of the lighthouse to avoid the mortification of that morning. And yet, despite trying to avoid him physically, there was no possible way, you had tried, to avoid thinking of him. 

Thinking of his touch, how warm he had been behind you, how his large hand had completely spanned across your middle as he held you to him, how his fingers had twitched and pulled as you wriggled in first wake. How he smelt of the sea, and sweat, the stew you had cooked him, and the smell of your own sheets, but beneath it all, there was his natural scent, something earthy and musky and like sandalwood that surrounded your every waking moment. 

If it wasn’t for his legs and his near death, you would think the man was a Siren.

You thought of how cold he had been when he washed ashore, how pale and almost blue he looked, and now he burnt hot, and although he was still pale, the flush of life coloured his cheeks and lips. His lilac eye devouring you every chance he had.

At first you had thought you were mistaken, that he was simply looking at you, but now you were sure of it. His eye, the seeing one, unclouded by injury and simmering a bright lilac, watched you almost always half-lidded and ablaze with something you now thought could perhaps be lust.

Gods. 

You buried your head into your hands, deeply exhaling before standing up straighter, trying to erase the images and thoughts of him from your mind, but it was hopeless. He was all you could think of, all you could smell, or see behind your eyelids, and you yearned to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Caress him. 

Your thighs instinctually squeezed together and you sighed, feeling a wetness that had settled between them. 

Gods be good, you were in trouble.

You shivered again, rubbing your hands together as you looked out at the sea, mentally cursing yourself for not having more than two chairs on the island, but you had never needed more than that.

Your legs ached from not having sat in the hours that had passed, and you had turned to pacing the small landing back and forth to try and keep yourself warm. 

A soft clunk came from the bottom of the lighthouse. 

You mustn’t have shut the door properly. 

You continued your pacing, back and forth, breathing into your icy palms as you tried to warm them, mind straying to a body of warmth that you knew, if you pressed your palms against him, would warm in an instant. Your hands coming beneath his tunic to splay against his stomach, working their way-

The sound of rustling came from behind.

You spun on your heel in fright, breath caught in your throat to find Aemond behind you. Now standing straight, the man towered over you, looking down his sharp nose at your shivering form. His hair was slightly wet, stuck down to his shoulders and dripping from its ends onto the floor of the lighthouse. The tunic he wore, stuck to his skin where spatters of rain wet the material. 

In his hands, your coat. 

“Gods be good.” You cursed at him, hand immediately shooting out to press against his forehead, having to rise slightly on your toes to reach, “Have you gone mad? You’ll catch cold and grow ill again.”

Snatching your coat from his hands, you threw it up and around his shoulders, pulling it together tightly at the front, watching as his brows furrowed at you.

His hands caught your wrists as you fussed over him, and you immediately could no longer meet his eye. The warmth of his hands seeped into your bones, and a barely contained sigh fell from your lips.

Aemond was so close, so close to you, you could feel his warmth, smell his-

“Go back to the cottage before you become feverish again.” You tried to pull your wrists away from his hands to push him back to the door, but the man did not budge, his grip only tightened. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Came his low response, jaw tensed as he watched you. 

You swallowed, looking anywhere but his eye, “No.” You lied terribly, hoping he couldn’t feel the way your pulse quickened at your wrist, “I have to tend to my duties.“

“-You’re a terrible liar.”

You bristled, heat rising in your cheeks again before you met his eye.

Exhaling shakily, you tried again to get him to release your wrists with no avail.

“Please let go of me, Sir.”

Aemond’s cheek twitched, before finally he let go, and you begrudged his warmth leaving you the second he did. 

As his hands dropped to his sides, your eyes flitted to the exposed skin of his chest, if only for a moment, where his tunic was ripped down the middle. He moved, arms coming up again as he pulled your coat from his shoulders, stepping towards you suddenly. 

You stiffened, feeling his warmth envelop you and the subtle scent of salt and sandalwood engulf you as he wrapped you in your coat, pulling it tightly against you at your front. Your arms were trapped beneath it as he kept his hold on you, the coat pulling tighter as he stepped closer.

“You’re cold.” He whispered, head ducking slightly as he looked at you, long strands of silver cascading over his shoulder. 

Okay. You were sure of it. 

Perhaps he was a Siren. 

And now he was going to drag you to the sea and-

You watched in a confusion, or horror and delight as his head began to dip down towards your face, eye watching you intently as you held your breath.

Oh Gods, was this really happening? Was this man-

“Sīr gevie.” Came a deep purr from the back of his throat, and there it was again, that half lidded gaze. 

You parted your lips instinctually, feeling his nose brush against yours, your eyes fluttering as you looked down to his lips which were parted a hairsbreadth away from you, “I don’t know what that means.” You whispered, feeling his breath fan across your lips warmly. 

“Beautiful.” Came his response, less purring than the last, more of a whisper, more delicate, like the silk that spun his hair, ready to break.

His face loomed closer, the tip of his pink tongue coming to wet his lips, and all you could think of was how you wished to close the distance, to press against him, taste him, have him. 

Your lungs ached from the breath you had been holding, and a sudden gust of wind knocked at the windows of the lighthouse. It seemed to have broken the spell, jerking you away from the man in front of you, who blinked longingly at you.

Swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the ache in your core, you uttered, “I need to prepare supper.” Before you dashed away from him and down the stairs, almost tripping over your half laced boots in the process. 

As you wound down the stairs, you felt a pang of guilt leaving him up there.

Would he be fine to get down himself?

What if he grew ill? It was cold, and he had no coat, and you had just-No. If he had made his way up those stairs, then he could surely make his way down them.

You wasted no time preparing dinner, darting about the kitchen noisily as you began to prepare your meal, cutting the vegetables on the chopping board, and moving for some more dried meats to add with it, soaking it in some bone powdered broth you had made days earlier.

When the door of the cottage opened, and then clicked shut, you ignored the mans arrival, keeping your back to him, pretending that you were all too busy preparing the dinner to spare him a second glance, and not only that, you were far too engrossed of thinking what was coming next, and not at all how his lips might have felt on yours. 

You heard him settle at the table by the fire, and without looking, cast your voice behind you, “I still have my fathers belongings,” You told him, voice shy, “Seemed a waste to be rid of them when he passed. You may fit them. I’ll let you look through the trunk after supper so that you may have some cleaner, warmer clothes.”

A hum, and then, “Thank you. You are a gracious host.”

You blushed at his compliment, thankful that your back was turned to him so that he would not see you shy once more. Once your meal was cooked, you brought it over to the table for the two of you, including a plate of some of your scones, as well as the jam from Celia to go with them after.

It was a mostly silent affair, a tension strung between the two of you, pulled taught as the minutes went by. That was until-

“You are not married.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of fact. 

You blinked, taking your eyes away from your meal as you looked up at him.

He was already watching you.

But there was nothing malicious about his statement, more so curious as to why.

Aemond continued, “You are a beautiful young woman, a shame that you are not out in society.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling vulnerable at the turn of conversation. 

You knew it was unheard of a woman of your age to be unwed, and not only that, alone in a usual mans position. You knew that the townsfolk at shore talked about it, whispers behind your back at why that was.

There had been a cruel rumour once that you simply enjoyed the coming and goings of the many different sailors who came to and from the port. It didn’t help that Dalton was not quiet about his interest in pursuing you, at least, not as his wife anyway.

“I am content where I am.” You sighed, “I have no desire to be flaunted on a mans arm as merely decoration. I have a responsibility to those on shore and on sea, and I doubt any man in town would know more about the mechanisms of working such a lamp than I do. They would be more of a burden than a blessing.”

Aemond blinked before lifting another steaming spoonful of food to his lips, “And do you not grow lonely on this little island?”

Did you?

You didn’t think you did.

At least, not until he arrived on your shore.

“Not at all.” And unconvincing lie, or perhaps not a full one, “William comes to bring my reprieve, and I go to and from shore as I wish for the whims of societal company.”

The man swallowed his mouthful of food, head cocked as he looked at you, “William?”

“An old friend of my fathers.” You explained, watching as he relaxed at the explanation, “Brings food and goods to me when I cannot get them my own, which is more often than not. His wife and daughters join him here on occasion.”

Aemond hummed, “It is a shame you have no feelings of loneliness.”

“A shame?”

The corner of his lip twitched, “I thought you might have enjoyed my company.” Before you could respond, he spoke again, “Though, perhaps it is not a shame after all. There is no husband that I need worry about.”

Heat rose into your cheeks fast, and a flush of hurt crept up your throat.

Of course he would make a comment about you being unwed. 

He was just like the others in town. 

“You mock me.” You grit angrily, hands twitching on the table. 

You watched as a flash of regret creeped over his face.

“I don’t.” His tongue darted out to lick at his lips again, the hungry look in his eye not at all for the food on his plate, “I would worry that my attempt to court you would be burdened by a disgruntled husband.”

Court you. 

Court. 

Your stomach turned tightly, and you found yourself pushing your chair behind you quickly as you stood, grabbing your empty plate as you moved to take it to the kitchen, unsure of what to say, mouth dry and mind reeling. 

As soon as your back turned, you heard a deep chuckle behind you, making your cheeks flush with heat once more. You did not even bother to clean your plate, instead dumping it into the dry sink before you snatched your coat off of the coat hook and moved to open the door.

“You cannot avoid me forever.” Came his low purr, and would if you tried.

The door thumped behind you as you swept yourself outside.

-

By the time you finally returned to the cottage, the night had flown away from you, having spent the majority of it trying to cool the heat in your body that he had stoked, resting your cheeks against the cool class of the lighthouse, anything to soothe the molten blood that coursed through you.

The storm had mostly passed, and your home was quiet as you snuck back inside, darkness filling the majority of the space bar the fireplace as you pulled your coat from your shoulders, back facing the room.

When you turned to walk further inside a small gasp pulled into your lungs. 

“You’re awake.” You blinked at Aemond owlishly, watching as he leant back on the small worn couch, his long limbs stretched out in front of him by the fire, with one arm resting against the back.

“I am.” You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to do or say. 

Damn your anxious mind, reeling in circles at the thought of him, and his desires and if he desired you as much as you desired him. And what if-

You shook the thought away, “Well, you must be tired. You need to rest so that you may go home. The storm is passing, and I’d wager that you could return to shore now.” You wrung your hands together. 

You didn’t want him to go, but you knew it was logical.

He would have to leave. He would have to go home. To his family. To his friends. To his land. And then, you would be left alone with the spiralling 'what if's' of his stay.

“You speak of fatigue as if you sleep more than I, and do less.” Came his pointed remark, “I am well aware of my need to recover, and my abilities.”

Speechless. 

That was what you were.

The fire crackled loudly between you as you watched him shift, moving to lay himself down onto the couch which was comically too small for him. His long legs stretched over the arm, feet dangling almost to the floor whilst his head was tucked at an awful angle on the opposite arm. 

He looked like a doll that had been carelessly tossed onto the couch by a child.

“You need rest.” He mused, eye roaming over your body shamelessly, “I shall sleep where I am.”

Your brows furrowed, “You can’t suggest that you wish to sleep there.” Your hand pointed to where he was uncomfortably lain, “You do not fit. You shall see no rest and I will have to nurse you to health once more.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here.” His eye slid shut, seeming to make a point of sleeping on your lumpy and aged lounge.

You guffawed at him and his brazen flirting, mouth hanging open as your hands moved to your hips, “Go back to bed.”

His brow lifted, but his eye stayed shut, “A command or request?”

You blinked, “A request, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Will you be joining me?” Came his purr, eye cracked open at you, the bright lilac having turned as stormy as the sea once had been.

“No.”

Another hum, something you had grown used to by now, his eye sliding shut, “Then I shall stay put.”

You stormed towards him, looking down at him, trying to not notice how soft his hair looked, or how the pale skin of his chest looked like a cozy place to-

“Really, Sir.” You sighed, exacerbated, “I must implore you to sleep in the bed tonight. You will only hurt your neck and back. I am far smaller than you, and-“

“-Sīr byka.”

The language was smooth, the r curling in the front of his teeth, all creamy, and soft like syrup and warm. It sent heat straight into your core. 

“What does that mean?”

His eye opened again as he sat up, “Would you like to know?”

Gods, he was infuriating. 

“Yes.” You grit out, “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I said you were little.”

Embarrassment curled in your chest, but not only that, something else that sent heat striking through you. 

You tried to blink it away, “An obvious observation. And the bed would fit you perfectly well, if only-“

“-Nyke kessa mazverdagon ziry-“

“-Would you stop that?” You snipped, chest heaving as you blushed, watching as the tall man pulled his legs down and sat up, looking at you predatorily. 

You were in trouble.

Every hair on your body stood up as he watched you beneath his lashes.

“Stop what?”

You wet your lips, “T-that.”

“What, byka ōños?”

“That!” You pointed, running a hand through your hair, “You- You make a mockery of me.”

His head tilted, “I do no such thing.”

“You do.” You countered, looking anywhere but him, “You speak in tongues that I do not understand. For all I know, you could be throwing insult at my person. I know that I am not as educated as you-”

“-Do you want to know what it means? You only need ask.”

“What does it mean?” You breathed, watching as he stood from the couch, sucking all the air from the room as his head slowly came up to your height, then finally looming over you down his nose. 

“What does ‘what’ mean?”

“Fine." You huffed, "You shall stay on the couch, and I shall send word tomorrow-“

“-Little light.”

You lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you felt him step closer to you, your chest heaving as one of his hands reached out to caress a lock of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as his fingertips grazed a path down your neck, his eye intent on you. 

“W-what?”

“Byka ōños,” Aemond purred, “It means ‘little light’.” He took a step closer to you, his chest brushing against yours, warmth immediately seeping into your dress as you craned your head to look up at him, "Byka perzys.”

“And what does that mean?” Your voice was quiet, unsure, the air around you crackling with the tension that had been building for days.

“Little flame.” He translated, large palm moving behind your neck as he gripped the back of it softly, fingers tangling in your hair. Your breath hitched as he moved forward, his eye on your lips, yours on his.

“Byka jelevre.”

“What does t-“

Aemond’s lips crashed into yours hungrily, silencing your question. You squeaked, eyes widening before they slowly slid shut, hands coming to the front of his tunic as you fisted them tightly, rising on your tip toes to meet him. His kiss melted you, a fire being stoked in your gut steadily as the fingers in your hair tightened.

Then as sudden as it came, it stopped. 

You were both panting, looking at one another as his tongue wet his lips.

“Fuck.” He growled, before crashing into you again, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip as you sighed into his embrace.

His other hand wrapped around your waist pulling you tightly against him as his tongue licked at your bottom lip. It was unfamiliar, uncertain, and your lips parted in a small gasp, immediately feeling his tongue lick tentatively at your mouth.

You were still, frozen as you thought of what to do as the hand on your waist moved to pull at your skirts hastily, dragging them up your legs.

And then, it was as though the fog was cleared, and your mind re-emerged. You pulled back with a gasp, hand gripping the wrist that was pulling at your skirts, your eyes searching his face with uncertainty. 

And then, slowly, it dawned on him, realisation washing over his features. 

“You’re untouched?” Came his quiet breath.

You swallowed, shutting your eyes to avoid his prying gaze, too afraid of his next reaction as you answered him. 

“Yes.”

The warmth of his body left yours, and you almost subconsciously followed it, eyes reopening. 

He looked at you with a new expression you could not quite understand. 

Your chest ached to be held again, to feel his want and his hands pressed against your body. To feel his chest against yours, his lips on your own, his tongue teasing yours as you sighed into it. You wished to feel the calluses of his hands, and smell the salt and sandalwood that lingered around him.

You felt stupid for having told him, for having stopped him. You wished you hadn’t. You wished you had just let him have his way-

“-Apologies, Miss. I did not mean to overstep.”

Any thought that you had vanished, and you found yourself gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“I shall retire for the evening.” He took another step back, his eye not once leaving yours as he shifted his body towards your bedroom, “But if I do take your bed, I would like to earn my keep around your home as I recover.”

If this man did one more thing out of the ordinary, you thought your head may spin off your neck.

“Your keep?” You echoed, feeling the tingle in your lips from his kiss. '

Did he mean-

“-Work around the island. Cleaning, gardening. Anything that you need or want from me. I am yours.”

You felt that his last offer meant more, but you did not have the wherewithal to ask for elaboration, nor did you have the courage. 

Gods, what was it about this man that turned you to syrup?

You nodded slowly, watching as relief washed over his features, “It is much appreciated, though I will be hard pressed to find things for you to do yet.” You shifted on your feet, hands wringing together once more, “I shall send word soon of your survival to shore. My pigeo-“

“-No.” Aemond said hastily, to which he recovered a moment afterwards, “No need until I am hale and healthy again. There is no point for false hopes, I may turn on the morrow.”

You shook your head, a small laugh falling from your lips, “I see no possibilities of you turning to meet the Stranger tomorrow. You-“

“-Please.” Came his voice once more, rough and quiet, and more strained than before, “Let me stay dead for a while longer.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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[hanasnx]

⋆˖⁺‧₊𓆩𓆩 ❝ announcement. ❞ 𓆪𓆪₊‧⁺˖⋆

-ˏˋ꒰ INTERACTIVE READER EXPERIENCE - ! ꒱ MULTIPLE PART SERIES MINORS DNI 18+ SUMMARY: be a part of the story! THE FIC WARNINGS: f!reader | eventual smut | semi-established relationship | romance | suggestive | eventual conflict.

! ── BACKGROUND: During a routine reconnaissance, disaster strikes. Heavily armed, a team of pirates ambush you and ANAKIN SKYWALKER. Despite the pair’s best efforts, the ship is irreparably damaged, and forced to land. The nearest planet offers solace, and escape is narrowly seized. Unfortunately, any useful instruments to calculate your coordinates are dead, and the planet appears to be deserted. It has breathable air, but you’re unsure if it produces necessary supplies. Food and water from the ship’s emergency resources will have to be rationed, but it won’t last long.

! ── ADD YOURSELF TO THE TAGLIST: like, comment, inbox message, or reblog to be a part of this series' taglist. you must have your age in your bio or pinned post to be added.

! ── RELEASE DATE & UPDATE SCHEDULE: the first post will be released 02.28 and if god willing, it will be updated every wednesday or when i feel that inspiration strike. you deserve good, well-thought-out posts.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Hey could you do fic for David 'Deacon' Kay with wife reader where she go to somewhere and then there's a robbery and he has to save her? Tag me later! Thanks :))

Absolutely! Thanks for another great idea!! I hope you enjoy @pear-1206 🤍 This did turn out pretty short, but if anyone is interested in a longer version, I could try!! (Did I name this like a SWAT episode with one random word from the plot? Maybe.)

Warnings: a bit of angst, mostly fluff, some comfort. 1.3k+ words.

Picture from Pinterest

Robbery

You can’t remember the last time you said goodbye to Deacon. Just after you were married, Deacon was shot, and you decided never to say bye again, worried it would be your last farewell. Since then, plenty of alternatives have made their way into your morning routine.

“Have a great day.” “Be safe.” “Call whenever.” Anything to express your love and care, but never bye.

✯✯✯✯✯

“No,” you mumble, gripping Deacon as he tries to roll over.

“It’s Friday,” he replies lightly. “One more day then I’m all yours for the weekend.”

You groan, loosening your grip on him as he kisses your forehead.

“Pull me up,” you request as you raise your hands over your chest.

Deacon chuckles, standing beside you and tugging your arms gently so you’re sitting up.

“I have a bunch of errands to run today. Walk me out, handsome?”

“It would be an honor, sweetheart,” Deacon replies, kissing your hand. “But you have to send me updates while you’re out.”

“Of course.”

When you’re ready to go, you gather your things and wait by the front door for Deacon. He pulls you into a tight hug before leading you to your car, kissing you quickly as you sit in the driver’s seat.

“See you tonight,” Deacon promises.

“Be safe. I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon enters the locker room at SWAT HQ but only manages to change into his gear before Hondo yells that they have a call. It should be an easy enough raid, Deacon thinks, just a quick in and out to apprehend a suspect who has barricaded himself in a house.

While Deacon rides in Black Betty, you drive to your first stop: a department store to buy a few things for a friend’s housewarming party. And, as usual, you find a few things for yourself and Deacon. As you wait in line to check out, you text Deacon that everything is going well and you plan to pick up an order from a sporting goods store next. He doesn’t reply, though you’ve grown to expect that from him. He’ll answer when he can, and you smile at the picture of him on your phone’s home screen.

While you pull out of the parking lot, Deacon replies and says he’s back at HQ and loves you. Short and to the point, Deacon never leaves room for miscommunication or interpretation, and it is one of many things you love about him.

✯✯✯✯✯

You visit your favorite restaurant for lunch before you make your last stop. At this point in the day, you’re ready to get home and wait for Deacon. This is the one errand you didn’t tell him about because your trip to the jewelry store is to get your anniversary gift for him.

Walking inside, you quickly find the perfect watch, tactical grade, black and minimalistic, perfectly Deacon. As the jeweler boxes it for you, you also find a new silver necklace chain you think he’d like, adding it to your gift.

You swipe your credit card just before the bell over the door rings.

“Nobody move!” a masked gunman yells, two more men behind him. “This will be over quickly, just don’t scream and do what I say.”

Stopping where you are, you duck behind a display case to text Deacon. He can see your location with the click of a button, so you just type: ‘Robbery here.’

Sliding your phone into your bag, you raise your hands as one of the men finds you, pointing his gun at you as he tells you to move. You move slowly before him, joining the small group of shoppers sitting in the corner.

“This isn’t about you,” one of the men says. “Sit there, be quiet, and then you can go home. You won’t be getting a refund, though.”

The woman beside you takes a sharp breath, and you turn to her quickly.

“Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay, just take a few deep breaths, okay?” you whisper, taking her hand as you comfort her. “What’s your name?”

As you talk to her, you can only hope that Deacon got your text and the team is on their way.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon pulls his phone out of his pocket when it buzzes, and when he reads your message, those two words kick his brain into SWAT mode.

“Robbery at 6333 West 3rd Street, 738,” Deacon tells Hicks and Hondo.

“It’s in The Grove. That suite is a jewelry store,” Hicks says, pulling up the map. “Locally owned Weiss Jewelry.”

Deacon’s brows furrow, wondering why you’re at a jewelry store.

 “There’s no report of a robbery,” Hondo adds.

Deacon will ask what you were doing there once you’re safe, he decides.

“My wife is there. She sent me a text,” Deacon explains.

“Why didn’t you start with that?” Hicks exclaims. “20-David, get out there!”

As Deacon climbs into Black Betty, he lets his training control him rather than his emotions. Thinking like a sergeant rather than a husband is the only way he can do his job and ensure your safety. There will be time to be a husband later, but not if something happens to you first.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Stop talking!” one of the men yells, pointing between you and the crying woman beside you.

You hear a loud bang at the back of the building and press your lips together, praying that it’s Deacon’s team.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Take it,” Hondo commands.

Street fires a flashbang through the side window. As it temporarily blinds the men inside, Luca pushes the accelerator of Black Betty to the floor, ripping the metal door off its hinges so the team can make entry. 

Tan and Street move to handcuff the suspects on the floor while Hondo and Deacon move toward the front of the store.

“LAPD SWAT, on the ground now!” Hondo yells as another masked man opens the door separating the vault and the storefront.

He raises his hands, lowering his gun and sliding it to Deacon as he kneels.

“Go, Deac,” Hondo says.

Deacon steps through the door, walking toward the door as he clears the room. When he sees a crowd of people cowering in a corner, he lowers his gun and steps into view. The hostages tense before seeing his LAPD uniform.

“I’m Sergeant Kay, LAPD SWAT,” he explains calmly. “We’ve apprehended the men who robbed you and the store. EMTs and officers are outside to assist you.”

Deacon’s eyes remain on you as he talks, and you send him a small smile. When he concludes, you stand before helping the women beside you up and to the door. You turn around to find Deacon, but he moves faster than you, pulling you into a tight hug as he cradles your head against his chest. You return his hug, breathing deeply.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” you say.

“What were you doing here?” he asks, leaning back to look at your face as he cradles it between his gloved hands.

“Paid in full and not needed for evidence, Mrs. Kay,” Luca calls as he approaches, handing you a bag containing two jewelry boxes.

“Thanks, Luca.” 

You take the bag, holding it in one hand while the other grips the strap of Deacon’s vest. “Happy Anniversary?”

“Don’t you dare try to give that to me now. We’re celebrating as planned,” Deacon demands, pulling you close again.

“You got here really fast,” you murmur, moving your hand to his cheek.

“You called. I’ll always come.”

“One of these days, I’m going to save you.”

“You do that every time I see you.” Deacon kisses you before adding, “You are trouble, though.”

“Maybe I’ll let them keep the gifts, just in case,” you retort, leaning back to find a police officer.

Deacon grabs your wrist, gentle as always. “No,” he answers, kissing you before you can make another comment.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Fic update: wake up, boy, you're far from home

Happy New Year! Chapter 2 is out now.

Summary:

Buck regrets his choices, while in El Paso, Eddie discovers the full consequences of his.

Snippet:

There is one voicemail he does check, though. Because it’s from someone he’d never, ever ignore on purpose. 

Christopher. 

Buck panics a little when he sees that he’s missed it. He called after ten. A weird time for him to be calling. Shouldn’t he be sleeping? Or is he too teenagery for sleep now? Buck should know. He used to know Christopher’s whole routine. But he’s grown so much and… And Buck turns to spit up a little more bile into the snow. 

When he straightens up, feeling miserable, Buck plays the message.

“Hi, Buck. It’s Chris. Uh, obviously. I just wanted to call and say thank you for the gift. They’re really cool. Mine actually broke recently and Abuelo got replacements from Walmart, but… But they aren’t the same. So, thanks. I’ve heard these are really good. I’m gonna use them and let you know? Uh, call me back. Bye.”

---

Tagging:

@epicbuddieficrecs @theotherbuckley @sevenweeksofunrepression @slowlyfoggydestiny @goldenbcnes

@diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @aquamarineglitter @loserdiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings

@your-catfish-friend @incorrect9-1-1 @hawaiianlove808 @babytrapperdiaz @watchyourbuck

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@kultiras @inell @mrs-f-darcy @spencers1nonlygf @nibblyssacrifice

@thetommoway-oioii @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @swiftiefirefighters

As always, let me know if you'd like to be added to my writing updates tags :)

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

Good evening, my Darlings! I'm sorry about the lapse between updates, but I have a new chapter up on AO3 with the full fic and full content warnings and will have the newest chapter chapter down below.

Chapter Summary: The Reader tries to understand the Harkonnens and gain favor with her husband the old-fashioned way (Part Two.)

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @cavillandevanssandwhich If anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know!

Content Warning: 18+; problematic smut; arranged marriage; dubious consent; implied/referenced child abuse; under negotiated kink; problematic BDSM; internalized shame; mild degradation; oral sex (m+f receiving) throat training, come eating, collars and lashes, nipple clamps/nipple play; Feyd-Rautha; impact play/slapping; semi-public sex; vaginal sex; vaginal fingering; knife play; switching; riding; Feyd's strange and fucked up methods of showing affection

Chapter Nine: Quick to Learn, Eager to Please

Your training continues.  You wouldn’t call your progress astonishing, but after a week, and then two, you find yourself first sliding into the familiarity of your old training and then picking up on new techniques.  You can’t help but smile to yourself when you get in an offensive, notice an opening that you can take that you wouldn’t have just a week earlier.  When Feyd-Rautha says, as he watches you spar with Korvo, “You remembered what I told you about your footwork.”

His own regimen is far more extensive, of course.  There’s one morning when he strips off his sweaty training shirt and you notice striations in the muscle fibers in his chest that you don’t remember seeing before.  Perhaps it’s the brighter lighting compared to your bedrooms.

The soreness becomes normal, stiffness you stretch out every morning before you leave for the Training Halls and soothe in the afternoons a couple of times a week in the Relaxation Chambers before resuming your self-imposed Harkonnen language lessons.  The routine is its own comfort that tides you over as you receive letters from back home that all sound relieved that you’re still in one piece.  And, somehow, you are.  These elements–the training, the moments spent in the library and studying the Harkonnen battle language–make you feel a little more like this Fortress is a home that you can live in.  You’re not confident enough to try and impress Feyd yet with what you’ve learned but have found that Idrisa’s an easy tutor.  The first time you tried speaking, unprompted, in battle language to her she did an almost comical double-take before politely offering advice on how to improve your pronunciation.

“The Na-Baron will be delighted to know that you’re making an effort to learn more about his culture,” she added to soften any potential blow to your ego.  Since then, every day, you exchange basic greetings and sentences in Harkonnen with her, and each day you try to add a little more.  Idrisa’s gentle, but honest once she realizes that you won’t be offended by her critique.  

The matter of your pregnancy is still in question–it’s still too early to tell, not for lack of trying.   The collar and leash make a reappearance–on a night he also placed metal clamps on your nipples and took your mouth again until between the shock of the clamps barely fading with time and the suffocating pressure of his cock venturing further and further within the wet cavern of your mouth had tears streaming down your face and silent pleas for him to finally fuck you–but strangely enough the flogger, as he calls it, hasn’t.  When he strikes your backside he seems to prefer his own hands, maybe because for every time his hand descends it stings his palm as well.  Sometimes he brings out ropes, one night ties your arms behind your back and takes you from behind, one hand in your hair until he comes hard and pulls out only to bury his face against your backside and lick your cunt, tasting his own spend as it leaks out of you until you shudder and climax around the flicker of his tongue.  You’re past the point of being shocked by the idea of your husband tasting his own semen; it’s funny to think that such a thing would’ve horrified you a few weeks ago.  Most of this probably would.  

The night that he introduces the clamps you use his bathroom afterwards, see your splotchy face and worn body, and wonder how much of your enjoyment is genuine and how much is simply a tool to acclimate to it.  Does it really make a difference?  The pain from the clamps had gone from sharp pain to an insistent ache that left you trembling.  The way he’d held your head in place as he’d guided his cock into your mouth and kept it there, pulling out only long enough to let you breathe and pushing back in for longer increments until you felt almost light-headed.  Does it really matter how or why it made you sufficiently wet to take him inside of you?  Is it not just easier to accept it than to dwell on the accompanying shame of it?

So far, you’ve realized, he hasn’t asked you to hurt him beyond scratching his back and arms when he’s inside of you, or biting down on the meat of his shoulder until you break skin.  Hasn’t asked you to subjugate him with the silver collar and chain he keeps, always noticeable but never mentioned after that night.  Perhaps he’s waiting for the right time, the right sign that you’d be able to hurt him as deliciously as he does you.

You think of the silver collar and how it would look against his pale skin as he waits patiently for instruction, like a fierce but loyal guard dog.

The image of it makes something you can’t quite name unfurl like black smoke in the pit of your stomach.  

Between training you to fight and training you to take his cock in a variety of positions, Feyd gives ample reason for you to enjoy the soothing attention you get in the Relaxation Chambers.

Once, when you enter the chambers, you see another woman walking by you; she’s well-dressed, clearly the wife of a high-ranking member of Harkonnen militia, and you speak before you can stop yourself.

“Hello,” you tell her, and she stops, blinking in confusion.  You’re starting to get better at gauging peoples’ ages around here without hair or eyebrows, and you guess her to be in her early thirties, with a round face and hazel eyes.

She stands, awkwardly, clearly wondering why you’ve just spoken to her, before inclining her head.  “Good afternoon, Na-Baroness.”

“My apologies.  I don’t think I’ve learned your name yet,��� you tell her, extending your hand.

She takes it in a gentle shake.  “Indeed you have not, Na-Baroness.  It’s Liana Druganin, wife of Piter Druganin,” she says, managing to keep a polite tone before she drops your hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Druganin,” you tell her with a small smile.

She reciprocates and it looks as manufactured as the fake wood paneling.  

You’ve seen this before, but until now have been spared actually experiencing it: that moment when an attempt at friendship is made and the recipient can only think, Why are you talking to me?  Go away .  She won’t say it, not in a thousand years, because you outrank her.  But the look on her face, almost bordering on panic at the idea that you’ll keep trying to talk to her, says it all.

You clench your jaw, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.  “Well,” you say, “Have a lovely afternoon, Lady Druganin.”  You both know that it’s not true, and that it’s also not true when she replies with a feeble echo of your sentiments.

She turns to go with a polite bow of her head and a stiffness in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before you spoke to her.  You watch after her and for a moment, she starts to turn around before thinking better of it.

You try to stay resolute.  No matter , you tell yourself.  They will start by respecting me.  They don’t have to like me yet .  My children will play with their children and I will be their Baroness.  They’ll learn.

Still, the sting of it is enough that you have to look over a letter a friend sent you to remind you that you’re perfectly capable of making them.

You write another.  There’s a growing pile of letters that you keep in a desk drawer and in moments like these pull them out and re-read them and remember that even if they’re not here, there are still people who love you.

Feyd’s birthday is almost here–in a week the Bene Gesserit will visit and Feyd will execute prisoners in the arena under the guise of sport.  There will be hours of celebrating afterwards with more flash than the solemnity of a Harkonnen wedding.  You want to ask if there will be dancing, because there wasn’t at your wedding.  You’re not sure what Harkonnen dancing would even look like.  Or music, beyond ceremonial war chants.  The party afterwards will also be the first time you’re properly presented to the Fortress as the Na-Baron.

Not that you’ll be expected to make any speeches or hold anyone’s attention, but a dress is being made for you to commemorate the occasion and you’ll represent not a person but an idea, a symbol.  This is the part of marriage you’ve been preparing for most of your life.  When you were younger your mother was honest about what marriage would look like for you; that your husband would probably be someone you didn’t know very well or perhaps not at all until the wedding, and that it would be your duty to represent the best qualities of your House and, if your groom was from a different House, his as well.  That for you, marriage would be about politics first and that love would come eventually as you got acclimated to your new husband and the role you’d be playing, and even then that it might not be a passionate or easy kind of love.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen isn’t a creature compatible with something like love.  You were almost surprised that there’s a word for it in his language.  You’re not sure if you could ever grow to love him, or he you.  You’re not sure if it’s an emotion he’s capable of feeling or if the strangely companionable routine you’ve developed with him is the best you’re going to get.  

Your children, though, you’re certain you’ll love, even if they’re raised to be cold, even as they’ll never quite look like you, and you’ll teach them how to express it.  You’ll make sure that no matter how strict and unforgiving their father will bring them up that they’ll always have you.

In a letter addressed only to your mother you ask her what you can barely form in your own mind and couldn’t possibly ask anyone else here. You ask her how early she was able to tell, because you can’t.  You must be, or else something’s very wrong, but you haven’t had a moment after he’s finished inside of you that you felt life growing there.  You don’t feel different yet, and certainly don’t look different.  When do you feel a tithe to them?  You look at your stomach in the mirror as if expecting it to swell already and wonder if the rush of maternal love will come once you can confirm it or if it happens once you have the baby.  There’s no shortage of information on the physical aspects of pregnancy but nothing on that.  The closer it gets to the Bene Gesserit’s visit the more real all this becomes: you’re going to be a mother, on a brutal and unforgiving planet that you’re constantly torn between assimilating into and rejecting to maintain your own sense of self.  You’re going to need all the help you can get.

There’s another shift, four days before Feyd-Rautha’s birthday.

It starts out as a normal training session, with Feyd putting you through close range maneuver drills.

While the rest of the Fortress is busy preparing for his birthday celebrations, he seems somewhat detached.  You’d assumed he’d be more excited at the chance to kill more prisoners in front of an adoring crowd; he’d seemed like he was having a decent enough time killing drugged men for Geidi Prime’s entertainment before the wedding.  This, however, he treats like an obligation that he discusses only in the most pragmatic terms and as part of his responsibilities as Na-Baron.  You’re not entirely sure why, or what if any moral quandary he might have now that he didn’t nearly a month ago.  But you decide that your grasp of Harkonnen pronunciation has improved enough that you can give him an early birthday present and surprise him with your efforts so far.

It’s while you separate long enough to take a minute-long break that you decide that now is as good a time as any.  You take a breath and remember how Idrisa taught you to say the words before offering him a friendly smile and throwing out the words in imperfect but improved Harkonnen.

“ Do you know what you want for your birthday, Husband? ”

He blinks, taken aback for the sweetest of moments before tilting his head and giving you a small smile as if to say, Huh.  How about that.  Like you’re a dog that’s performed an amusing trick.  It would feel embarrassing were it not for that he could have had a much worse reaction.

He responds in kind, with what you can only partially interpret as “ Yes, wife, and I ….” something garbled or a phrase you haven’t learned yet, “ what is mine .”  

Well.  Tone and implications count for a lot.  You might not understand the wording exactly, but you think you get the general picture he’s painting for you as you feel yourself blush.  He circles around you and adds, speaking faster than the instructions you’re used to hearing and a few words are indecipherable, “ I’ll eghl as my wife, lawswh you off to all of Geidi Prime .”

Before you have time to respond he locks you into position, his front to your back and his blade against your throat.  “ To zxncoh to my people that you took my seed and you’re sadghl my heir .”

Other people can hear, you think, scandalized.  Maybe not all that well, he’s not speaking loudly, and other people are focused on their own training but still…

His cock is hard and flushed against the small of your back.  Your head is spinning.  He inhales sharply, as if he can smell the growing wetness between your legs.  He withdraws his blade, holsters it in his scabbard, and turns off his shield.  On instinct, you turn off yours.  There’s a couple of seconds you’re both still, and he opens his mouth, nuzzles your hair.  And then…

“Everyone out!” he calls out, the gravel of his rasp not suited for yelling, but he manages all the same.  A servant opens the door and everyone files out without a word in less than a minute, and then the door slams shut.

He turns you around in his arms and kisses you hard.

He’d talked about doing this the first day he trained you.  It’s really a testament to his self-restraint that he’s waited this long to do it, you think as he backs you into the wall and braces one forearm beside your head.  His other hand sneaks into the waist of your pants and beneath your undergarment.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and gasp into it as he brings his fingertips over your bud and circles lightly, at first anyway.  One fingertip slides along the slit of you, feeling for your growing wetness as he rests his lips against your hairline.  You feel him break into a self-satisfied grin as he says, “I think you can handle two, don’t you, pet?” and slips his middle and index fingers in without waiting for you to respond.  You try to tamp down on your whimpers, the way the echoes of the room amplify every sound, including the slick wet noises of his fingers twisting and pumping inside of you, finally crooking forward the way you like.  It’s hardly fair of him to use that against you.

Oh, Great Mother, they’ve probably got their ears pressed up against the door, listening in, hearing everything—

–And then he slides in a third finger and crooks them again.

You buck your hips, the wind knocked out of you in a silent scream.

“You like that?” Feyd asks, his voice in your ear.

You know I do.  For fuck’s sake, Feyd, just do it again.   You let out a desperate whine, biting your lip as you nod and he rubs you down again, feeling you shake around him.  You feel searingly hot, knowing your face is flushed, knowing that everyone outside knows what the two of you are doing.

You made this choice weeks ago.  You made this choice over a month ago when the Reverend Mother told you who you were to marry.

You still his hand, giving a small nod as if to say, I’m ready, and he withdraws, tilting his head and waiting.  You hardly take a breath before you turn and descend to your knees, pulling your pants and smallclothes down your thighs and spreading your legs as far as you reasonably can before bracing your hands against the wall.  Your breath is already ragged.  You rest your forehead in between your hands.

“ Fuck me, husband ,” you manage in Harkonnen.

Feyd huffs a laugh and settles down behind you.  The sound of him unfastening the front of his pants is shockingly loud within the cavernous expanse of the room, and even as you’d wanted to hold back on your noises he punctures them out of you with each thrust.

You’ll forgive yourself this indignity.  You’re doing it for a greater purpose , you tell yourself.

And then Feyd thrusts at just the right angle that has you letting out a strangled moan, shaking around him, barely able to hold onto the wall in front of you before he brings a hand between your legs.

“That’s it, pet,” he murmurs in your ear.  “Don’t hold back.  Make all the pretty noises you can,” he says and brings his fingers back to your bud.  You cry out, tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes and you’re not entirely sure from what, clenching hard as he uses the pressure around him to power through, pulling you onto him as he growls and snarls and fills you to the brim.

You tremble through it all, shutting your eyes.  A few months ago you would never have pictured yourself doing this, letting a man fuck you from behind while over a dozen people in a hallway mere meters away could hear, and certainly would never have pictured coming from it.  A few months ago you would never have pictured marrying a Harkonnen.

Afterwards, he holds himself to your back, giving one last soft thrust before pulling out.  You yank your smallclothes and pants up as fast as possible to avoid any kind of spill, wincing at the mess of fluids smeared between you and the gusset.

“Is it always messy like this?” you ask as Feyd tucks himself back in and rises to stand.

“If you’re doing it right,” he says, offering a hand to guide you up.

Once he has you he cups your chin with his hand that had fondled you under your smallclothes.  You know immediately what he’s about to do and open your mouth, allowing him access as he slips his fingers inside.

“Clever thing, aren’t you?” Feyd says, watching his fingers go in, watching your eyes as he pushes them until they reach your soft palate and you just barely manage not to gag at the taste and scent of your own juices on his fingertips, the brush of his fingertips pressed too far in for comfort.  He withdraws them as he says, “Quick to learn, eager to please.”

You shut your eyes, exhaling shakily as you lower your head.  You can’t name the twisted combination of shame and pride at his condescending praise.

He cradles your face again.  “None of that, now.  Look at me, pet,” he says.  And when you do, swallowing around nothing, jaw clenched, he looks at your face, studying the look in your eyes as if he can understand what you’re feeling better than you can.

He kisses you again, bruising, searing, burying his other hand in your hair.  He gives you a moment to catch your breath when he releases you, and then looks at the door.  His eyes flicker between you and it for a moment before he strides towards it to let everyone back inside.

“I would never have done what we just did for anyone other than you,” you call after him before he can get there, before you can stop yourself.  “ Never .”

He stops and looks at you.  “I believe you believe that, Y/N,” he says.  “You were the first virgin I think I’ve ever been with.”

You furrow your brow.  “Really?” you ask, his response briefly taking you out of the embarrassed pit you’d started digging for yourself.  You’d sort of assumed that he’d had a history of deflowering frightened young women.  Sort of assumed that it was one of his Na-Baronly duties.

He gives a mono-syllabic grunt in the affirmative before opening the door.

You don’t envy everyone shuffling in, avoiding looking at either of you directly as they offer quick honorifics and resume their training.

You’re too shaken to be of much use for the rest of your session, not to Feyd’s surprise.  

“Let’s call it a morning, Y/N.  Go to your quarters, take a shower.  I’ll see you at breakfast,” he says, and you’re biting down on a sarcastic, why thank you, Na-Baron. The squelch of your come leaking out of me is a bit distracting.  I appreciate you noticing , when he leans in and gives you a brief kiss on the mouth.

You blink in surprise.  He seldom kisses you when there are other people around, and certainly not in front of his soldiers while he’s training.  You hesitate before returning it.  

“ Thank you, husband ,” you tell him in Harkonnen as you pull away.  The curve of his mouth twitches in what you hope is a smile.

You’re certain after that you’ve gotten a good amount of leverage, as much as you’re probably going to get until you become a mother, but what then?  

You can learn to live with Feyd as the father of your children, with him being the formative authority figure in their lives.  You’ll never try to convince yourself that deep down he’s a kind and decent man, but you’ve noticed that he has his own, albeit twisted, set of moral standards.  It’s the idea of the Baron being in their lives at all that worries you.  You can’t imagine any way in which his presence could be a good thing, especially for any sons you’ll have–and surely Feyd must know this?

A thought forms and grows even as you try to shut it out.  It’s impossible, you tell yourself, and still you can’t help but wonder.

At dinnertime the following evening your grip tightens on your fork as at the head of the table the Baron eats roasted bird down to the bone and you wonder how fragile his own must be after what must be years now of not being able to move on his own.  

There’s not a chance that you’d be able to get rid of him personally.  You’d be killed long before such an attempt could come to fruition.  But you’ve read a bit about Harkonnen history, and Barons have been usurped before, ones in declining health replaced by those who’d go on to prove more capable and more ruthless than their predecessors.  Feyd knows his own history far better than you do, he’s read about this.

He tried to kill his uncle once.  What’s stopping him now that he’s entering the very prime of his life?  When he has a wife and, soon, children to think about?  When the Baron’s over seventy and hasn’t been able to walk on his own in years?

Can he be convinced?

You keep your head down, glad that no one here can read your mind, glad that the Baron only seems to pay attention to you if he seems to be wondering if it’s too early for you to start showing.  

I’ll spare you the suspense: it is, you’d tell him if you had the nerve. 

That night Feyd comes to your room and takes you and there’s a moment between when he finishes and when he decides to sleep in his own quarters that you think about suggesting it to him.

The people respect and fear you .  It’s your time.  You’re ready.

You have a duty to Geidi Prime and the Bene Gesserit and me to keep our children safe and there’s no guarantee of that unless you get rid of the Baron.

In the end you can’t bring yourself to say it.  Not yet.

You wake up to the feeling of a body behind you and cold steel against your throat, and it takes you less than a second to realize that you’re not dreaming, and the person shifting in behind you and bringing both arms around you is very much real.

You let out one scream, to alert any guards nearby, but nothing else to waste your precious breath as you reach for the forearm leading to the hand that’s holding the knife and jerk one shoulder up as hard as you can, trying to dislodge him.

This is so much easier standing up than laying on your side, you realize with immediate clarity, having never felt more awake in your life as you try to duck your head in the scant gap that you’ve made, grabbing his wrist and struggling as he refuses to give you enough space to properly move.

You still manage to keep your hand on his forearm, ducking just enough to squirm out of his arms and plunge his knife into his ribs and then…

The knife hums but doesn’t pierce his skin.  

He has his shield activated , you realize, panic setting in, eyes trying to adjust to the dark.  If I can evade him just long enough to get his shield off then maybe–

You bite down on the man’s other arm, hard, breaking the skin and drawing a moan out of the man behind you that you don’t have time to recognize sounds familiar– you just need to get on top of him, get the upper hand –and duck under his arm long enough to turn and swing one leg over the man’s waist and pin him on his back to your bed, finally wrenching the knife out of his hand as you point it as his chest and…

You stare, panting and stunned.  It hadn’t occurred to you to question how someone could get into your chambers, hadn’t registered that your assailant was wearing pants but no shirt.  All you could think about was the knife at your throat.

Pinned underneath you is your husband.  He fixes you with a smile, looking utterly pleased with himself.

“You’re improving; that’s good,” he says.

You nearly drop your knife, barely having the mind to set it on the bed next to Feyd’s shoulder, realizing that you’re sitting directly on top of his stiffening groin.  Feyd turns off his shield device before propping himself up on his forearms.

“I had to make sure that you were prepared.  If you’re ever ambushed it won’t be in a training room with a warning,” he says.  He ignores your ragged breaths and stunned expression quickly turning to anger.

You slap him as hard as you can.  The cracking sound could deafen you; pain shoots down your wrist from the impact.

What the fuck?!  I was terrified! you almost say before he sits all the way up and pulls you into a ferocious kiss.  You give back as good as you receive, almost snarling into it, gripping the back of his neck, before pulling away for breath.

“I’m fucking furious with you,” you tell him.

“Good,” he says, and pulls you into another kiss.  He gives a quiet moan at the taste of his blood in your mouth, staining your teeth, and licks it off of you.  He draws an arm across your naked back and buries his other hand in your hair.  Anger turns to adrenaline turns to arousal that has you panting against his mouth before something occurs to you.

“Wait, what happened to–” there are always a couple of armed guards at each end of the expansive hallway.  They would’ve been able to hear your screaming.

“I told the guards that I was conducting a drill and that if they interfered that I’d feed them alive and screaming to my Darlings,” he says.

You’re deranged , you think, and reach for his pants with only one goal in mind, and for a moment you picture him flipping the two of you over, fucking you into the mattress like he does every night and sometimes in the mornings, reducing you to mewls and whimpers.

No.

This time he can be the one who gets fucked, that follows the rhythm of your hips.  You’ve only come close to that kind of leverage once before but if he wants to be inside of you tonight this is what he’s going to get.

You grab the dagger left on the sheets and press it to his collarbone.

“You nearly killed me,” you tell him.  “I’ll take what I want from you.” 

He grins at you with his black teeth and gums.  “I was only trying to make you think I would kill you, but you did well, so you can take whatever you want.”

You exhale through your nostrils.  Think I’m bluffing? you want to ask as the tip of the blade just barely pierces his alabaster skin.  An image flashes like lightning in your mind and grows like the clap of thunder–him prone underneath you, laying back and taking everything you give him.  Your mouth falls open at the idea and shuts again as you push at his chest, watching as he goes down.

Something flashes in those blue eyes of his as he has just enough reach to turn on the light and you relax the blade just enough to let him do it, let him give you a good look at him.

“Go on,” he says.  “Take your reward.”

You huff an-almost laugh, stunned, delighted.  You think of him collared but quickly dismiss the notion.  Next time.  You’re too impatient to leave the room.  You look down at Feyd, pliant and waiting beneath you, and press the tip of the knife just barely against his skin.  “Help me get your pants off,” you tell him as you raise your hips enough to give him access.

His eyes blaze as he does as he’s told, raising his hips to push them down his legs, kicking a little to get them further down.  Do they come all the way off?  Probably not.  You don’t care.  His cock stands at attention, and you relinquish the knife in order to brace a hand on his stomach, your other hand positioning him at your entrance.  Feyd’s hands in turn cup your hips.  It takes some finessing, moving on top of him; it’s not a position you’ve explored much before but you’re slick enough that it’s effortless to line him up against you and slide down onto him.

“You wanna ride me?” he says as you rock your hips for the first time and a moan spills from your lips.  He feels so good, you think, almost dazed, mouth falling open.

“Is that what this is called?” you ask, resting your hands on his chest, taking the opportunity to squeeze and grope whatever you can find.

Feyd lets out a breathless laugh, sliding his own hands over your hips, bringing one up further to squeeze one of your breasts in turn.  “Among other things,” he says.

You almost laugh as well; this way it’s almost like his body’s a fun toy you can use to amuse and please yourself.  You have better access to the rest of him this way, and he you.  He’s never really let you touch him like this, and you wonder–he doesn’t have breasts, but would he still like it if you touched his nipples?  You rock your hips, still getting a feel for the rise and fall, the drag of it, as you circle your thumb around one of them before pinching the bud between it and your forefinger.  For a moment you expect him to snap at you, grab your wrist and growl a warning at you, but he twitches and gasps and you repeat the gesture.

Your breath hitches and you can’t help but smile for a moment, delighted at the new information you have on this man, the vulnerability of him under you.  Would he, under the right circumstances, allow the clamps he’s used only once on you?  You bring one hand to his bare thigh as you try out different movements and speeds, oscillating between a rolling grind, bouncing up and down, a combination of both as the friction from this position is a unique thrill that builds the heat within you just as fast as the drag of him inside of you.

He brings one hand to your neck, thumb to your pulse point, and gives a light squeeze.  You just bear down and ride him harder as if to say, You think that scares me?  I know you, husband.  You’ve hurt a lot of people and you’re going to hurt more, but not me.  Not in a way that I can’t handle and come back from.

The clarity of it is almost shocking, but you know in your heart that it’s true; even tonight is his own perverse kind of fondness.

What a strange fucking husband, what a strange fucking marriage you have, that minutes after you thought you were about to be killed you feel safer than you have with him so far.

Your orgasm rips through you faster than you’ve ever managed with him inside of you, has you crying out as you shut your eyes and throw your head back, stomach and thighs clenching and every nerve on fire.  For a moment everything’s red and everything’s hot and you feel like you’ve just incinerated yourself, and then you come to, mouth open and hips still jerking in short thrusts on top of him and all you can see are Feyd’s pupils blown wide as he stares up at you.

There’s a moment you realize that you could deprive him of an orgasm.  One of the first nights you were together, the moment it seemed like you were about to come, he’d smugly withheld it from you.  Now that you’ve gotten yours, you could stop, climb off of him, and tell him he can finish himself off.  Right now he seems dazed, mouth open, his grip on your throat more of a loose hold.  For a moment you picture the lost look on his face if you do it.

That moment breezes by, and you start rocking onto him again, panting and moaning as you scratch down his chest, your nails catching onto his nipples, making him buck his hips and moan, the movements jostling your insides.  He’s close–and somehow, you’re building again with your frayed nerves, but you’re going to need his help to bring you over with him.

Well, maybe not need.   But you’re going to tell him anyway.

It takes you a few tries, mouth open, trying to form the words, before you say, “Touch me,” and you’re pretty proud of how it comes across as an instruction rather than a plea.

In turn it takes him a moment to register your orders before sliding his hand to your neck down to one of your breasts, squeezing and fondling one and then the other, and finally, mercifully sliding his other hand from your hip and resting it high up on your thigh, rubbing his thumb along your apex.

“That’s it,” you manage, closing your eyes, gritting your teeth at how frustratingly close you are while still so sensitive, so determined to make it over the edge before he does.  He’s panting underneath you, his heart pounding, sweat dampening his chest and his thigh and he shifts his legs and–oh.  Oh .  That’s it.  You don’t register your own moans and cries as you shut your eyes against it, feeling him coming inside of you, hearing a guttural moan ripped out of his chest as he arches his hips up into you and for a moment you feel like everything’s shattering, everything bursting into air.  After a moment you still your hips, taking in shuddering breaths, waiting to come back to yourself.

You open your eyes again and look down at Feyd, who looks at you like he’s never looked at you before and you realize this is what it’s like for someone to be in awe of you.  It’s a powerful feeling, especially from him.

You kept this away from me for nearly a month? you want to ask.  You let out a laugh.  You’re soaring.  You’re delirious.  You want to go again even as you tremble.

Feyd ends up talking first.  “Now what, pet?” he says, running his hands over your shaking thighs.  “Anything you want.”

You catch your breath.  He’s still under you, still subdued and tamed–for now.  You lean forward, bracing your forearms on either side of him, enjoying the shift of the angle of him inside of you even when softened.  He gives a slight hiss as you roll your hips once for good measure.

“I want to keep you inside of me until you get hard again, and then I want to ride you again until I can’t anymore,” you tell him.

You haven’t seen him drunk but you can imagine that it looks a little like this, the way his head rolls to the side and he grins, still looking dazed and bedazzled.  You can hardly blame him; you feel almost out of your own body as well.

I have you.  I have you.  I have you.

[senditcolton]

So Tragic and Rare

"Meet in the Middle" (pt. 13)

a/n: hello again! another fic added to the universe. this one is not as wild and crazy as the last but a nice little look in at where Andrei and Keely's relationship might go.

word count: 5.2k warnings: none! previous part 🧡 next part masterlist

When Andrei’s phone buzzes, he is in the middle of untying his skates after practice, the laces tight in his hands. His eyes glance over, the text message preview shining brightly on the screen and Andrei’s movements stop when he registers the name of his agent. And his heartrate increases when he reads the three-word message.

Mark Call me asap.

Andrei can’t stop his mind from spiraling. There was absolutely no reason his agent should be texting him, especially not with that cryptic message that conveyed a dire sense of urgency. He wasn’t in danger of being traded or put on waivers or anything else that would prompt this text from Mark. Unless, it was something else; an outside source implicating Andrei in something that could be damaging to his career.

The confusion and small hint of fear coursing through him causes Andrei to finish his post-practice routine in record time, racing back to his car before calling Mark back. The nerves do not settle when his agents voice comes through the speakers of his phone.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Andrei?”

The question catches him off-guard even more that his agent’s previous text, something that Andrei expresses with a vocal bewildered ‘what?’

“I received a very interesting phone call today from one Heather Griffith,” Mark explains. “Do you know she is?”

“No,” Andrei answers, the name not pulling any image into his mind, the hesitancy painting the single syllable response.

“She is a publicist, known in music circles. And today, she reached out to our office on behalf of Keely Halloran. Do you know her? She performed at the All-Star Game last month.”

As if Andrei could forget about Keely Halloran. As if he hadn’t spent the last month gathering every scrap of information that he could about the rockstar that had crashed into his life that weekend in Toronto. As if he still didn’t see her face and hear her voice in his dreams and feel her touch in his dreams.

Of course, he doesn’t say any of that to his agent. Instead, he just responds with a small affirmative hum, enough for Mark to continue.

“Well, apparently Halloran was wondering if there was a time that the two of you could get together during the Canes upcoming northeast road trip.”

“The New Jersey, New York, Boston trip?”

“Yep, that’s the one,” Mark responds. Through the speakers, Andrei can hear him flipping through some papers before he speaks again. “She says that she could either have you meet her at her recording studio in New York City or at her apartment in Boston; whatever works best for your schedule.”

There is a beat of silence as Andrei takes in the information. In the month after Toronto and he hadn’t heard anything from Keely. Her social media hadn’t even updated and any news stories that she was involved in had either been rumors or old new. There were moments when he wasn’t even sure that she would ever reach out to him. He had been – still was – willing to wait for her, just like he promised. But the complete radio silence had him wondering how long he was supposed to wait. A month? Six? A year?

That question was clearly irrelevant, now that his agent was telling him that she wanted to see him.

“Andrei, you still there?”

Mark’s voice breaks him out of his reverie and he clears his throat before responding.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Um, New York would be better since the travel between Jersey and the city isn’t as much as New York to Boston. I mean, I could do Boston also but I’m not sure.”

“Let’s just stick with New York. I’ll reach out to her publicist to confirm and we’ll work out details from there.”

Andrei continues to sit in stunned silence, listening to the clack of a keyboard and more flipping pages until Mark sighs again.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Andrei?” he asks, his voice haggard as he repeats the question posed at the very beginning of their phone call.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do I have a rockstar’s publicist on my answering machine? How did this even happen?”

Andrei can understand both his agent’s confusion and his concern. He knows that he should tell Mark everything, give him all the information he could because that was Mark’s job. His agent didn’t only help Andrei navigate contracts but also navigate the world as someone with a spotlight on him. And news like this, his connection with an insanely popular musician, would just draw more eyes to him.

But something stops him from telling Mark exactly what happened – what was happening – between him and Keely. Perhaps he wanted to keep Keely safe, protect her as much as he could. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t exactly sure what he and Keely shared.

“I don’t know,” Andrei replies, choosing to give Mark an abridged version that still had glimmers of the truth. “We connected at the All-Star game and I asked to keep in touch. Now, this.”

“Fine,” Mark says, a defeated sound coming from his chest and Andrei can picture the shake of his head. “Just, whenever you know, please tell me. Might need to high more PR or at least a crisis consultant.”

The last sentence is more muttered than spoken but Andrei hears it all the same before the line goes dead. Mark’s concern digs into Andrei, making him think deeper about his agent’s questions.

He didn’t really know where this – whatever he shared with Keely Halloran – was going. He initially thought it might have ended a month ago. He didn’t know if it would last past this next week. It was tenuous, delicate. And he knew that fragility wouldn’t disappear even if their bond strengthened.

That was just what happened, considering who she was. Who he was.

But he tries to let those concerns roll off him, like water off a duck wing. There was no point worrying about a future when that wasn’t even certain. That mindset made him a good hockey player and he knew that mindset would make him good for Keely.

If she wanted him.

~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~*~*~

The electronic voice of Andrei’s Google Maps directs him to turn off 17th, down Greenwich Ave. His legs may have been a little sore from the morning skate plus the 30-minutes he had been walking but Andrei could easily count the positives.

Like the fact that no one had stopped him since leaving the hotel, or that it was a pleasantly warm day, or that he had almost arrived at the studio, or that he was about to see Keely again.

His app tells him the Electric Lady Studios is coming up on his left and Andrei takes out his headphones. He looks ahead on the sidewalk for a sign or anything other identifiers. He doesn’t expect for his identifier to be the small group of men with cameras lingering outside but Keely did warn him about the possibility.

The sight of them gives Andrei pause, his steps slowing. He’s sure that he is unworthy of getting a phot taken, the men most likely looking for higher list celebrities. But just to be safe, Andrei adjusts his sunglasses and pulls his baseball cap a little lower. With a deep breath, he walks up to the front door and pulls it open with as much casualness as he can muster, hoping that the paparazzi thought he was just another worker or security guard.

The sound clicking camera shutters do not hit his ears and a sigh of relief flows through him. Quickly taking off his meager disguise, smoothing his hair with his hands, he walks up to the front desk where serious woman sits, typing on a computer.

“Hello,” he says, causing the woman’s eyes to look up at him over her horn-rimmed glasses, her eyebrows raising. Andrei tries not to let himself falter under her stare, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m here to see Keely Halloran.”

“Name.”

“Andrei Svechnikov,” he replies, waiting to see if any form of recognition crosses over her face. But the receptionist, unfazed, simply picks up the landline, tapping a few numbers before murmuring Andrei’s information to the person on the other end. Andrei watches the small nod of her head before she is placing the phone back down and fixing her eyes on him once again.

“Studio D. Down the hall to the left.”

Andrei leaves her with a polite thank you, receiving only a hum in response. He walks across the plush carpet, following the receptionist’s directions as well the signs hanging on the walls until he arrives at the recording studio labeled with the letter D. After another slow deep breath, he pulls open the door.

It is nearly silent when he steps into the room but he can hear the soft somewhat muffled sound of Keely’s singing. The room is on the smaller size, the main attraction being the giant switchboard facing a huge window. Two men were standing in front of the board, giant headphones on their ears and he could see their fingers moving. Andrei looks past them, through the window, and sees Keely.

After a month of only seeing her through a phone or computer screen, the sight of her in front of him takes his breath away. She was beautiful – no photos could compare seeing her in person. Photographs could never capture the beauty of her entire essence: sitting in the live studio, her own headphones perched on her head as she sings into a microphone, her eyes almost closed, her hands emoting with every word.

Andrei just stands back, not wanting to disturb the moment, content to watch Keely in her element. She pauses, looking back towards the window and it is then do her eyes flit up to Andrei. The skip of his heart is noticeable when her smile grows exponentially at the sight of him. She sends a soft wave in his direction as a silent hello, before her fingers curl to indicate ‘one moment.’ He just nods, patiently waiting as she does a few more takes before she takes off her headphones.

Keely gets up from the chair she was perched in and walks through the connecting door, smiling at Andrei before turning her attention to her producers.

It is fascinating, watching her work. He assumes that this is how people felt watching him skate.

Keely looked so in her element, leaning over the switchboard, her hands holding her headphones in place, her head moving with the beat. He watches how she talks to her producers, humming and singing, brainstorming ideas about the music and lyrics. Her smile never leaves her face, not even when a soft thank you fall from her lips. Her producers get up from their seats, receiving a warm hug from Keely before they depart. And then, finally, she turns her attention to Andrei.

“Hi,” she says, the lingering happiness painting her words.

“Hey.”

It’s one of the only words Andrei can say, still in shock that he was able to see her again. Still surprised that she reached out to him after a month of silence.

“Sorry again about the whole fiasco of setting this up,” Keely laughs, pushing the door open to the other side of the recording studio, holding it in a silent invitation for Andrei to follow behind. “I hope you were able to get here okay.”

“It was fine. New York is beautiful so it’s nice to walk around.”

Andrei’s words slightly trail off as he walks into the live room. He wasn’t able to see the entirety of it until now. It is cozy; the warm paneling, a myriad of couches and chairs, and even plants sitting on many surfaces. But it is also so obviously a recording studio with every different type of instrument placed along almost every wall. He watches Keely sink down onto one of the couches, her blue eyes looking up at him, the excitement of seeing him and having him here, in her world, evident. Andrei returns her smile as he sinks into the cushions opposite her before continuing.

“And don’t apologize. I’m honestly just happy you reached out,” he continues, letting his smile widen ever so slightly. “Never thought I’d see you again.”

“Grow tired of waiting for me?”

“Never,” he responds immediately with a sharp sincerity. “Although, if I got your number back in Toronto, it might have been easier to remind you that I was here.”

Keely laughs, her head tilt indicating he made a good point but her laughter fades as she looks back at him with that genuine expression that made the temperature of his body increase.

“I wouldn’t need a reminder,” she softly says. “I never forgot about you.”

This woman. A part of Andrei wondered if she’d ever stop making his heart do flips in his chest.

“Really?” he asks, the question lifted with an air of uncertainty. His shock is once again noticed by Keely who only laughs that bright laugh in response.

“Of course. You think I let any random guy I met once into my recording studio?”

Andrei shares in her laughter, never ceasing to love how confident and carefree she was.

“It is a beautiful studio.”

“Thank you,” Keely replies, looking around the space before training her blue eyes back to Andrei. “I hope this isn’t too weird but I was wondering if you’d be comfortable having lunch with me in here? There’s a mini fridge that I keep stocked with food or we could order in.”

“You have a fully stocked mini-fridge?”

“Never know how long I’ll be working. Don’t want to interrupt the creative process by having to walk outside and grab a bite to eat, y’know?”

Andrei replies with a soft chuckle of understand because he did get it. There were moments in practice where he did not want to leave the ice until he perfected a specific technique or a specific play and then repeated it until it became muscle memory. He could imagine writing a song might operate the same way.

“I’m fine with whatever,” he says, his shoulder shrugging, leaving the decision entirely up to her.

“Cool. I think I’ll order some food then. There’s this Italian place a few blocks away that to die for,” Keely replies, lifting herself up and grabbing her cell-phone before turning to Andrei. “Chicken and pasta, right?”

“Yeah,” Andrei confirms, his smile growing on his face. “How’d you remember?”

“Like I said, it was hard to forget about you.”

Andrei leans back and lets Keely type their order into her phone (although he does offer his own card to pay but she shoos his request away, saying she invited him). She settles back down on the couch and while they wait for the delivery, they talk, catching each other up on what had been happening in their lives.

It was surface level stuff at first: how the season was going for Carolina, how many times Keely had been in the studio. When their food arrives, their conversation turns more intimate, talking about smaller, non-headline items. Keely shows him videos of her dog Gigi and some other photos of Boston from her point of view. Andrei recounts the absolute freak-out that Seth Jarvis had when Andrei sent him the video they shot up in Toronto. He can’t contain his laughter, even going to show the all-capital multi exclamation point text messages that he received, causing Keely to laugh as well.

“Well, if that’s how he reacts to a video, I can only imagine what he’d be like if I ever meet him.”

“Do you want to meet him?”

“Maybe. You think I will?” Keely says, responding with her own question and Andrei can see both the gentle tease in her eyes as well as the sincere hope. The hope that maybe meeting each other’s friends was were this could be heading, growing from a chance meeting to something real.  

“I guess we’ll find out,” he replies, his own eyes surely sparkling with that same hope.  

“Guess we will.”

“You look great by the way. I’m not sure if I’d told you that yet.”

“If you did, I wouldn’t be opposed to hearing it again.”

“Well, you do,” Andrei compliments, his gaze darting down her body.

She always did look fantastic but this felt different. Her outfit matched her demeanor: casual and relaxed. Another monochrome outfit of a tank top, pants, boots, her hair in two braids, that made her seem so effortlessly cool. His eyes trace the lines of her necklaces and down to the bracelets adorning her wrists before noticing the ring on her middle finger. He recognizes it as the same one from her jewelry tray in her hotel bathroom.

“I like your ring,” he says, gesturing. “I saw it… well, that night. It’s very unique.”

Keely’s eyes follow his gesture, her right hand lifting as she takes in the jewelry, a small chuckle falling from her lips.

“It’s actually one of the most common rings you’ll see in Boston. Especially South Boston.”

“Really? What is it?”

“It’s called a Claddagh ring. Old Irish tradition,” she explains.

She holds her hand out and Andrei doesn’t hesitate to take a hold of it. There is a notable shiver that runs through Keely at his touch, a smile appearing on her face – one that Andrei matches, his thumb running over her knuckles. She lets out a small shaky breath before continuing.

“The heart represents love, the crown loyalty, and the hands friendship,” Keely says, pointing to each element of the ring. “Most girls get one when they turn seventeen or eighteen. It’s actually a way to show relationship status. When it’s on the right hand – like mine – and the bottom of the heart is pointing out – like mine – it means that your heart is open to love. If the heart is pointed towards the wearer, it means they’re in a relationship. And then on the left hand, pointed out means engaged, pointed in means married.”

“Sounds complicated,” Andrei laughs, making sure his voice stays light as to not offend.  

“Only if you don’t know the traditions,” she teases back, taking his jest in stride.

“You wore it the other way for a while,” he comments. There is a silence that falls and Andrei’s eyes dart up to see Keely staring at her ring, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Tan line is still there,” Andrei explains, his thumb running over the ring, pulling it slightly to the side to show the – albeit very faint – tan line. Keely’s hand slips from his as she brings it closer to her own eyes, taking in the lighter skin.

“You think it would’ve faded by now,” she sighs, rubbing the finger, the ring twisting as she looks away, her eyes distant.

Andrei just sits there, taking in the sight of the vulnerable woman sitting in front of him. It still hurt him, how much pain that she had obviously gone through. But it also made his heart soft that she was this open and trusting with him after only a few interactions.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m sure you know the story,” she says with a humorless chuckle, her eyes darting over to him.

He didn’t want to tell her that yes, he did. After he left Toronto, he looked up as much as he could about her, trying to understand who Keely Halloran was. There was a lot of noise to dig through: internet trolls, overly critical journalists, people who had nothing to say but still said it as loud as possible. But he did know the story of her recent breakup and the fallout that followed.

“I haven’t heard it from you.”

Her blue eyes dart up to him and he hopes she understands that he wanted to hear about what happened from her perspective; the perspective of the person who lived through it all. Not to satiate some sick hunger to get information from superstar Keely Halloran but because he cared about her.

It seems as if his expression conveys enough because that self-deprecating smile softens. She lets out a small sigh before speaking.

“The short of it… is that he cheated on me. The long of it is that he cheated on me multiple times, in multiple places, in the five years we were together. Told me everything after we broke up. I wrote a song about it, got crucified for writing said song, disappeared for a few months, and now – here I am.”

“Multiple times in multiple places?” he repeats, shocked that there was a guy out there that was just plain stupid. Keely just shrugs.

“The danger of dating someone who travels for their job. It’s pretty easy to hide infidelity when you’re in different cities.”

“But he told you?”

“Yeah,” Keely chuckles, her eyes rolling. “Wrote me a letter, in fact.”

“The Late-Night performance,” Andrei whispers, remembering the messy scrawl that was projected across the soundstage.

“Yep. I don’t know if he was asking for forgiveness or wanted to cleanse his soul or some other bullshit,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “The funny thing is, him doing that is what caused everything else to happen. He could’ve gotten off scot-free if he just kept his mouth shut. But then again, I suppose I didn’t have to write a song attacking him.”

“No,” Andrei says. Keely glances back over at him, her eyebrows furrowed in a silent question. “If he didn’t want you – a singer – to write a song about how he hurt you, he shouldn’t have hurt you.”

 He can see Keely blink a few times, her body shifting, leaning back in surprise at his words and the conviction in his voice. Another sly smile tugs at her lips, her blue eyes fixed on him.

“Where were you a year ago?” she asks, her voice lilting in a gentle tease.

Andrei responds with a chuckle of his own, blushing as his head ducks down, scratching the back of his neck. He glances back up at Keely, her gaze taking him in, that cool casual demeanor thrown over her again like a security blanket.

“What about you, Andrei? Any past relationship drama I should know about?”

“No, not really,” he replies, gently laughing off her question.

“Really? No gossip that I can dig up on social media or through Google,” she says, relaxing him by gently poking fun at herself and her fishbowl life.

“Nah, there’s not much to say. My job and all… it – it keeps me busy. I only have summer really to date. But then hockey starts again and I’m travelling and… yeah,” he explains with a shrug. “Most of my problems have been physical: injuries. Missed last year’s playoffs because of my knee.”

“I’m sorry. I mean, that’s gotta suck.”

“It’s fine. Well, it wasn’t but… I’m all good now.”

“Back and better than ever?” she muses, that bright smile returning to her face.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Something we both can relate to.”

Andrei matches her grin as the two of them sit in that comfortable silence of a deeper understanding. Their worlds, while slightly different, were oddly similar as well. They had outside eyes on them, unsolicited opinions on their careers coming from every direction. But they both loved what they did. It was an intrinsic part of them, something that they couldn’t suppress even if it might be easier for them if they did.

“What were you working on? When I showed up?” Andrei asks, moving the conversation to what he hoped was lighter subject matter. His heart flips when he sees Keely’s eyes light up, the expression so like the joy he expressed on the ice.

“Just a new song. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with it yet. Might be scrapped, might be on the next album. We’ll see,” she explains.

“Can I hear it?”

“For you? Of course.”

Keely jumps up from the couch, careful not to knock over any of their empty takeout containers. She tells him to wait as she disappears into the control room. Andrei can still see her from the other side of the window fiddling with the control board. The instrumental somewhat startles him when it starts playing through the speakers. He can tell that it is a work in progress, not as completed as the songs that he hears on the radio. But he sits and listens to the snippet played.

Tuck a knife with my heart up my sleeve and fuck like a demon. Do it like nothing, I am disgusting, I’ve been corrupted and by now I don’t need no help to be destructive. I’ve been gone. Yeah, I’ve been on this road too long.

The track stops and Andrei looks back at Keely through the window. She smiles, giving him a questioning thumbs up to which he responds to with one of his own. He watches as she practically bounds back in and sits down in her previous spot.

“Yeah, no idea what it’s going to turn into, if it’s going to be anything. One idea that I had that I’m really attached to is adding this cool skip effect to the word ‘corrupted’ just to emphasize that meaning. But any way… what do you think? Honest opinion.”

“I, um, I don’t know a lot about music. I don’t want to offend,” Andrei slowly replies. Keely just playfully scoffs at his explanation, rolling her eyes in a teasing jest.   

“Please, you know my life. It’ll take a lot to offend me,” she laughs. Andrei replies with a tilt of his head, silently telling her that she made an excellent point.  

“I like the music. I’m not sure about the lyrics. They’re a little… dark?”

“Dark?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t seem like you. But maybe I’m seeing a different side of you that makes me feel like that,” Andrei explains, looking up at Keely with shy brown eyes. This time, it’s Keely that tilts her head in agreement to his statement.

“You might be right. Well, maybe you’ll like these lyrics a little better.”

Keely once again pops up from her sitting position, walking swiftly over to the wall of guitars, and grabs one without hesitation. He watches as she gently sets it down on the couch across from him, before taking one of the smaller amps and bringing it up. With a practiced ease, she connects the instrument, pulling it into her lap and tuning it.

She strums a few notes, making sure everything was correct before she starts playing an upbeat chord progression, her foot tapping to the beat. The melody of the guitar already makes a smile appear on Andrei’s face, one that only widens when she starts singing.

“You should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk. You should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong. And I had a boyfriend who’s older than us. I haven’t seen him in a couple of months. I go through phases when it comes to love. I’m nothing that you want but I must say:

You’re so gorgeous, and I ain’t just talking about your face but look at your face. (ah-huh-ah) And I’m so curious. Your mind got me feeling some type of way. What can I say? You’re gorgeous. (huh, huh, ah-huh-ah)”

If there was one thing that was for certain, it was that Keely Halloran would never cease to surprise him. That was the thought repeating in Andrei’s mind as he watched her sing. She was so at ease, the weight that had been so evident on her shoulders seemingly vanished and all that was left was the music. The soft smile on his face remains even as she stops playing, her bright blue eyes looking up at him.

“I’m still not sure how I feel about that one,” she says, shrugging her shoulders as she rests the guitar against the couch cushions. “I think if I figure out the lyrics, I might send it off to another artist.”

“I like that one,” Andrei says, his voice painted with soft admiration.

“Well, I hope so. It’s about you after all.”

Those electric blue eyes seem to sparkle with the intensity of a million stars at the quiet confession. Andrei was slightly taken aback, not fully realizing how much he impacted this woman’s life until now. They only interacted with each other a minimum of three separate times, not including this one. What did she see in him? How had he not messed this up already?

“Well, I love it,” he says.

“I wrote another song about you,” Keely says, dropping the information so casually as if discussing the weather. Andrei wasn’t sure if she was emboldened by his sincerity or just liked to see him flail but whatever the reason, Andrei loved the way that it looked on her.

“Really?”

“Yeah. But I already sent it off to my friend Damiano. The moment I wrote it I knew it would fit perfectly on his band’s new album.”

“Can I still hear it?”

“You’ll have to wait for it to come out, just like everybody else. Besides, you already got enough of a sneak peek.”

The comfortable silence falls again as Andrei watches Keely return the guitar and amp to their homes. It’s almost perfect, a glimpse into what a potential future with her would look like. That is, until the sound of an alert shatters the peace. Andrei recognizes it as his alarm tone and he fishes out his cellphone from his pocket. The alert on his screen makes his heart slightly drop that it was that time already.

“Sorry, it’s an alarm I set,” he explains gently, turning off the noise and shoving the phone back in his pocket before lifting himself off the couch cushions. “I’ve gotta head back to the hotel.”

“Hey, I understand,” Keely says, walking with him out of the recording room, back into the control room and the door to the studio. Andrei stops, turning back to Keely, his hat and sunglasses in his hands.

“Are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“No. I planned on staying in the city for the rest of the night, have some dinner with my friends, before heading back to Boston. Plus, me, at a Rangers game? Can you imagine?”

“Well, the Bruins game, then.”

“So confident,” she smiles, the words a glimmer of those exchanged in Toronto. “I think that is a definite possibility. I’m planning on going to TD Garden for a friend’s concert the night before the game anyway so, I’ll be in the area.”

“Would you be rooting for me?” he asks, a playful tease painting his words, one that makes Keely’s lips twist in her own mischievous grin.

“I don’t know, Svechnikov. You’ve gotta be pretty amazing for me to forsake a lifetime of hockey loyalty.”

“I’ll make sure to play my best game just for you.”

“Just for me?”

“You’ve written two songs about me. I’ve gotta catch up.”

taglist: @fallinallincurls @laureniray @comphy-and-cozy @smileysvech @pyotrkochetkov @thewintersoldierdisaster @svexhenthusiast

let me know if you want to be tagged in this story or if you want to add yourself to my general taglist, click here!!

[echantedtoon]

Obsession 憑 Ch42

(WOW! It's been a long time since I posted something for this story. As promised I didn't abandon this fic and I do plan on finishing it even though it'll be very short. Other projects have just been getting finished up or I have a few things I wanted to work on. Again updates will continue to be slow until A Lovers' Circle is completely finished.

Warnings for Y/n's injuries.)

Tagging: @lavenderdropp @supernovacoffeestop @gilded-sunrays @crescent-blades @yumakutagawa

Remember if you want to be added to the taglist lemme know

                               Part 5 Dawn 

You were loosing count of days which was bad.

A routine of yours fell into  place while you stayed there. Twice a day Shinobu would come in, sometimes with Mitsuri sometimes not, and would treat and dress your wounds twice a day. Once in the morning and once more before sundown. You'd then just basically sit down in your room all day doing nothing but stare at the ceiling and move around to get your body used to moving again despite the physical pain.

You suffered worse during the war. You could handle this. The pain lessoned with each day anyways thanks to Shinobu's treatment. Twice a day you'd be delivered food by confused looking guards wondering why they were delivering food to an injured maid but knowing that it was probably Yoriichi that ordered them, their fear of him meant they didn't question anything. Whatever. You didn't mind. After months of nothing but a poor excuse of vegetable stew to eat, you'd happily take rice and beef. 

Once you got curious and tried to leave your room. You had just opened the door but you hadn't even been able to step a foot out when a guard right outside the door pulled out his sword to block the way by holding up the sharp weapon diagonally across the doorway.

"Prince Yoriichi has ordered you to stay inside until he sees fit," was his only answer to you. "Get back inside."

Great. You couldn't even step out of your own room either. A prisoner all over again. However just when you were wondering about how long you'd be staying there, a surprise knocked on your door. Shinobu and a man you've never seen before but he wore the garbes of the guards walking around the estate. 

"Prince Tsugikuni wants your prescense at the grand hall," he bluntly stated, "I'm to take you once you're treated by the doctor."

That was all he said which confused you. Oh so now Yoriichi wanted to see you? What did he want? Shinobu had no idea either, just there to do her normal duty of bandaging you up again. But she at least had good news.

"You're almost fully healed! You'll be better in no time!"

That was one good thing at least. When you finally got out the guard was already waiting for you. Without a word from either of you, you followed him through the halls towards the grand hall. From what you came to know from your time as a maid that the grand hall was where the royal family usually ate, hosted important meetings and ceremonies, and conducted business with important figures. Wonder what kind of 'meeting' Yoriichi was planning. 

As you both walked you noticed something. The maids that you had usually seen walking around doing jobs around the large estate were looking at you. Some gave you looks of hatred which you returned and others looked away from you looking pale. Ah. Most likely Yoriichi's punishment had caused quite a fear amongst them all. Because now they knew one thing, if they tried anything like that again...Well Yoriichi might not be as merciful as last time or worse, Michikatsu might catch wind of it and...Well...The older prince was less likely to spare mercy. A quick death or hard labor of they're lucky. You did feel bad a bit, couldn't help but feel a bit bad, but in the end they shouldn't have been so cruel to you. 

You both eventually stopped by the sliding door leading into the grand hall to which the guard slid right open before bowing. "The girl, My Lord."

You didn't bother bowing instead looking in and being taken aback by the two figures in the room. One was obviously Yoriichi who's eyes visibly lit up upon seeing you but you ignored it in favor of looking at the second figure standing there with him. It was another woman.

A very beautiful woman.

Her body was adorned in long flowing layers of silks, her silky black hair tied up in a hard to manage hairstyle with many decorative hair pieces, and her pale face was done with makeup. Her yellow eyes looked like amber turning to look at you. If you had to guess her age she was twenty five maybe twenty six?

"Y/n." Your body flinched being addressed by Yoriichi as beckoned for you to come in. "Please come in. I have someone I'd like you to meet." You hesitated raising a brow looking between them before slowly walking in and cautiously approaching them. "You may leave." He waved off the guard whom quickly dispersed before kindly gesturing to the woman next to him. "Y/n, this is Lady Mia. She's going to be staying with us until the marriage ceremony."

Marriage ceremony?! Your red eyes turned back to the other woman smiling at you. Holy Buddha. He was really serious about this whole marriage thing wasn't he? You had doubted he was telling the truth but it looked like you were wrong..But you were still going to keep your guard up around him. 

Biting the sword you stiffly bowed to her(not him-) in greeting. "It's..a please to meet you, My Lady."

"So you're the famous woman warrior I've heard so much about!," she piled up in a cheerful voice, her voice being slightly higher pitched than you expected. Her eyes filled with curiosity and wonder. "How unorthodox! Dressing up like a man to fight in the war! I heard stories about you but I thought you were just a fairytale like the dragon that sleeps under the mountain temple!"

Your head raised to her brows rising. She heard about you? Well then again with your bad reputation you weren't too surprised. "Trust me. Sometimes I wish I was just a fairytale... Ma'am."

Yoriichi looked worried however the woman, Lady Mia, looked amused laughing at you. "Yoriichi had told me all about you! " You bet he did the loudmouth. "I'm going to have a very fun time getting to know you before he comes back with me!"

That got you surprised, straightening back up to stare at her. "He's.. leaving?"

"Well not now. Our wedding isn't for another six months. There's still things to work out. Final arrangements, wedding planning, and all that." She waved you off. "But I have no intentions of staying here when I already made it clear that I won't live away from my family. Which means that any husband of mine is going to be coming with me whether he likes it or not."

Red eyes widened at the realization of her words before looking at Yoriichi whom only stared back right at you. Yoriichi was..leaving? Leaving...As in..LEAVING TO LIVE FAR AWAY FROM YOU IN AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT TERRITORY!! He'd be far away, married, and away FROM YOU!! It was like one of the things you wished for most fell from the sky and dropped into your lap. THIS WAS THE BEST NEWS YOU'VE EVER HAD IN MONTHS!!! 

"While Lady Mia stays with us, I-...I-I'd like you to act as her personal lady in waiting." He spoke softly gesturing to the beautiful woman. "You'll be tending to her every need from this moment until her departure. "

"Oh..Alright." 

He nodded. "Then it's settled." He said nothing else to you as he turned back to whom you supposed was his fiance now. "I'll be leaving you in her care. If you're in need of anything then please don't hesitate to come find me or ask the head maid. She'll arrange it for you."

"Oh you don't have to worry about me." She waved him off. "I'll be perfectly fine. Especially since I have such a strong woman taking care of me."

"Then I'll bid you good bye for now. I must speak with my father about finding a general suitable for my replacement soon."

"Of course! You go find away, Darling.~"

You watched as Yoriichi bowed deeply in respect to his fiance before turning around and walking past you without a second glance. Which surprised you. He'd always give you one last look at you before he left to go anywhere but he said nothing. Did nothing except silently leave through the door you had just walked in through. Well..that was weird. Good but very very strange. You slowly turned back around-

"GAH!?" 

A pair of bright yellow eyes and a wide smile was inches away from your face when you turned back around and found Lady Mia literally just four inches away from your face. Instinctively you jumped back and raised your arms as if to block an attack but none came as she just smiled widely and excitedly.

"So you're Y/n. I've heard SO much about you!," she repeated. "Your eyes are so lovely. They're like rubies!"

"Uh-..I-.." You stammered out flabbergasted not sure what to say as she pointed up a finger.

"Now first thing's first! Tell me about the men of war! Is it true that men on the battlefield are more handsome when fiercely fighting for their countries?~"

"Uuhhh- "

Good Buddha. What did you get yourself into this time?

[topwan-obikin]

Hello there!

Here we are with the masterlist of submissions for our first edition of our fest!

This list will be routinely updated as fics who are still wips get to their end, and after-fest submissions will also be added once they are posted in the collection.

Now let's dive in and get ready for a very long and delicious list of topwan submissions!

☆ Always be my Master by jiminthestreets_bonesinthesheets @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets [Explicit - 5,402 w]

☆ Don’t Bully Anakin He’ll Cum :( by StarryAri (damndameron) @starryariart [Explicit - Fanart]

☆ The Only Sacred Part of Me by MoonyRoony [Explicit - 5,052 w]

☆ Get My Way by Darkwhisperings @dark–whisperings [Mature - 6,711 w]

☆ love’s a hand-me-down brew by amadwinter @amadwinter [Explicit - 32,029 w - chapters: 9/9]

☆ No more blind dates by jiminthestreets_bonesinthesheets @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets [General Audience - 2,835 w]

☆ Bunnywan & Nyanakin by StarryAri (damndameron) @starryariart [Explicit - Fanart]

☆ It’s Always Been You by boguspreston & StrangeLilBat [Explicit - 12,601 w]

☆ sleep won’t come the whole night through by veloursdor @veloursdor [Explicit - 11,100 w - chapters 5/5]

☆ Art by @yatsukisakura

☆ Out of Sync by grapenehi @grapenehifics [Explicit - 8,441 w]

☆ because it brings me back to you by amadwinter @amadwinter [Explicit - 12,182 w]

♥ the song has ended but the melody carries on by veloursdor @veloursdor [Explicit - 4,040w - chapters ½]

♥ to love is to choose and be chosen in return by veloursdor @veloursdor [Explicit - 11,530 w - chapters 2/8]

☆ Anywhere Else is Hollow by calico_sky @underacalicosky [Explicit - 34,682 w]

☆ life imitates art by innominatta (ineptia) [Explicit - 6,752 w]

☆ Abuse of Power by athecai [Explicit - 14,673 w]

☆ Show Their Truth by dragons_and_angels @heaven-hell-and-humanity [Explicit - 2,270 w]

☆ Tied Together With You by dragons_and_angels @heaven-hell-and-humanity [Explicit - 4,375 w]

☆ Snake in the Grass by KnockKnockOut @knockknockoutblog [Explicit - 6,718 w]

☆ Yours, Mine, and Ours by MutteringRetreats @mutteringretreats1 [Explicit - 25,026 w - chapters 8/8]

♥ there is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable by veloursdor @veloursdor [Explicit - 1,610 w - chapters 1/?]

☆ Unexpected Surprise! by StarryAri (damndameron) @starryariart [Explicit - Fanart]

☆ keep a stern hand by faultlessly [Explicit - 5,662 w]

☆ and the sun will shine upon us again by Viraha @virahaus [Explicit - 2,363 w]

☆ I Bring You With Reverent Hands by Aigoo (Tara) @aigoos [Explicit - 5,067 w]

☆ Eight of Cups by Exonerin @exonerin [Explicit - 52,514 w - chapters 9/9]

☆ Untethered Tongues by ashes0909 @ashes0909 [Explicit - 5,851 w]

☆ ART by @yatsukisakura

☆ Tame ART by @blue-lumen15 (also on ao3) [Mature - Fanart]

☆ Kalos Kagathos by intermundia @intermundia [Explicit - 7,220 w]

☆ Tethered and Bound by jiminthestreets_bonesinthesheets @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets [Explicit - 20,241 w - chapters 6/6]

☆ After School Special by hopeforchange [Explicit - 23,618 w]

♥ Ama'ya’s Dance by UsakoStar @usakostar [Explicit - 2,162 w - chapters 1/?]

♥ Home by UsakoStar @usakostar [Explicit - 5,786 w - chapters 3/?]

☆ My Son; My light by Snuggles_in_a_Starfighter [Explicit - 4,541 w]

☆ Too Hot To Handle by dragons_and_angels @heaven-hell-and-humanity [Explicit - 3,607 w]

♥ Lace by UsakoStar @usakostar [Explicit - 1,891 w - chapters 1/2]

☆ the muse: pleasure in bloom by boguspreston & innominatta (ineptia) [Explicit - 42,444 w - chapters 8/8]

☆ Serendipity by Darkwhisperings @dark--whisperings [Explicit - 6,032 w]

☆ The Divinely Made by silkenlysleep @silkenlysleep [Explicit - 6,142 w]

♥ Electric Buzzing on Your Fingertips by deathbyobiwan @deathbyobiwan [Explicit - 3,656 w - chapters 1/2]

♥ Like mine by Himboskywalker @himboskywalker [Explicit - 3,027 w - chapters 1/2]

♥ Curriculum Vitae by StrangeLilBat [Explicit - 13,461 w - chapters 3/5]

☆ the taste is oh so sweet by amadwinter @amadwinter [Mature - 3,209 w]

☆ This Sacred Skin by silkenlysleep @silkenlysleep [Explicit - 6,069 w]

☆ ART by @yatsukisakura

♥ designed for cruelty by spitfired @spitefyre [Explicit - 1,937 w - chapters 1/?]

♥ How Civilized by Quastake [Explicit - 1,557 w - chapters 1/?]

☆ So Good For Me by dragons_and_angels @heaven-hell-and-humanity [Explicit - 3,854 w]

♥ A slip of the tongue by Viraha @virahaus [Explicit - 1,835 w - chapters 1/2]

☆ some heresy by cabinetofghosts [Explicit - 2,479 w]

☆ tutelage by cabinetofghosts [Explicit - 3,239 w]

☆ Playing the Long Game by MereRauder @mererauder[Explicit - 5,332 w]

[bullet-prooflove]

A quick round up of updates on the blog including new characters added to the ASK LIST and a list of fics that went out last week:

New characters were added to the ask list this week:

Rip Wheeler (Yellowstone)

Travis Wheatley (Yellowstone)

Ryan (Yellowstone)

Walker (Yellowstone)

New Fics:

Chicago Med:

Olive Branch - Dean tries to reach out after a disagreement.

Chicago PD:

You Were Beautiful  (Antonio Dawsno x Reader)

Haven:

"Don't hide the broken parts that I need to see" (Dwight Hendrickson x Reader)

Marvel:

Rough (NSFW) - Sometimes you need it a little rough from Frank.

The Musketeers:

Best Kept Secret - Aramis's best kept secret.

Your Love Is All I Know - Porthos has never known a love like yours.

I Couldn't Hate Her if I Tried - Aramis can't bring himself to hate you.

NCIS:

Red Rag - Sawyer finds away to piss off Nick.

SEAL Team:

Jujube - Sonny thinks of you when he's trapped in the torpedo tube.

Hammer: You realise you can't give Brock what he wants.

SOA:

Crime Wave - David informs you that you've accidently started a crime wave with your graffiti.

Distraction (NSFW) - David distracts you from your routine.

Art School - David brings flowers to your art show.

Feminism (feat: Jax Teller) - Jax reflects on the reason he cut you loose and your new relationship with Hale.

Girl With The Crooked Smile - You have reservations when you and David step into the light for the first time.

Show Me - Things get a little heated when David picks you up.

Orbit - David will do anything to keep you out of Jax Teller's orbit.

Top Gun Maverick:

TheGeneral!Series Part Three: Choices - Beau and you discuss your choices moving forward.

Will Trent:

Trying!Series Part Four: Two Months - Will comes home to a surprise after two months undercover.

Yellowstone:

Summer (NSFW) - Ryan enjoys a moment with you in the summer sun.

Thrill of the Chase (NSFW) - Rip has always loved the thrill of the chase.

Clover - Rip comforts you.

Bronco - Travis falls in love when he sees you riding Bronco.

The Closest Thing To I Love You (NSFW) - Travis and you send the night together.

I'm Not Jealous, I Just Want Him Dead - (Travis Wheatley x Reader)

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Cockwarming.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my loves, this is a longer chapter than usual because I didn't want to split it up. Updates for a bit may be slow at the moment, but will try update you all as much as I can. Thank you all for the love and well wishes <3 Enjoy

Chapter 79: Moon Tea

Aemond stayed true to his word.

For days, you frequented the Gardens alone, and found that your peace was neither disturbed by the King or your husband. It gave you a reprieve and the chance to breathe away from it all.

A chance to collect yourself, to gather the pieces that had been violently scattered across the earth below. 

And with those days, you sat where you usually did and attempted to read the mountain of books and stories that were piled high in your shared chambers, courtesy of Aemond. Some being novels that you had read already, others being new ones that the Prince thought might spark interest. 

You had to begrudgingly admit, that he was right. 

The books that he left you did spark interest, if only you got through the first few pages before being unable to read further. Your attention span had dwindled, and even though you believed Aemond when he said he would keep the King away from you, any noise, any presence of someone walking past, a knight or servant or Lord, you would still flinch, and your heart would race in your chest. 

But still, Aegon had not been seen for days, and Aemond had been kind. 

When you woke that morning, the young Prince had been curled around you as he usually was, awake far earlier than you, but content to let you sleep for if only moment more. It was a routine that the two of you had fallen heavily into.

He would rise with the sun as he always did, and watch over you as you slept, tucked to his chest as a lazy hand would rub soft and featherlike fingertips across your skin, desperate to touch you, yet not wanting to wake you up. 

And you were thankful for it. 

For Aemond’s time away in Harrenhal left little time to sleep, or breathe, or feel safe. Aegon’s attack adding to further lack of sleep or calm, and in a shocking turn of events, you had all three in Aemond's clutches. 

You had wriggled in his hold, and the One-Eyed Prince hummed, pressing a lingering kiss atop the crown of your head. A gesture that you had previously only gotten from your mother or father. 

When you were both dressed and seated at the table, the maids had brought in your breakfast for the both of you. The usual of meats, eggs and fruit, and todays warm bread, whose crust crackled under your excited hands, had olives kneaded throughout. 

You ate together, enjoying the way the soft sponge of the bread had subtle sour bursts of flavour when a hidden slice of olive was revealed to your waiting mouth. It was different, and it was something that you decided in that moment that you liked. 

Joanna placed your tea in front of you, and you thanked her softly, pulling the small glass pot of honey towards you as you put two heaping serves into the steaming brew. As you stirred the tea, Aemond watched you with an inquisitive eye before speaking, your spoon clinking against the side of the china. 

“What are your plans for the day?” He asked, watching as you brought the teaspoon to your lips to lick the remnants of the honey off, sweetness coating the roof of your mouth before placing it back onto the matching saucer. 

“I was going to go for a stroll through the Garden, then perhaps make my way to the Library.” You picked up the steaming tea and brought it to your lips, blowing the steam away.

“I will be joining you today.”

You brought the unsipped tea away from your lips, “Oh? But haven’t you your duties to attend to?”

“I have a duty to my wife.” His eye was focused on you, “And so I have freed my day to spend it with you.”

Freed his day?

Your stomach turned, but for what reason, you did not know.

You nodded stiffly, bringing the tea to your lips to sip, tasting the tart, minty tea move hotly down the back of your throat. You blinked, a spark of familiarity bursting on your tongue. 

“And what shall we do on this fine day?” You asked him, hot tea in your hands still as you looked out to the window. 

The sun was high in the sky, and there was not a cloud in sight in Kings Landing. There was no looming storm, or brusque winds. It looked to be a beautiful day.

“It’s a surprise.”

Anxiety was what you felt. 

Surprise. 

You sipped at the tea again, eyebrows drawn as you tried to figure out why the tea you had been drinking so frequently suddenly tasted oddly familiar. 

“Are we going to see Vermithor?” You asked, knowing that you would not. 

But you so desperately wished to see him. You so desperately wished to fly again. To be by his side. To feel his bond and connect again. To assure him that you were okay. To soar high amongst the clouds, to feel free, to feel you again.

Aemond did not respond, and let the chambers bask in the silence of his answer. 

No.

You looked down and placed the tea back on the table, moving to take a star fruit onto your plate, cutting it up to eat. Aemond watched you the whole time, no longer using your hands to tear the flesh apart, and instead using the sharp knife and fork. 

“Perhaps,” Aemond began, watching your reaction, “I could take you to fly upon Vhagar’s back.”

You swallowed thickly, heart beating against your ribs, hands tightening around the cutlery. 

Vhagar. 

Arrax.

Lucerys.

Dracarys.

“I think I am perfectly content on the ground, thank you.” You grit out. 

You did not want to be anywhere near Vhagar.

You lifted the tea to help wash down the tart star fruit which seemed to have gone bad in your mouth, its sticky flesh stuck in the back of your throat.

As the steaming brew washed over your taste buds you froze again. Why was it so familiar? Tart. Minty. A hint of honey. Aemond’s eye was no longer on you, instead sheepishly looking down at his plate as he cut through a thick slice of sausage.

Familiar. 

“Please Princess, you must drink the tea.” The Dowager Queen had said quietly, the Maester beside you looking with clinical eyes, the colour from them seemingly gone, and nothing but a blank mask upon his face. 

You took another sip, letting the brew settle upon your tongue. Minty. Tart. Almost earthy in its flavour, and yet as you took another trying sip it all came together. Aemond placed some meat into his mouth to chew, eye looking back up at you. 

It was familiar. 

And now you knew why.

Moon Tea. 

It was Moon Tea. 

They were giving you Moon Tea. 

You sipped deeply on the tea in hand, draining the last of the dregs into your eager and waiting mouth. 

It was Moon Tea. 

They were giving you Moon Tea. 

You placed the tea cup back down on the table as you looked at your husband. 

Was he giving you Moon Tea?

Was this his doing?

You moved to open your mouth and ask him, but stopped. 

Aemond, would never give you Moon Tea. Aemond would never prevent his seed from taking. Because Aemond had done nothing but tell you of his desires for an heir and watching you grow with his child. 

You placed a small cut of star fruit into your mouth and chewed in thought.

Could it be them?

Could it be the King?

Was this another part of Aegon to spite his brother? 

Or was this Alicent or Otto’s doing?

No.

The Greens needed an heir to support the treaty and solidify it. 

As Aemond began to finish his meal, the maids entered the chambers to collect the plates and empty cups, Joanna’s eyes flitting to the empty tea cup. 

She was checking if it had been drunk. 

The maids.

The maids had been giving you Moon Tea.

But surely the maids were not doing it of their own volition, after all they barely know you, and if either were caught giving you such a thing, both would be killed for treason.

Aemond stood to move about the room, collecting some tomes on the side table.

But only Maesters, woods witches and brothel mistresses were skilled in making the tea. 

The Maester. 

Aemond came back over to you, books in hand. His pale fingers were wrapped tightly around a pile of three, a familiar black leather bound book that was broken on the top. Aemond looked at you and waited for you to stand. 

You stood on shaky legs, mind reeling. 

The Maester and maids were giving you Moon Tea.

You had allies. 

Kepa.

You bit the sides of your cheeks to stop the smile that attempted to wind up your face, and blinked away the tears that had begun to tickle at your eyes. 

Your mother and father had eyes on you.

The two of you walked down to the gardens together, the sun beaming warmth on the two of you. You led the way to your favourite spot, and Aemond followed, moving to sit at the small table that sat in the centre of the space.

The Targaryen Prince placed the three tomes in the centre of the table before turning to look at you. 

“The road ahead of us is not easy.” Your uncle began, voice crisp, “But I intend to pave the path with good intentions.”

Aemond kept his violet eye on you, the sun brightening the sapphire orb beside it.

Road?

“If you will let me.” He finished, waiting for your response. 

Your mouth felt dry. 

“And what road do you speak of?” You spoke slowly, unsure. 

Behind Aemond, a group of servants came towards you, silver and gold trays in hand.

You looked at Aemond, brows furrowed, before back at the servants, who began to place trays of food atop the table around the books.

Atop the silver and gold trays were cakes and pastries of all kind, rolls of puffed custard, buns with cinnamon and biscuits, all piled high and far too much for the two of you. Some more familiar, the others new to you. 

On one tiny china dish in particular, sat two lemon tarts. 

“Aem, stop!” You giggled, rushing towards your uncle as he snuck into the Keeps Kitchen, small hands grabbing piles of freshly baked lemon tarts in his own. 

“They’re your favourite!” The young boy hushed, grabbing more than his hands could hold, tucking them into his arms before turning to face you, violet eyes dancing in mischief and cheeks blush red.

“Shh! If the Septa-��� You began, smile cracking wider on your face as you turned to look around the darkened kitchen as a noise caught the both of your attention. 

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Aemond’s eyes widened, one hand flying out to grab yours, a single lemon tart falling to the floor between you before he was pulling you with him towards a secret path, winding down the corridors. 

Your hand flew to your lips as you giggled, half running with your uncle into a dark secret passage, hidden behind a stone door covered in a painting of two lovers entertained, fire ablaze around them.

As you ran through the corridor and through the passage, two more tarts were lost on your escape, falling to the cold stone floors, forgotten by the two young children who had stolen them. 

Loud laughter pealed from the both of you as you heaved in breaths, Aemond’s hands holding the crushed tarts to his robes, sticky crumbs stuck to his green robes in the dark.

“There is a thief amongst us!” You exclaimed, nothing but joy rising in you. 

“No such thing.” Aemond responded defiantly, teeth showing in his wide grin.

“Well, give me the spoils then.” You giggled, greedy hand reaching outwards towards Aemond, who still held the tarts nestled against his chest by singular arm. 

But only two remained.

Aemond’s small hand lifted a crushed tart and held it out to you, smiling. 

You turned to look at Aemond, “Lemon tarts?”

“I remember them being your favourite.” He hummed.

You could not stop the smile that teased your lips. 

“I remember you stealing them from the kitchens.” You teased.

“And I remember you asking me to.”

You moved to sit at the table, spiced Dornish wine being poured into seperate goblets for the two of you. Aemond followed and sat opposite, back stiff as it always was. The man seemed to have a permanent stick up his spine, posture exactly like his mother.

They were more alike than either would likely think. 

“I did no such thing.” You responded contritely. 

“Hm.”

The two of you sat together and nibbled at the plates of treats, sipping from your wines as he reached across the table, picking up the broken leather tome to hand you ‘The Fourteen Flames’.

There was an undeniable shift between the two of you. 

Aemond could be an ally. 

Not only had the One-Eyed Prince stepped away from his duties for the day, he had arranged for desserts of all kinds to be brought to the two of you. He had brought three of your favourite books to read together.

And he had brought lemon tarts. 

You took the book from Aemond and flicked it open at the start, not knowing where you had gotten up to the last time, barely reading the words on the pages, instead thinking about what was to come and what was required of you. 

The two of you nibbled and read in parallel with each other, a silent affair, if not for the soft chewing, sips, or the turning of pages. On occasion, Aemond would hum as he read, and you could not help your gaze from rising to look at him. 

You let yourself observe him, if not truly for the first time since your arrival, in a way that was undisturbed or clouded by rage.

The soft round cheeks that Aemond once had, had melted away from his face, revealing sharp and high cheekbones that hollowed his face. The nose that had once been buttoned and sloped, had now grown aquiline, pointed, and angled, sharp to match the rest of his features. 

You remembered that if the days were humid, or if he had spent much time training, his hair would become wavy and frizz, the volume doubling, much like his mothers.

As a child Aemond had shoulder length hair, that he always wore in the same style, until recently. Today, his hair was pulled backwards from the sides, braided and pulled into a singular, long braid at the back of his head, the rest of his silver locks laying flatly on his back. 

A ray of light shone on one side of the man, and his silver hair seemingly glowed from the light. As though it held light itself. As though it was created for it. For Valyrian blood carried these Godly aspects, and for the first time, you looked at him and realised what it may be like for someone of non-Valyrian descent to gaze upon you. 

It looked heavenly.

Godly. 

Pure. 

Was this how he saw you?

Was this how the realm saw you all?

Was this why you were said to be closer to Gods than man?

The longer you looked, the more you noted about your husband. 

His lips were plumb, a soft pink, and curled lightly up at the sides, as though he was always smirking or on the verge of smiling. His lips, which you had seen sneer, and grin, and frown at you, naturally tilted upwards. And you were stuck with the knowledge that they were soft. 

Then there was his eye.

As children, you had loved his eyes. The way they had expressed so much, had shown so much, without the need for words. You could tell when he was younger if he was upset or excited, and despite how hard he would argue that he was neither, you always just knew. The bright violet would light up when you were near, and the two of you would excitedly talk for hours. And as he has grown, the violet seeing eye had stayed the same. 

Ever telling of his moods and desires.

But now, a large scar cut through his cheek, and the secondary eye you had loved as a child was lost, and replaced with a sapphire orb. A colour which you had once loved, the colour of the night sky when the stars lit the realm, the colour of Forget-Me-Nots in Spring, or Gentians in the late days of Summer, or even, now that you looked at it longer, the colour of blue Monkshood, flowers you knew to grow towards the North.

Sapphire had once been a colour that marked the flowers bloom for you, the stars and their tales, but now it marked a time of change. The eye that was lost was replaced, and so was that part of Aemond. 

With the loss of the young boys eye came the embodiment of the deep and grotesque scarring. The violence, the anger, the rage, and the spite. With the loss of his eye, came the Aemond that he had grown to be. 

Scarred. Tortured. Angry. 

Riddled with sorrow, animosity, and cynicism. 

And over the few days having been spent together, and the tension slowly bleeding away from the two of you, you came to realise that there were still small parts of Aemond inside that you remembered. 

Still holding on. 

Still lingering. 

The Prince’s seeing eye was a reminder of what was, and his missing one a reminder of what is. 

One violet eye. Your memories of youth together.

The sapphire orb. The new memories created.

Good and bad, both there upon his face. 

Both there within him. 

A man of complexity that even you were still trying to understand.

But he had changed.

His demeanour towards you had changed. 

Always you. 

I love you. 

Aemond was not the only one who had changed either. You had changed too. The scars on your body were similar to his eye. A reminder of what has happened. A reminder of change.

A reminder of what has been lost. 

Visual representations of the people that you had turned out to be.

And if you continued to play your cards right, if you continued to slowly gain his trust, if you continued to slowly get him to come to your side, to follow your every beck and call, to carry out his word own doing anything for you, he could help you.

Do anything for you. 

Kesan tepagon ao tolvie run. 

I will give everything to you.

It was slow work, tedious, and something that could not be rushed. Go too fast in creating the bond, and he would know something was amiss. He would know that you were not sincere in your affections or intentions.

He would know.

For Aemond was a smart man, cunning, clever. As he always had been.

But you had been working to his strengths, and his weaknesses, as well as your own, and finally, the fruits of your labour were beginning to show. 

Though there was a shadow of doubt that continued to linger in the back of your mind. 

Was he manipulating you the way you were him?

Was he aware?

For if he was, he did not show it. But after recent events, the matching black robes, his violence towards Aegon, his disdain being voiced aloud, you knew that you were succeeding in what you had known would be a long, and lengthy process. 

Aemond was already a suspicious man. Untrusting. And it would take time. And time is what you had. He would take from you, and you would take in return. 

“What are you thinking?” His voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

You felt your cheeks blush and you cleared your throat, looking down.

He had caught you staring. 

“How different you have become.” You replied, looking back to his violet eye. 

Aemond hummed and placed the book he had been reading back into his lap, closing it shut, and you mirrored him, shutting the busted tome in your own. 

“You have… grown into a man.” You continued. 

“And you, a woman.”

His gaze was so intense, the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. His pupil almost swallowed his iris whole, and the lid of his eye was half closed, looking at you from under his lashes.

Looking at you with intent.

With desire. 

Hungrily. 

Ravenously.

You looked away, eyeing the untouched lemon tarts on the side of the table. Neither of you making the first move to eat them, instead nibbling at all the other treats around them. You even dared to eat a rhubarb tart, which flavours were not favoured by your tastebuds.

Aemond followed your gaze, and reached for the small plate, lifting it across the table and offering it to you. 

You took the tart from Aemond’s waiting hand. The darkness of the passage shrouding the both of you, a small sliver of light streaming in from an open hole on the side, shining moonlight onto the older boys hair. 

The young Prince smiled brightly at you as you bit into the tart, watching you with excited violet eyes as you hummed, enjoying the sour and sweet pastry. But the young Prince did not move to eat his tart, and instead, Aemond held it in his hand as he watched you devour yours. 

Crumbs covered your lips as you licked them clean, swiping up the lemony custard away from your lips. The young Prince’s eyes darted to your mouth, if only for a moment. A warmth spread through his body and a blush rose on his cheeks, though you could not see it in the dark. 

“They are so much better when they’re fresh.” You had grinned, chewing loudly as Aemond tried his best to not laugh at his niece who ate more like a wild animal than a Princess, but he still did not move to eat it with you.

“Aren’t you going to eat your spoils, Aem?” You had teased, confused as to why the older Prince had not moved to eat the treat that he had stolen. 

A pause. 

He was thinking. 

Aemond slowly moved his arm, tart in hand towards you, and offered you his wordlessly.

A shy smile replaced the once excited one on his lips.

You blinked at Aemond and reached across the table to grasp a tart, putting it on your plate.

Aemond’s hand lingered between the table, unsure of whether to take the plate back to himself, which he eventually did, picking up the fresh tart and placing it upon his own plate. 

You stared at each other uncertainly, waiting for the other to begin. And when Aemond made no move after a few moments past, you picked up a small fork and pressed down into the centre of the tart, cutting it in half, and then half again. Aemond watched with a keen eye as you brought it up to your lips to chew. 

The sweetness of the tart spread across your tongue, subtle hints of lemon mixing with the pastry. You could not help the smile that spread on your lips, eyes closing as you savoured what had been a favoured treat in your youth. 

“They are so much better when fresh.” You spoke, watching Aemond slowly cut into his own, though not lifting it to his mouth. 

“Are you not going to eat yours?” You asked, watching as he seemed to enjoy observing you eat.

Aemond smirked, his eye roaming slowly up and down your body, “My tastes are more inclined to things that are sweet.” 

You blushed, heat rising in your cheeks. 

Aemond was flirting.

Warm spread through your body as you shifted, rubbing your thighs together, “I think you also like the bite that comes with it…. The lemon, of course.” You said coyly, a small smirk of your own spreading on your lips.

“Truthfully, lemon tarts have never been favoured by me.”

“But you used to always eat them as a child.” You argued, brows furrowed, “You would steal large piles of them in the Kitchens for me and-“

Oh.

Aemond gave you a small, shy smile, though it short lived before he picked up his plate, and offered it across the table to you, tart cut in half, untouched beyond that. 

Uneaten. 

"Here." The young Prince handed you his tart in the dark, small smile on his lips.

"Are you sure, Aem?" You had asked, hand hovering in the air between you.

"Take it." He smiled.

An offering that you took.

“I thought you liked them.” You said, almost feeling guilty.

“I liked them because you did.”

-

That night you lay in bed beside Aemond, curled against him to sleep, the heat of his body radiating around you. You shifted, trying to get comfortable, rolling over to face your back to him as you closed your eyes.

The day had been good.

You had spoken without vitriol, ate sweets, and read together. You had walked around the Gardens, purposely avoiding the spot where the Monkshood grew, before you both had stopped at the Godswood, looking up at its bright red leaves. 

Aemond had moved to sit beneath it, but it was too much for you. Too normal. Too familiar, and you had lowered your head and walked back to the chambers, leaving a confused silver haired Prince behind. You ate dinner together quietly, and thanked him for spending the day with you, for the lemon tarts, for the walk, with a list you had compiled in your head, and he had given you a small hum in response. 

When you were readied for bed, he had not looked at you, nor had he moved to touch you like he usually did. And instead, let you crawl into bed first, and then him a while after. Writing hunched over a parchment and singular candle light before joining you. 

The hour was late, and your eyes had grown heavy, lulled by his even breathing and the warmth that he brought in the otherwise cozy chambers. 

Two large hands gripped your waist as you had rolled, pulling you back against him. 

Aemond, you quickly realised, craved physical touch. Searched for it wherever he went. Sought it out in you. Even if it was the barest of grazes of a finger on your arm, a hand through your hair. His hand in yours. Your body wrapped around his. 

Aemond craved it, and sought it out from you frequently, and you let him. 

The thin chemise that you wore did little for your modesty as you felt Aemond’s hardening cock press into the flesh of your ass. You shifted, feeling heat bloom within you at his arousal, rubbing backwards against him. 

Aemond sighed, thrusting slowly up against you as one hand held your stomach, pulling you back on him, the other worming its way beneath your head, reaching out to grip the hand that had rested beneath it. 

Long fingers intertwined with yours as he pushed forward again, anticipation building in your chest. The hand on your stomach slid over the curve of your hip, resting on the bone as he pulled you back to guide you against him, chasing his own pleasure as the chemise slowly rose up your thighs.

Reaching back, you pulled the thin silk further up your body, revealing your bare core to him, before moving back again, grasping his heavy length in the palm of your hand. Aemond groaned and thrusted up into your grip as you gave him slow pumps. 

You bit your lip, and guided the head down, feeling the leaking tip rub his arousal on your inner thighs as you lined him up with your core. The hand holding yours tightened, and you felt a puff of breath blow against the back of your head.

Rolling your hips backwards you let his cock glide through your folds, your slick coating his length. You sighed, back arching as his tip brushed against your bud, pleasure sparking within. 

Aemond’s chest vibrated with a groan as he let you arch backwards towards him, assisting in the angle as you pushed the head of his cock to the entrance of your dripping centre.

Slowly he pushed through your folds, groaning as he stretched you apart on his cock, pleasure blooming in your core as you felt every vein and ridge of him brushing your walls inside. 

There was no pain anymore when he did this. The pain had long gone, and only pleasure was in its place as you clenched around his length.

Aemond pulled out slowly before thrusting back into your heat, fingers twitching on your hip and in your hand. You mewled loudly into the room as he began to fuck you slowly, sensually, and sleepily.

You let your head roll backwards onto his shoulder as he kept a steady pace, the sound of your slick folds filling the chambers as you whined. 

The gentle pleasure bloomed within you, with the angle and the way he was moving, his cock brushed against your inner pleasure spot with each thrust. Aemond had learnt your body well, in ways that you did not know where possible. In ways that he continued to learn, and continued to show you the results. 

You let him fuck you sleepily, his hand moving to gently rub against your bud, soft, slow twists of his hand that gradually brought you closer and closer to your peak, other hand moving beneath you to grab at your breast, using it to pull you tightly against him.

Aemond did not whisper to you that evening, only soft moans and sighs leaving his lips behind you, head buried into your neck as he brought you lazily to your peak.

Pleasure rocked through you as you moaned, hips stuttering backwards as he continued his pace, fucking you through your release, slick coating your thighs and his cock as the fingers on your bud continued their ministrations.

Hot flames licked at you as he continued, his pace faltering as your walls clenched down on him tightly.

Aemond came with a grunt, pushing his cock to the hilt within you as he breathed raggedly into your shoulder, lips occasionally placing soft kisses to the skin. You felt his seed fill your core, its warmth settling inside of you hotly. 

Turning your head, Aemond captured your lips into a searing kiss, keeping himself inside of you. He kissed you until you felt out of breath, your release blanketing you in the fuzzy warmth of fatigue.

You hummed as Aemond pulled away, pulling you tightly against him, his length twitching inside of you.

You shifted, trying to tilt your hips so that his cock would slide from your folds, but Aemond only tightened his hold on you, pulling you tighter to his chest. 

“Shh. Go to sleep.” He murmured into your neck, placing another wet kiss there.

You stopped wriggling, feeling oddly full as you tried to do as he said and fall to sleep. It was distracting having him inside of you, and you would occasionally feel his cock jump within you, causing you to moan quietly and clench, and Aemond would shush you again. 

Slowly but surely, the fatigue of the day swept you to your sleep, with Aemond still buried deeply inside of you.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

[raointean]

Blorbos of '24!

Thanks for the tag, @helenvader

First off was the blorbo who carried me into the new year, Bail Organa. He's beautiful, strong, heroic, cutthroat, and I love him. I added two extra chapters to 3D Tapestry just because of him AND created a whole religion for Alderaan.

Elrond took up most of my year, as usual. But look at him! He's just so squshable! I wrote/updated 8 fics centering him this year and ran @adarondweek

Jay (son of Jafar) was actually briefly my favorite blorbo this semester. I binge-re-read the "Son of Jafar" series on ao3 and made a very long post thinking about how he might relate with Islam given his universe (fun fact: I actually sort of worked with Booboo Stewart one time! It was a musical theater camp that partnered with Penguin Project (a theater program for teens and young adults with disabilities) one year and I got to attend because I volunteered as a mentor with the project. At one point, he was doing our dance routine with us, and he was only like, a foot away from me! It was so cool! I didn't talk to him because I was busy working with my penguins, but we were taught choreography by Kenny Ortega, Kristen Chenowyth taught us singing, and Kevin Chamberlain WAVED AT ME!!!)

Anne Boonchuy was another fun one. It's always fun to watch her turn from a selfish jerk into a girl who was offered a job as God. I didn't write anything about her, but I binge watched Amphibia and read a crap-ton of fanfiction!

My current blorbo is Georgie Cooper from Young Sheldon and, like, three episodes of Big Bang Theory. The man, the myth, the legend. He's sweet, caring, dependable, the eldest child in a family with a kid with special needs but never complains about the lack of support, hard working, and HOT! Seriously. The hair, the accent, the smile... I love him so much 😍

(Also, this fandom needs so much more fanfiction, there's hardly any 😭. I'm working on one myself, but I'm just one person)

Tagging: @kirbys-lover @lughberrie @bananaphanta @the-sky-is-full-of-light @valar-did-me-wrong @julyzaa

[kkcauseway]

🤍𝕄𝕒𝕊𝕋𝕖ℝ𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕋🤍

My Ao3 - here

ℐ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 ℴ𝒻 𝓊𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃𝓈 𝓈ℴ 𝓌ℯ 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒹ℯ𝓁𝓋ℯ 𝒾𝓃𝓉ℴ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷ℯ𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷ℯ 𝒹ℯ𝓁𝓊𝓁𝓊 𝓉ℴℊℯ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓍ℴ𝓍ℴ

Below you can find all my pretty fic's in one convenient place! All are categorised by character's for easy access to whatever it is you are looking for! I update this regularly and have added a key so you know what to find in each fic!

18+ content minors DNI!

Happy reading!

Key:👶🏼pregnancy,🌶️smut,☁️fluff

Joel & F!reader One Shots:

'I'm taking a ride with my best friend'-Joel Miller x F!reader Pure smut, it’s about time car rides weren’t boring.(😏)🌶️ 'It's what he deserves'-Joel Miller x F!reader Joel's had a stressful day at work and you want nothing more than to help him de-stress once he’s in your arms. (Basically smut smut and more smut 🙃)🌶️☁️ 'Caring Hand'- Joel Miller x F!reader Fluff. You and Joel are travelling, on your long awaited trip after your recent promotion. Yet your morning sickness is at it's worst.☁️ 'Intoxicants'- Caring husband Joel Miller x Drunk F!reader You’re going out drinking. When Joel gets the call to get you, you’re a little too drunk, but he doesn’t mind, he’ll look after you. It’s his job after all. Loads of feel good fluff. Caring!Joel looks after you.☁️ 'Lap time'- Joel Miller x F!reader Kink exploring with Joel and you find out you like it a lot more than expected.🌶️ 'Home'- Joel Miller x F!reader Joel’s desperate to get his hands on you once you leave Tommy and Maria’s engagement party. He finds it impossible to wait till you get home. 🌶️ 'It's happening'- Husband Joel Miller x Wife F!reader Taking a pregnancy test with Joel. ☁️ 👶🏼 'Birthday wishes' - Jackson!Joel x F!reader Telling Joel he's going to be a daddy again on his birthday.☁️👶🏼 'Saviour' - Neighbour Joel Miller x Drunkf!reader reader gets drunk and Joel comes to your rescue. Drunken rambling leads you to reveal more than you should, but will it backfire?🌶️ ☁️ 'Scrubs up' - No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader Joel runs you a bath and shaves your legs- the cutest fluff ever! ☁️ 'Bound'- Husband Joel Miller x Wife f!reader It's your wedding day and after the ceremony Joel has a dirty surprise for you.☁️🌶️ 'Love knows no bounds'- Jackson!Joel x f!reader Joel making you feel good on your period.☁️🌶️ 'Mine for life'- Parent Joel Miller x F!reader Your son has been on this earth a whole two weeks, the days are blending into one, but you wouldn't change anything about it. As you go about your routine as normal, Joel has the biggest surprise for you.☁️ 👶🏼 'Truths'- Joel Miller x Younger f!reader Babysitting Sarah is what you've done since she was born, you've watched Joel be the most selfless single parent and when he finally asks if you'll watch Sarah so he can go out and let his hair down, you are more than happy to help. What you don't expect however, is the drunken confession that Joel lays on you when he's home.☁️ 'Upgrade'- Joel Miller x Son's girlfriend f!reader Your boyfriend is a cheater but is it all worth it if it means you get to fuck his daddy (Joel) instead? A man who truly wants to please you, love you. 🌶️☁️ 'Forever and Always'- Joel Miller x F!reader After your shitty day you're not expecting Joel to be at your apartment, but on finding him there he does everything in his power to make you feel better, especially with a proposition he has for you.☁️

Joel x Tess x F!reader:

'Learn from your mistakes'- Joel x Tess x F!Reader (one shot) After pissing the pair of them off, you need to find a way to prove you can listen and follow their rules.🌶️

Joel & Tess:

'Hate'- Joel & Tess (one shot) Robert fucks Joel over and because of it Joel and Tess argue. Joel gets pissed off and when Tess won't let him do what he wants to do, so he shows her exactly whose boss. (Even though Tess still wins in the end) So much smut, hard forceful f*cking/degrading.🌶️☁️

Joel & Sarah Miller:

'Upgrade To Grandpa'- Joel & Sarah Miller (series) Sarah survives that fateful day and so she and Joel and happy in Jackson surrounded by family. Sarah ends up finding out she's pregnant. Aged 22 and having recently lost her boyfriend she needs her family around to support her and they do just that. -Lots of fluff👶🏼☁️ 'Mine forever'- Joel & Sarah Miller (series) Joel has been the best dad from day one, no matter what life decides to throw at him, not even when his wife decides she's had enough. ☁️

Series:

'Life'- (𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎) No outbreak, Sarah doesn’t die, and Joel is happy with YOU. You get to live out the fantasy of having babies with Joel. Not much smut, but it’s just a cute ass story. With a happy ending and some extras! (From Joel's pov as well as female) (Joel Miller x F!reader) 👶🏼☁️🌶️ 'Something' -WHAT IF (C𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎) New neighbourhood, new neighbours, new start. Unexpected friendships are made and life is forever changed for the better. It’s full of ups, downs, secret moments, lust & desire. (Joel Miller x f!reader)☁️🌶️ 'Oh Baby' -The life you’ve always wanted (C𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎) You’re settled in Jackson happy in a relationship with Joel. The only thing missing, a baby. You can’t wait to expand your family. (Joel Miller x f!reader)👶🏼☁️ 'Three'- (I𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎) Your boyfriend -Joel's son- spills your deepest, darkest secrets and desires to his dad and uncle; shaming you for it, and you've had enough. After finding out what it is that you're into and want to 'try' both Joel and Tommy have a proposition for you. They wana appreciate what it is you want, give you what you need. (Joel x Tommy x F!Reader)🌶️ 'Forever'- (C𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎) You and Joel have been dating for two years, after discovering that you're pregnant you arrange a moving date to Bill and Frank's territory, but then you bump into Marlene. She needs help escorting Ellie to the fireflies- you're more than happy to help. When it isn't as straight forward and the events of finding the cure don’t go as planned, plans have to change. You're still committed, but life events get in the way. Your expanding family comes first, but the cure is equally important. (Joel Miller x F!reader) 👶🏼🌶️☁️ 'Caught'- (Incomplete) Your first ever patrol sees you stuck with the infamous moody Joel Miller and you're dreading every second, but is it really going to be as bad as first though. Joel does in fact surprise you and it seems you both like each other a lot more than first though. (Joel Miller x virginf!reader)🌶️☁️

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Fic Update: Long Death

HAPPY FRIDAY! Chapter Twelve out now! Featuring almost smut? Smut? Idk!

Summary:

Eddie struggles to find normalcy in a new routine where he doesn't quite fit.

Snippet:

Of course it’s not. He knows he’s being dramatic and anxious and they will, all three of them, come back. First Sophia and Chris, this evening. Then Buck tomorrow morning. It will be okay. Except, actually, then it will just happen again. Again and again and again, day after day, as their lives move around them, and Eddie is trapped in fugitive limbo. 

He tries things to pass the time. He gives it a little effort. He cleans the house. He exercises. He even meal preps. Which really, for him, is a sign of desperate boredom. But it’s something he can do to make himself feel like a useful father again. Still, he has hours to himself. 

For this reason, he does something he might not usually do. The only thing he can think of, really, to stem the increasing listlessness in him. 

He calls May. 

---

Tagging:

@epicbuddieficrecs @theotherbuckley @sevenweeksofunrepression @slowlyfoggydestiny @goldenbcnes

@diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @aquamarineglitter @loserdiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings

@your-catfish-friend @incorrect9-1-1 @hawaiianlove808 @babytrapperdiaz @watchyourbuck

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[thelastofhyde]

⏤ para sentir el calor del sol, series masterlist.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

series synopsis. the story of a man riddled with coldness, struggling to let in the warmth he's hidden away from for years, and the ray of sunshine he calls his sol.

series warnings. no use of y/n ( reader has the nickname of sol ), enemies-ish to lovers, slow-burn, sunshine!reader, queer!tess, miscommunication/no communication, toxic approaches to love/feelings, obsessive behaviours, pining, undefined age gap ( reader can be interpreted as late 20s/early 30s in the canon timeline ) discussions of s.a., depictions of grief, child-loss and canon-typical violence, limited fluff, angst, smut ( lots of it ).

series wordcount. 44k ( thus far. )

disclaimers. 1) this series will roughly comply with the canon of both the hbo series and the video game but i have taken the liberty of changing certain scenes, events and dialogue to better suit the fic’s plot. 2) this series will have no official update schedule because i suck at sticking to them. no link = not posted yet.

read on ao3.

i. the likeability paradox.

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

ii. the revving of engines.

synopsis. joel miller’s not made it this far in the age of the apocalypse just to die at the hands of some adrenaline-crazed, no-brain-having fool who barely knows where to place her hands on the steering wheel. hind-sight fully intact and ever-so eye opening, he should have said no before frank could even finish his question: can you teach the girl to drive?

iii. the butterfly theory.

synopsis. two seasons pass before joel's very eyes and, without the presence of his sol, neither the spring nor the summer seem to heat his aching soul. what's meant to be a simple drop off at bill and frank's becomes a whirlwind of events that sends you barrelling right back into joel's arms, and all it takes is a horrified shriek: otis is missing!

iv. the weight of silver.

synopsis. joel should have known better than to trust that woman to keep her mouth shut. it’s not that tess servopoulos is bad at keeping secrets but, rather, that she views them as a way to connect, to share a precious gem among those she cares about. the added affect of embarrassing joel is merely the cherry on top. she may have put her foot a little too far into her mouth with this one though: joel’s got a new woman.

(+ more parts to be added. )

timeline outtakes ! aka drabbles

11:11 ( infected, 2008 ). 14:57 ( unshaken, 2011 ). 22:22 ( lookalike, 2016 ). 18:22 ( leashes, 2022 ). 20:34 ( tuxedos, 2023 ). 05:48 ( sunrise, 2023 ). 03:33 ( terror, 2023 ). 02:13 ( delirium, 2023 ). 08:03 ( routine, 2023 ). 19:17 ( overheard, 2023 ).