#i jumped to set and i landed on one foot

[winterzz7]

the good thing about being hypermobile is that i can land on one foot and roll my ankle and be absolutely fine afterward

[gojorgeous]

"business or pleasure?"

pairing: gojo x fem!reader summary: the gojo clan decides it’s time to secure an heir… and you’re the lucky woman selected for the job… content: HEAVY breeding, arranged marriage, language, praise, dacryphilia, p->v, fingering, mating press, a lil’ blood (if you squint), pet names, implied multiple rounds, gojo just generally being a menace, no established relationship, reader and gojo literally just met, reader is literally there for the purpose of getting pregnant, positive pregnancy test at the end, ideas of women as baby incubators :x, consent king gojo. wc: 3.7k a/n: I HAVE RETURNED!!! Hey!!!!!! Long time no see, babes. I was looking at my account and I haven’t posted a fic in *cough* TWO YEARS. There is simply no way that’s real 😭 Anyway, I’ve returned with something slightly different: A Gojo fic. You’re welcome. Mwah. Also, please send messages I miss y'all. happy new year bbs. and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

It’s only your third time in Japan. The first had been to visit family friends when you were eight, the second for a girls’ trip after you graduated college. You liked it. Tokyo was bright and busy and full of shops and things to do. The countryside always offered beauty and peace. But this third time was different. No shopping, no temples, no amusement parks. You were here for business, not pleasure. 

You run a finger along the edge of a mahogany bookshelf. Your feet are killing you, a flick of your ankles tossing your heels across the room. Your nose wrinkles when you land on a particular title. The Art of War? Interesting choice… You scan the other books, and your brows rise when you find a strange combination of academics, young adult, manga, and high fantasy? A multi-genre reader, then…

You absentmindedly rub at the arch of your foot, pushing out the ache as best you can. A day so full of stress has left you weary. Your mother hadn’t stopped hovering until the moment you’d escaped into your car, a new husband on your arm. 

You sigh. You could still hear the shower running along with said husband humming loudly to a tune you didn’t recognize. At least your groom wasn’t shy. 

A glance toward the bed has your brows raising. Were those… squishmallows? One looked like a shark, the other like a… sushi? You press your lips together, avoiding a laugh he would surely hear. You make your way to the mattress, sighing when you finally get to sit. You pull the sushi into your arms, hugging the pillow to your chest, but it no longer seemed so funny anymore. You had bigger things to think about. Your legs press together in a mix of anticipation and anxiety. All the way from America you’d come to marry the Gojo heir. It had been a rushed arrangement. Apparently, the Gojo clan had finally put their foot down and decided their heir should finally get to the business of making another heir. There’d been a search far and wide for the best match and somehow, they’d settled on you. An accomplished sorcerer yourself and abilities in your blood that only strengthened those of the Gojo line, you’d been an suitable pick. It didn’t hurt that you were young, healthy, and (upon a trip to a renowned fertility clinic) proven to be very fertile. 

Your parents had been oh-so eager to accept the Gojo clan’s proposition. The Gojo heir’s power hadn’t been matched in nearly 400 years. Any and every family would jump at the opportunity to be tied to them, especially through marriage and heirs. You were surprised you’d been chosen considering all of the options there must have been. 

Satoru seemed… fine, you thought. You hadn’t had much time to talk with him privately. The first time you’d met had been on a phone call with both of your sets of parents present and the next had been at the altar. At one point in the night he’d asked a waiter to refill your wine glass and he’d been a rather good dancer. Other than that, you’d been pulled apart at all odds and ends until you’d come back here: his apartment. 

You’d expected something a little more lavish for your wedding night, especially considering the spectacle that your wedding had been. Ice sculptures, thousand dollar bouquets, and diamond encrusted wedding rings had turned to an elegantly decorated bachelor pad. A glance around revealed a space that was obviously lived in, with odd mixes of $10,000 dollar chairs and… squishmallows.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, eyes peeling over the half-moons of your nails and the heavy gems that now sit on the fourth finger of your left hand. They are a weight you feel the pressure of. A pressure to live up to expectations, to produce a much-desired product. 

A door opens down the hall and you realize the pounding of water and the lilting of a hum has ceased. Your husband is done with his shower. 

A few seconds later he reveals himself, prancing down the hallway and into his bedroom like it’s just another Tuesday and not his wedding night. A plush blue towel is slung low around his waist and from the rivulets of water running all over his body you judge that he hadn’t even taken the time to properly dry off. Not that you mind.

You’d known your new husband was beautiful but you’d never imagined he’d be so… so goddamn seductive. 

Washboard abs, toned arms, sculpted back, wet hair and icy eyes… he was the image of a god. 

“Sorry for making you wait. I really needed that.” 

Gojo prods at his temples, eyes squished shut in what looked like a moment of pain. You’d heard of this problem from the clan. He hadn’t worn his blindfold all day for the sake of the wedding. It was no wonder the effects were catching up with him. 

“No problem.” 

A small smile reveals just a few blinding teeth and you could swear your vision went out for just a moment. 

“You hungry?” 

You arch a brow. The man had eaten two full plates and practically half the cake not yet an hour ago. 

“Can’t say that I am.” 

“Hm.” 

He nods and you watch as he plucks a stray candy off his bedside table, tossing the wrapper to the floor. 

“So, uh-” You watch the butterscotch bulge in his cheek. “You really wanna do this?” 

You glance at your half-naked husband who is practically a walking temptation. You take a breath. He’s standing so casually, as if this is a normal conversation to be having and not something life-altering.

“You don’t?” you ask.

All that gets you is a shit-eating grin. 

“Never said that.” 

You can’t help the smirk that crawls across your lips. 

“Well, we might as well get it over with, no?” 

Another flash of pearly whites. 

“Get it over with, hm?” 

You miss his meaning, pulling at a loose thread on the bedspread. 

“It shouldn’t take much effort. I’m on so many fertility meds you could probably spit on me and I’d get pregnant.” 

You pick at the thread a little more, biting your lip when you realize it’s one of those strands that’s infinite. 

“That so?” 

You jolt when a speck of wetness lands on your cheek. A quick glance reveals a fuzzy blue towel far too close for comfort. A half-naked Gojo is a whole lot closer than he’d been just seconds ago. How is he so quiet? 

Blue eyes bore into yours, water dripping down white strands and onto your skin. He’s so damn tall. He has your neck craned all the way back just to meet his gaze. 

“Yes.” You swallow. “It was part of our prenup.”

Dazed. You’re absolutely dazed. 

“Well, we probably shouldn’t risk breaking a legally binding contract, hm?” 

Closer. He’s coming closer. Too close. 

You lean back, scooting yourself up the bed in a feeble attempt to get a little more space, your emotional support sushi tumbling to the floor. He follows right after you. 

Something primal thrusts through your veins at the sight of a man, sopping wet and smirking, crawling after you, some mix of teasing and pure drive hidden in his eyes. Gojo doesn’t stop, not until you’re nearly pressed against the headboard and his arms cage your waist. Close. Too close. 

You’d thought he would have dried a bit by now, but water still slicks off his skin and hair, showering you lightly. You shiver and your husband notices. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and you get a breath of the sweetness of butterscotch and mint toothpaste. 

“You say stop,” he breathes, “and we stop.”

He leans closer, so close you can smell the eucalyptus and myrrh of his shampoo, the musk of his body wash, the candied sweetness of his breath. Those piercing blue eyes flit to your lips and back up again. 

A breath, a pause. 

“Stop?” he asks. His eyes are piercing.

You shake your head. 

“Go.” 

Lips, teeth, tongue. All of it hits you at once. For a moment you’re too shocked to respond, but then his weight is leaning on you and his hand is on your waist and his mouth tastes like candy and- and then you’re kissing him back. 

A heavy hand digs into the flesh of your waist and your hands find a patch of damp white hair to tangle in. 

He tastes good- too good and when a deft hand guides you down to the mattress you start to think that this whole baby-making business might not be so bad after all. 

Teeth knock, tongues touch, and you are on the edge of what would have been a particularly throaty moan when he pulls away. 

His attention shifts elsewhere, kisses trailing down your neck and hands straying to your hips.

“Have you-” a kiss to your collarbone. “Done this before?”

You freeze.

“What?” 

Gojo raises his head a bit and the most irritating kind of smirk plays on his lips. 

“Don’t know- thought maybe this was a virgin for your super rich husband kinda thing?” 

You shove his head back down.

“Shut up.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates against your skin. 

“Okay, sp no need to go slow then…” 

His lips continue their assault, brushing and grazing over your skin until it lifts with goosebumps. Your breaths come a little faster, a little heavier and you gasp when his hand curls beneath the hem of your skirt.

“Oh? What’s this?” His fingers brush against the garter that rests at the top of your thighs. Your cheeks heat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had you agreed to wear the damn thing? You reach down, hoping to quickly rid yourself of the scrap of fabric before you can become oven more mortified. You’re just about to clamp down on it when Gojo catches your wrist. “Ah, ah. No need to be so hasty.” Your hand is easily pinned down to the mattress and, for some reason, you don’t fight it. 

Your breath catches when your skirt lifts only for Gojo to dive beneath it without a second thought. You feel his teeth grazing across the skin of your thigh. 

“Gojo-” you breathe, squirming. 

His head reappears suddenly, another one of those mischievous grins gracing his lips. “Satoru when I’m about to be inside you, baby.” 

He disappears again and you gasp and wiggle when you feel his tongue laving across the inside of your thigh. 

His teeth graze you again, but this time they clamp down on the garter and you feel it slowly sliding across your skin, down, down, past your knee and eventually to your ankle where Satoru finally yanks it past your foot with a final tug. 

You stare at him, wide eyed and lustful. That had to have been one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. 

Satoru plucks the garter from his teeth and dangles it in front of his eyes. It’s a white, lacy little thing that matches the shade of his hair. He’s grinning again when he slides it onto his wrist like a bracelet– no, like a trophy.

“Thanks for the present.” He’s still grinning, still staring, his fingers still fiddling with the hem of your skirt. “How attached are you to this dress?” he asks. 

You blink, swallowing nervously, unable to break away from his gaze. It’s too strong, too mesmerizing. “Not… attached at all,” you manage. It’s true. Somebody else picked it out, and you’ve only been wearing it for about an hour– and it’s not like you can’t just buy a new one now with access to the Gojo bank accounts. 

His grin somehow grows even wider. “Good girl. Just what I wanted to hear.” 

There’s a splitting sound and suddenly your dress is tearing straight down the middle. It’s slow and controlled and you wonder if he’s practiced at this or if his strength is just that regulated. You find yourself hoping it’s the latter. 

The dress is ripped from your skin and you see it land somewhere across the room. You hear something shatter along with a thud, but Satoru seems anything but worried, so you ignore it. 

You’re bare in just your undergarments, a lacy white set that you’re now half proud of and half embarrassed by. 

Satoru whistles and his hands settle on your waist. “Damn, baby. Why’d you keep all this hidden for so long?” 

You scoff, your confidence surging. You reach for him, grabbing a scruff of hair at the back of his neck and pulling him close. “You’re the one taking your sweet time, Toru.” 

The sound of the nickname on your lips makes him shiver and you smirk triumphantly.

“Hmm…” is all he says as his fingers trail lower, lower, lower, until they’re dipping beneath the band of your panties. It’s somewhere between tortuous and ticklish and you squirm. “Ah, ah. Hold still for me, now.” He presses one hand to the valley between your breasts, holding you down as his other hand continues lower. When his thumb finds the wet spot on your panties and presses down your back arches and your breath escapes. 

He chuckles. “Little needy, aren’t you?” His thumb moves a little higher, grazing your clit, and you whimper. 

With one deft movement he unclasps your bra, tossing it aside. You register for just a moment that your chest is now completely bare, but soon enough his mouth is closing around your nipple and all else is forgotten. 

“S-Satoru!” you whisper. Your voice feels hoarse, even if it has no reason to be. 

His thumb continues its assault between your thighs. “So wet already, baby…” He sounds ecstatic. The grin on his lips makes you whine. “Let’s get these out of the way…” Before you know it, you hear more tearing and then cold air hits your cunt. You cry out when Satoru’s thumb returns to its ministrations, but this time there’s no cloth barrier to dull the sensation. Your hands push out and your nails curl into his bare shoulders. You need him closer.

“Satoru…” you breathe. “Kiss me…” 

That shit-eating grin returns, but he follows your command. “As my wife wishes.” 

When lips meet yours it’s hot and messy. Your nails claw down his back and you’re sure you’re leaving marks. If he minds, he certainly doesn’t show it.

His thumb continues at your clit as a finger prods at your entrance. When he slides in slowly, you gasp. He murmurs something about you being so sensitive, and proceeds to quickly find that gummy spot inside you that makes you see stars. Before you know it he’s adding a second finger and soon your hips are rocking against his thrusts, meeting his pace as you chase your high. 

“God, you’re so wet.” he whispers against your lips. True to his word, he’s been kissing you, never letting up in his attack on your mouth. “Bet you taste like fucking heaven.”

You whine, your hips stuttering against his hand. “G-Gonna… I’m–” 

He grins again, and pulls away just enough to meet your gaze. “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me.” Your eyes flutter shut, your head rolling back– “Nuh, uh. Keep those eyes open. Wanna see every second.” 

Your breaths flutter and you whimper loudly, the sound bouncing on the walls. You’re not sure why you listen, why you fight to keep your eyes open, locked on him, but you do. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll pull away and leave you wanting… or maybe you just want to please him.

You feel your muscles clenching in your stomach, hear the sloppy sounds of Satoru’s fingers thrusting in and out of you, see the gleeful anticipation in his eyes. His thumb rubs a particularly delicious circle around your clit and you feel yourself thrown over the edge. 

You can’t help but be loud. You hold his gaze the whole time, whimpering and whining his name as you gush all over his sheets. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching, holding him inside, desperate to be filled. You hear him panting above you, like watching has somehow taken his breath away. 

“Good girl,” he whispers and you feel a second wave of pleasure ripple through you. 

You feel weak by the time your orgasm leaves you. Your muscles are limp and your cunt is so sensitive that you flinch when Satoru removes his fingers. He brushes a tear from the corner of your eye and you watch as he brings his sopping fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices clean. He moans, a deep throaty sound, like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. You watch his eyes roll back in his skull, watch his throat bob as he swallows. Your lips part at the sight. 

His fingers fall from his mouth with a pop and his grin returns.

“Just like I thought,” he says. “Heaven.” 

He’s back on you in a second, licking a stripe from your collarbone to just beneath your ear. His hips slot between your own and a strong hands hook around the backs of your thighs, pressing your knees to your chest. You whimper. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so completely and utterly exposed. 

“On to the main event, yeah?” The twinkle in his eye has your heart racing even faster. His fingers catch the towel that is somehow still wrapped snugly around his waist. With one tug, it’s gone and your mouth is watering in anticipation. 

Your jaw drops lower, if it’s even possible. He’s… huge. Long and pretty with veins that you know are going to rub just right. His tip is pink and leaking, ready. 

“Satoru, it won’t–” 

His lips connect to your pulse, licking and sucking when you feel him prodding at your entrance. “It’ll fit, baby.” 

He slides himself through your folds, gathering your juices and torturing you every time his tip bumps your clit. By the time he’s finally lining himself up, you’re practically begging. 

The first push is heaven. You’re both moaning when he prods past that first tight ring of muscle and you’re gasping, crying out his name and clawing at his back. He keeps pushing, filling you inch by inch until he’s pressed snugly against your cervix. You thank him aloud when he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, to the feeling of being filled to the absolute brim. He only kisses the tears from your cheeks. 

The first thrust has you seeing stars, little white spots clouding your vision. The second has your nails embedding in his skin hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it has him moving faster, grunting in your ear and whimpering your name.

“Sooo… f-ahh-ucking t-tight…” he whispers. 

A hand slides between your sweaty bodies, a thumb rubbing familiar circles against your swollen clit. You cry out, clenching down like a vice. 

“F-Fuck, princess.” 

His thrusts rock your body and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the air. You feel that familiar coil begin to form, to heat at your core. Your muscles tighten and your legs begin to shake. 

“Atta girl. Cum on my cock, baby.” 

You whimper at the praise, at the incessant rubbing of your clit, at the relentless pounding of your cervix. It’s all too much, too good. 

“Satoru…” you cry. Your legs burn and ache. Satoru has your knees pressed so tightly to your chest you’re afraid something might snap. It only adds to the tension beginning to unravel at your center. You feel as if you’re burning, as if you’re going to snap– and then you do. Heat unravels beneath your skin and your mouth falls open in a silent cry. Your legs tremble and your toes curl and you vaguely hear your husband whispering a mix of curses and praises in your ear. You’re still lost in the sensation when he starts groaning and you feel him flooding your insides with shallow thrusts close to your cervix, filling you with rope after rope of his hot cum. You’re still panting when you finally regain your mind. Satoru’s still on top of you, completely limp with his head buried in your neck. You curl a hand into his hair, silently holding him close. That was some of the most mind-blowing sex you’ve ever had. You smirk. Yeah, maybe this baby-making business wasn’t going to be so bad. 

You shiver when you feel Satoru licking and sucking at your skin. There’s a tenderness in the action that makes you pull him closer. He hasn’t even pulled out yet, but you can already feel him hardening inside you, ready for another round. 

“Think it stuck?” he asks. You smirk and answer with a breathy laugh. 

“Don’t know.” Silently, you think that there’s no way it didn’t. You can feel his cum dripping down your thighs and there’s just so much of it.

He lifts his head, eyes bright and sparkling even in the dim light. He grins. “Guess we’d better make sure.” 

~

With the rate at which Satoru fucks you it’s no surprise when you get two positive little pink lines a few week later. You tell Satoru by unceremoniously dropping the test in front of him while he’s drinking his morning coffee. He only grins and kisses you before he bends you over the counter, whispering something about needing to show you how appreciative he is when he slides inside you. The next morning you wake to Satoru’s lips on yours, a brand new credit card, and a new car in the driveway, fitted with all of the newest safety features (only the best for his wife and baby, he says). You sigh and smile when you see it. Yeah, this whole baby-making business definitely wasn’t so bad.

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[writtenbymoonflower]

Heyoo! How are you dove? Can I request more roommate!poly!marauders x shy!reader pleasee! Your fics have a special place in my heart

roommate!marauders is my drug <3 thanks for requesting hunny! fem!reader x roommate!marauders

cw: thunderstorms, poor boundaries with roommates

659 words

You didn’t realize the sheer volume of the downpour outside until the chatter of your roommates in the sitting room couldn’t be discerned over the pounding of raindrops reverberating off your window panes. You weren’t complaining, though. You were cozied under a multitude of soft blankets and fluffy pillows, your reading lamp emanating a soft glow onto the pages of your book, the smell of rain wafting into your room. 

That was until your lights slowly flickered a few times, before shutting off completely, leaving you in pitch black darkness. This was shortly followed by a shrill scream, then a crash, making your drop your novel. You untangled yourself from your covers, setting your book back on the bed, before venturing out. You held your hands in front of you as you stumbled around in the dark. You felt around for your doorknob, swinging the door open. You didn’t make it far before you tumbled into a tall torso and lanky limbs. 

“Shit, dove! Sorry! I didn’t see you there.” Remus blindly reached a hand out in an attempt to steady both of you. 

“It’s okay! I think that only raccoons can see in these conditions.” You attempted to joke. He rewarded you with a small chuckle. 

“Are you okay, though? You didn’t fall or anything?” You could hear the worry laced in his tone. It made your heart weirdly warm to know that he was concerned for you. 

“No, I’m all good.” You reassured. “Are you okay? I heard a crash.” You stepped further into the living area, carefully watching your footing. Remus chuckled again. 

“You wanna tell her what happened, lads?” His tone filled with unusual mirth. You could vaguely make out the forms of the other two boys in the dark. You heard Sirius grumble, though it was James who spoke up, much more timidly than typical.

“Well uh- we didn’t expect for the lights to go out, you know? Pads got a little spooked and screamed.” You could feel Remus shaking beside you with nearly-silent laughter. “And uh- Sirius spooked me, I guess. And then I dropped a plate.” He trailed off. Remus was now laughing loudly at his friends’ expense, but you could tell that there was no malice given or received between the boys, with them also joining in. You weren’t laughing, though. You resisted the urge to flounder over to James and check him for injuries. 

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” 

“No we’re okay, babydoll. It’s in the kitchen, we’ll worry about it later. Come over here, though. You’re gonna trip.” Sirius’ hand circled your arm gently, pulling you towards him and James. You weren’t sure what you were in risk of tripping over, but you let him maneuver you as he liked. You were startled by the sound of sparking, making you jump back into Sirius’ chest. 

“Sorry, lovely. Candles.” James set the soft, flickering light onto the coffee table. Remus appeared right beside you again. 

“You’re all jumpy, dove. Are you sure you’re okay?” Remus cooed as James lit another candle. You jumped again as another hand grazed your back. 

“Y-yeah.” The dark was very unsettling. Purple light flashed through the house, quickly followed by a loud boom! 

“EEK!” You weren’t the one who made the sound, but you were pulled onto the settee, tumbling on top of Sirius’ frame, face landing in his inky curls. 

“Christ, Pads.” James flopped down next to your tangled forms. He pulled you off to settle you between him and the high-strung boy. “You’re gonna kill her before the lease is up.” Another wave of thunder clapped through the house, this time Sirius only flinched. James pulled you closer to him in response. 

“Oi! I can’t help it. You know storms make me flighty.” He argued, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you back against him. “It’s okay though, I’ve got this dolly to keep me safe.”

[jamespotterismydaddy]

The Wolf's Betrothed

dark!aemond x niece!reader

summary: prepare to be kidnapped by your delulu uncle

A/N: this is based off a request that asked for non-con so this is the closest i've written to it but i still think it's dub-con??? idk pls lmk what you think

TW: MAJOR DUBCON, incest, smut, knife kink, blood kink,, breeding kink, forced marriage, murder

word count: 1,929

You feel content. Cregan Stark is a good, honourable man and he will make a fine husband, is what you continue to repeat in your head as your carriage makes its way to Winterfell. You travel without your family, being sent early to meet your husband to be and you’re nervous. You met few Northernmen on Dragonstone and you fear the cold, but you know it’s for the best. This alliance could be the thing that puts your mother on the throne. Though, as you get closer to your destination, a sense of dread begins to set in. 

That’s when you hear it, the beating of wings, shortly followed by screaming. The carriage comes to a halt so swift that you’re thrown from your seat.

“Princess!” One of your handmaidens exclaims as she helps you back up.

“I-I’m alright.” You say as you find your footing. You make your way to the door. “We must go.”

“Perhaps we should wait for the guards?” The other girl says nervously.

“They’re as good as dead.” You say as you throw open the door. Your men that are left, fight for their lives against the few green soldiers. They don’t need many when they have a dragon. You glance up to the sky and see her… Vhagar.

“Fuck.” You murmur as you hop to the ground, your handmaidens on your tail as you begin to run towards the forest.

You pant as you go, trying not to trip on your long skirts, snow filling your boots. You know you need a plan but the only weapon you have is a small dagger and you’ve never been a great talent in hand-to-hand combat.

You’re close to the treeline now, barely 200 yards away. You know Aemond won’t torch it if he thinks you’re in there. All you have to do is make it. To. The. Treeline.

But you don’t. It goes up in flames in front of you and you have to turn and shield your face from the heat. Your handmaiden, who was in a much less elaborate dress than you, made it further, and she goes up in flames with it. You turn, grabbing the hand of the other girl and begin to go south before you see three men waiting for you. You turn north and begin to run but you don’t make it far before Vhagar lands in front of you.

“No…” You breathe out as you backup, your handmaiden clinging to your arm. You know you’re caught now.

Two men catch up to you and grab you each by the shoulders, giving you no time to draw your dagger as Aemond descends his dragon.

“Dōna mandianna.” (sweet niece) He says as he approaches. “Sepār hae gevie hae nyke mōrī ūndan ao.” (just as beautiful as I last saw you) He tilts your chin up gently.

“Release my bride. You can do as you wish with that one.” He says to his guards as he glances at your handmaiden. The two men grab her.

“Princess, help me!” She cries out as she’s taken away.

“She’s no threat.” You say to your uncle, glaring up at him.

“My men deserve a reward.” He says offhandedly and you begin to wish she had died in the fire as well. You wish you died in the fire. His hand comes up to caress your face. “I have missed you.”

“I miss my brother.” You say with hate in your eyes.

“Hmm, an unfortunate circumstance.” He replies.

“Kinslayer.” You spit out at him.

He sighs and puts his hand on the small of your back. He is courteous with you, for now, as he leads you toward Vhagar. You let him, biding your time. He straps you in in front of him, his fingers gentle with you, as if you are the most precious thing he has ever laid his hands on.

No chance to jump then. You think to yourself, wishing you could’ve taken him with you once Vhagar was high enough to make the fall fatal.

You don’t speak to each other as he takes you closer to Winterfell. You look solemnly at the scorched land. It’s a pity to see, especially since it is the start of Spring. It should have been the start of new life, not the end of it. He holds his hand out to help you down the dragon and you accept it, glad that he chose not to make you grovel. You know he could. You know he’s not above such things. He keeps his hand on the small of your back as he leads you through the castle, the place crawling with Greens.

You arrive at Lord Stark’s chambers, Aemond letting you in. You’re slightly surprised when you don’t see Cregan but you think perhaps that your uncle is keeping him in the dungeons instead. “And what of my husband?” Aemond freezes when you use the word. 

“That cunt wasn’t your husband.” He says lowly.

“Wasn’t or isn’t?” You ask, not fully believing that he would kill the lord of Winterfell. You back up slightly. Aemond may be in front of the door but you wish to put some distance between you.

“I would not let them trap you with that mutt.” He says as he steps forward. You step back. “You deserve someone worthy of your status.”

“Aemond…” You breathe out, your eyes well with tears.

“It was always meant to be you and I. I’ll take care of you… I love you.” His eye gleams, his words full of possession.

You’re aware that you’ll only have this one chance so you reach for the sheathed dagger. You know you can’t kill him, but you can break him. You lift the blade to your throat in one quick motion but it’s too late, Aemond’s hand is on yours before you can break skin. He yanks the dagger from your hand and throws it to the side.

“Why would you do that!” He looks manic, frightened as he holds your wrists in his hands.

“Cregan!” You cry out as a last resort. You know it’s futile but it’s the only thing you can think of. “Cregan!”

Your uncle slams a hand over your mouth, hot rage in his eyes. “Stop screaming for him! He’s dead! I killed him.” His other hand falls to your waist. “If it is a husband you yearn for, I can fix that.” He takes the hand off your mouth to grab his own dagger.

“I don’t want any husband. I want him!” You slam your fists against Aemond’s chest.

“No you don’t!” He shouts back and he shifts behind you, pulling your back to his front, holding his dagger to you with one hand and your chin with the other. “It is that silly feminine loyalty. But don’t worry, it will be towards me soon enough.” 

He holds your face tightly and lifts the dagger to your lip, cutting ever so gently. Just enough to get a drip of blood. He lets you break yourself free and run to the door so he can slit his own lip. You yank on the door handle but it’s locked and before you can even turn, Aemond’s hand is in your hair, pulling your mouth towards his. The kiss is messy and bloody but by Old Valyrian standards, you are wed. Your uncle barely gives you a chance to come up for air as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You whimper slightly as he sucks on your lip, mixing your blood further. 

“You didn’t think I was going to bed you without making you my wife first, did you?” He says so softly, the kind look in his eyes misplaced. “I would never do that to you.”

“Please don’t.” You beg him.

“Why must you look so frightened? I only want to make love to you, to my bride.” He moves behind you, nimble fingers undoing your dress. “I don’t like it when you fight with me. I want us to be happy.” He tugs the gown down so you’re only in your shift. Just the sight of your ankles, your shoulders is enough for him to go crazy with lust. He can feel himself growing in his trousers the longer he looks at you. “My beautiful girl, ñuha ābrazȳrys.” (my bride) He coos, mesmerized by you.

You’re pulled in for another kiss and you nip at his lip. He groans as he parts his mouth from yours.

“Be gentle with me and I shall do the same with you.” You know it’s a warning, a warning that you should most definitely heed. “We will have more time to play later, darling but for now, we must consummate immediately.” He says as he leads you to the bed by your hand. He places a palm on your tummy. “I shall pray to the Gods’ that my seed takes tonight.”

“Of course, husband.” Your voice is emotionless but he still seems pleased by your words.

He smiles and then lifts off your shift. His cold fingertips trace over your breasts and collarbones, and down to your navel before he hooks them on your small clothes and pulls them down. “Your beauty is unmatched, my love” He says as his eye runs over your body. “Lie down on the bed for me.” He watches you walk and obey as he undoes his trousers. Your husband doesn’t take any of his clothes off, only pulling his cock out and beginning to pump it as he gazes at you. You’re nervous as he is incredibly well-endowed but you are inclined to believe that he won’t be rough with you.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He says as he climbs between your legs, noticing your fear. “It won’t hurt for long.” He takes a moment to rub his cockhead over your cunt, using his precum as lube before slipping in.

You gasp at the intrusion, the feeling of your maidenhead breaking as he defiles you but he doesn’t move at first, only peppering kisses across your face that are almost… comforting?

“I’m going to move now.” He says and begins to slide in and out, causing you to wince.

“Not yet, it hurts…” You say to him but he just runs his thumb over the cut on your lip.

“You can take it, darling.” He replies as he thrusts in and out of you. He licks the blood off his thumb before using it to rub your clit. You hate how you enjoy the feeling. “Good girl.” He says as he begins to pick up speed. He rubs harder, clearly far too close to cumming himself and not wanting to be the only one. “I love you.”

You turn your head away as he says it and he begins to fuck into you harder, pinching your clit now and causing you to scream. If he can’t make you love him, then he can just make you cum. 

As soon as he feels you begin to squeeze your walls around him, he finishes, sheathing his cock as deep as he can inside of you in hopes of breeding you.

“My perfect wife.” He admires as he runs his fingers through your hair. He presses a kiss to your lips before resting his head on your breasts so he can listen to your heartbeat.

You lie there, confused. Part of you wants him to fuck you again, the other part hopes he falls asleep so you can drive his own dagger through his heart.

Oh the woes of newlyweds.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 7 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey

[hushedlover]

Can i request a Mike Schmidt who actually got good sleep but his baby sitter/new found crush looks like she was hit by a train and he’s like “just sleep here” and his own thoughts come in with “take my bed.” (Which she tries to deny)

The sound of the front door closing and keys landing in the dish on the foyer table woke you up. You peeked your head over the back of the couch to look at Mike. He’s peeling the security vest off but for the first time ever he looks like he’s slept a full night.

“Hey. Abby still sleeping?” He calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Too early for her to be up,” you call back. Something in your voice sets off alarms for Mike. He glances back at you and sees you staring off into space, unfocused eyes blankly settled on the back of the couch. There are deep bags under your eyes and your hair is a hot mess, looking like you’d been tugging at it all night.

“You okay?” He calls tentatively. That gains your attention. Your eyes snap up and focus on his face. Immediately you send him an unconvincing smile as you stand from the couch. You begin gathering your things, keys and bag, while heading for your shoes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just- just tired. You seem well rested though,” the smile you shoot him this time is genuine, a softer version of your usual one. “I’m glad. You need the sleep.”

You drop your keys as you’re getting your shoes on, cursing and bending to grab them. Some part of the action through you off balance, and the next thing you know your butt is firmly planted on the hard wood floor. A dull pulsing pain emanates from the point of contact with the surface and you drown, looking down at the floor accusingly.

“Okay, come here,” Mike grunts as he slides his hands under your armpits. With a quiet groan from both of you, he hoists you to your feet. You stumble and regain your balance before looking up at Mike.

“Thanks,” you mutter as heat floods your cheeks.

“No problem,” he says, his brows furrowed slightly. You go to reach for your keys that are seated in his hand, but Mike pulls them back. “Listen, you’re exhausted. I don’t really want you driving home right now. Why don’t you sleep here?”

More heat rises in your face and you shift on your feet nervously. His face is close, almost too close to yours, his brown eyes demanding your focus and attention. His light scruff is distracting, so are his lips, and you almost get lost in them before remembering to respond.

“Oh no, Mike. I’m fine, really. I wouldn’t want to intrude, plus I’m sure Abby will want to watch TV and I don’t want to take over your couch,” You stutter and trip over your words as you try to rush them out.

“What do you-? Oh! No, no I meant like,” you swear you can see red tint his cheeks as his eyes dart away from yours for a second. “I meant sleep in my bed.”

Both of you go silent and stare at each other with wide eyes for a second. You distantly wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest. Or maybe see your pulse jumping in your neck. Suddenly, Mike snaps out of the stupor.

“Not like that! I mean- No, I um, I mean I’m not gonna be using it since I’ll be up and I just washed my sheets and stuff so-“

You choose to save him from his own suffering.

“I would actually really appreciate that.” Just on cue, you yawn softly. “I think I’d be a hazard on the road and I don’t want that to be on your conscious.”

You send him a sheepish smile, hoping he detects the humor in your tone. He must, because his face lights up in a grin. You squeak in surprise when Mike suddenly squats in front of you, gently grabbing your foot and slipping off the one shoe you managed to get on. He stands and helps you shrug off your jacket.

You distantly register the sound of your keys crashing into the tray as Mike leads you down the hall and towards his room. His hand on your elbow is a warm comfort as he guides you to sit on the mattress. He tugs the blanket loose and gently pushes you down. You blink up at him sleepily as he pulls the blanket up to your chin.

“Stay as long as you need. Really. You do so much for us. Just… rest. Yeah?” He smiles down at you and right now you could swear he’s an angel. You feel your lips quirk up out of reflex and your hand reaches up, but you stop yourself before you can brush his cheek.

“Thanks,” you whisper softly. It’s hard to keep your eyes open now. The pillows, the sheets, the blanket, everything smells like Mike and it’s making you delirious. It’s a weird comfort, like Mike is actually holding you in his arms. The smell gets stronger and you want to open your heavy eyes to see why, but the feel of slightly chapped lips against your forehead tells you why.

That’s the last thing you register before sleep drags you into its clutches.

[trulyumai]

care for me?

pairing: Messmer the Impaler / Wife! Reader

synopsis: exhausted, you try to stay up for the arrival of your husband. only he doesn’t come back the same man.

wk: 1.1k

warnings: mention of death, violence. mostly fluff

A/N: EJ come, water! (no seriously enjoy Messmer lovers) this was a request, thank you for the suggestion anonymous!

Enjoy!

It was so cold.

Dreary winds busted across the little home, invading the shack with freezing temperatures that nipped at one’s bones.

The girl of said residence could not battle such a feat alone; so she lay bundled up in many cottons and wools that cascaded her form just in front of the fire pit.

With her teeth clanking together, she drew in a particular large blanket that seemed to swallow her whole being.

She was trying— attempting, to stay away for her husbands arrival.

“He— he will be here soon,” giving herself words of comfort, little fingers smoothed over the skin of her arm.

Back and forth they went, seeking any form of warmth they could gather.

But, she was getting tired. It had been hours since his departure.

So, with a defeated huff, her lashes fluttered.

Eyes now shut, her form slumped against the wooden boards.

Maybe she could greet her doting husband upon the fields of dreams

Everything went wrong.

His mother… his own mother…

A cry, weak and low left Messmers lips as he shuddered in pain—agony.

Instead of telling the citizens, the people what had been done of the shadow lands of between, his mother lied.

She blamed the knight of flames for his part in the destruction. Blamed him for the plans, the deaths, the innocent lives gone—

“O, Mother!” Just outside the home, Messmer sat. His head tilted towards the ground in shame as his long nails twisted and pulled at his cheeks.

Blood seeped down almost instantly, yet he couldn’t find the energy to care.

Tears streamed down his face in waves, meeting the bloody patches along the way.

His nails tore and scratched at any skin that came in contact, only making his wounds worse.

“Does thou… not perceive mine own consciousness?” A yellowed Iris glanced forth upon the house.

His home.

Only now realizing he made it back, a shudder ran through him.

“Wife,” he whimpered. “Please… forgive me.”

Only the sound of wind greeted his ears, as his now bloody and weakened form pushed against the stone. Slowly making his way to the wooden door merely a foot away.

The flowers lay dormant, the fields around him lay bare and dead. Much like the lands he left behind his wake.

With bodies, upon bodies—

“Augh! No more!” With a slam, the door receded against his strength, banging out against the wall behind.

The ball of blankets jumped up in surprise, a head peeked out from the warm egg shaped cocoon the girl placed herself in.

Messmers eyes softened upon such a sight, he couldn’t help but let out a little smile seeing the girls attempt to warm herself.

“little wife,” he called. Already on his way to the girl sitting about the floor.

“husband!” she cried, reaching out her hands to signal for the man’s embrace.

He gladly accepted, sweeping her into his arms and cradling her head soothingly.

“I’ve missed you,” little sweet kisses dotted across his neck, to his jaw and up the face.

“What— what happened?” Her lips met with a red and open wound, to which the flame winced at.

He had forgotten about such a display.

“It’s nothing, dear wife,” big palms rubbed along her sides. “an accident, nothing more.”

Fear began to corrode his mind, it crumbled and tore at the seams of sanity.

People will come for him.

For his betrayal, his slaughter.

His wife— gods what has he done?

A hand pulled him back, it was soft and careful as it cradled the man’s left cheek.

“It’s okay,”

She didn’t know what was wrong, only that something was amiss.

For the man was troubled, that much was clear.

“I… listen closely, my heart.” Setting her upon the ground he looked down at her form, so much smaller than his own.

His back had to bend uncomfortably to meet her gaze but he ignored such pain.

Big palms surrounded her face, angling her eyes to meet with his.

“We need to go, does thou need anything before our leave?”

“Leave?” She shrieked. “This is our home… why would we leave so—“

“Please, please wife understand me so. I cannot dote on such a matter yet but please.” A desperate yellowed eye looked upon both of hers

“I will protect thee. With mine own blade, with mine own body. But we need to leave, most ardently”

Confused and somewhat scared, the girl could do nothing but nod her head. Even when he placed a mirage of kisses upon her, she did nothing but look upon the man.

Almost as if to study him— understand him.

Soon, she was lightly pushed into the direction of their room.

“Grab what thy can carry and need.” Messmer had said.

So she did.

She grabbed her favorite blanket, the one that had been with her since birth.

She grabbed her jewelry box that lay full of gifts from the knight.

And finally, she grabbed the last vials of homemade oils. Lavender scented, which always seemed to calm her husband down whenever it graced her soft skin.

Seeing his wife’s hands full, Messmer acted. Gently picking her up, the objects shifted about as a bridal style posture was given upon her.

Head now bumping with his armor with every movement, she decided to speak.

“Are you alright, husband?”

This was an opening.

A pristine opportunity to tell her of his forthcomings.

Of his tidings with his mother.

Of the burning lands.

Even of the soon to be castle that will be there home for god knows how long.

Messmer only looked down, peacefully admiring his wife so.

“Everything will be fine, my wife. Thou can sleep while the travel begins.”

He was a coward. Biting down upon his cheeks blood ran across his tongue, to the back of his throat.

Past all the lies and short comings, two thing stay true; he adored his wife

and he would do anything to protect her.

[seoulmatez]

— 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ sfw ﾉ some vaguely suggestive bits ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ flirty teasing ﾉ pet names ( darlin', princess, honey, sweetheart. . . i went crazy @.@ )

my comeback to writing for hsr! first time writing for boothill so pls don't be too tough on me :3 hope u like ! !

masterlist ౨ৎ next part

the new farmhand at your grandfather’s ranch is trouble.

he shouldn’t be, not with the way your grandpa speaks so highly of him—he’s exactly the kind of help this place needed, he tells you. starts on time, is thorough in his work, and takes good care of all that your grandfather holds dear. you should love him simply for that—taking a weight off the old man’s shoulders and putting his heart at ease—but you’ve seen an entirely different side of the so-called saint.

ever since you arrived at the ranch a few days ago, the one called boothill has been a pain in your neck. it took nothing more than you stepping out of your car for him to label you that city girl, the “little lady” who looks like she’s never stepped foot in mud a day in her life.

from that moment onward, it’s been nothing but sly remarks at your expense. you don’t miss the chuckles he makes no effort to hide as you refamiliarize yourself with the animals and get used to the scent of hay and manure. his not-so-subtle smirks when you’re simply passing by have been the most irking. your mere presence is seemingly a joke to boothill.

you’ve made it your mission to steer clear of the man but the task is proving to be difficult. the fact that he’s now living in what you used to know as one of the guest bedrooms coupled with your grandpa’s oblivious albeit innocent nature seems to be enough to throw a wrench in that plan of yours. 

your trip here was meant to be a relaxing getaway from the hustle and bustle of city life but you’ve only taken on a new role as boothill’s personal assistant if the tray with two glasses of lemonade is any indication. if it were up to you, you’d be enjoying a peaceful breakfast without worrying about the man bothering you but it’s just your luck that your grandfather caught you before you could make the meal, politely asking you to deliver a cold beverage to boothill who has been working since the sun rose over the horizon.

luckily for the farmhand, you can’t say no to your grandpa.

that’s how you find yourself wandering the grounds in your satin pajama set and the boots your grandpa prepared for your arrival. your legs move in muscle memory as you navigate the vast stretch of land in search of boothill. thankfully, you don’t have to go much farther, catching sight of the man at the entrance of the barn.

he’s gone for a simple look today—a white t-shirt and jeans paired with the dirtied boots you haven’t gone a day without seeing him in. his shirt is already stained and is darker around the neckline, dampened with sweat. he’s made an effort to tie back his black and white strands of hair, though, a few of the shorter ones have escaped and frame his face. the hat you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him in, strangely, isn’t sitting atop his head.

he must see you approaching out of the corner of his eye because he turns to face you, an immediate grin taking over his lips. it makes you grip the tray tighter.

he looks you up and down as he pulls off his gloves, stuffing both in his back pocket. when gray eyes settle on yours, he tells you, “nice get up.”

you roll your eyes because you saw a comment like that coming. everything you do down to the way you dress is scrutinized when it comes to him. even though you’ve only been here a short while, you’ve come to expect this kind of behavior from boothill.

he huffs out a laugh at your reaction before his gaze falls to the tray in your hands and the glasses that sit on it. “that for me, darlin’?”

against your will, your heart jumps in your chest. that, you haven’t grown accustomed to. you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to him throwing around pet names at you like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to him. it’s easier to blame the heat blooming in your cheeks on the sun’s beaming rays rather than boothill’s sweet talking.

you hold the tray out to him, hoping the effect of his words isn’t visible on your face. “courtesy of grandpa.” you can’t have him thinking this gesture was born from the kindness of your heart. his teasing would be merciless then.

“of course,” he drawls, grabbing one of the glasses and swallowing a few gulps. the shine of the lemonade is left on his lips when they pull away from the brim, his tongue poking out from between them to lick up the lingering drops. your eyes remain on his lips longer than they should, long enough to see them curl up into that annoyingly handsome smile. “little miss city girl wouldn’t be caught dead out here on her own accord.”

he can only stay charming for so long. “did you miss the whole part when my grandpa told you i grew up here?”

“no, no, i caught that.” he takes another sip of his drink. “it’s just that you strike me as the type who spent more time riding the horses than cleaning up after ‘em.”

you keep quiet and nurse your glass of lemonade because the only other option besides lying is telling him that he’s right. in your defense, what ten-year-old wants to spend their summer hauling hay and shoveling up horse crap?

“look,” you start, “i’m not some delicate glass figure who can’t get her hands dirty. i’m perfectly capable of helping out.”

boothill raises his eyebrows, a glint of humor sparkling in his steel irises. you know the look of a challenge when you see it and it almost makes you regret trying to defend yourself. “oh yeah? then the princess wouldn’t mind lending me a hand?”

“i wouldn’t,” you tell him. contrary to your statement, you really don’t want to spend more time with him than necessary, even if that means proving a point and settling some stupid argument. your mind races to find a believable excuse that’ll let you off the hook. “but i’m barely dressed to do any work. another time, maybe.”

he waves his hand in dismissal. “don’t worry, darlin’. what i’ve got in mind ain’t much work and won’t steal too much of your time.”

you nervously chew your cheek as boothill takes the tray that’s tucked under your arm, setting the now empty glasses on it and finding a place for them to rest. he nods his head in the direction he wants you to follow and, reluctantly, you do just that. he casts a glance over his shoulder to look at you. “just help me get this hay inside the barn, will ya?”

the job seems easy enough, a surprisingly straightforward request from boothill who seems to derive pleasure from giving you a hard time. too easy, you think to yourself as he heaves one of the rectangular bales of hay from the top of the stack. the task looks effortless when he does it, a short grunt being the only suggestion of exertion on his end.

he disappears into the red building and you take his temporary departure as an opportunity to pick up a bale of your own. you grab a hold of the twine keeping the hay in its shape and immediately grimace at the way the fodder pokes and prods at your palms. you’re tempted to let go and step away but you have a point to prove and plan on doing so. with a groan, you lift the bale, or at least try to. it’s heavier than you expect it to be and the scratching against your exposed legs is uncomfortable, sure to get worse with the distance you’re meant to walk.

you’re about to drop the bale back in place when a pair of arms reach around you, calloused hands joining yours to carry the collection of hay. boothill’s unexpected presence catches you off guard and the proximity of his mouth to your ear makes your breath catch in your throat. “having a bit of trouble, love?”

love? your skin prickles with goosebumps at yet another pet name. this time, it’s more difficult to blame the heat running beneath your skin on the sun. it takes a moment for you to find your voice and when you do, the ones you manage to get out refute his claim. “i’m not. i told you i wasn’t dressed for this.”

he snorts at your reply as though he can see right through the flimsy excuse. “right, well, you’re in my way, so why don’t i help you with this one?”

before you can protest, boothill is on his way, dragging you along with him. your steps match his, his bigger boots trailing behind yours as the two of you walk the path to the growing supply he likely started before you interrupted. you’re released from your place between the bale and boothill when he drops it on top of the other.

you’re free to make a move, to slip away from the charged air and reclaim your personal space. instead of doing so, you simply turn around to face him. you’re met with his broad chest before you tip your head up to meet his eye. “i could have done that on my own.”

“i’m sure you could have,” he says, but the smile pulling at his lips tells another story. he reaches behind him with one hand to pull the gloves from his pockets, waving them between you as an offer. “these might help.”

you happily take the gloves as he takes his leave, slipping your hands into the protective gear. they’re larger than you need and there’s extra space in them but you don’t mind, not if they’ll help you show boothill that you refuse to be reduced to some city girl.

and they do help, at least with shielding your hands from the unpleasant sensation of hay against them. the bales are just as heavy and just as awkward to haul but you’re able to get the job done, nonetheless. for every one you carry, boothill lugs two more past you. his familiarity with the job means the two of you are finished one within a reasonable amount of time. 

you drop the final bale with the rest, a relieved sigh pushing past your lips at a job well done. boothill stands off to the side and whistles as you snatch the gloves off, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “well, would you look at that.”

“surprised?” you ask, tossing his gloves back at him.

“honey, anyone can hoist some hay.” he catches the gloves with ease, stuffing them back in his pocket. you’re almost offended at how easily he dismisses your efforts but you don’t have time to let the annoyance sprout before he’s approaching you, tipping your chin up so that you have no choice but to look at him. “though, i doubt they’d look as pretty as you doing it.”

you can’t tell whether he’s trying to get a rise out of you or if he truly stands by his statement. all you know for sure is that his sugary words and the feel of his skin against your face leave you unmistakably flustered, so much so that you can’t control the erratic beat of your heart and can’t stop the little nagging voice in the back of your head from whispering that you don’t dislike him as much as you let on.

boothill is trouble, but not in the way you thought he would be.

“i have to go.” you knock his hand away and turn on your heel in a rush to get back to the house, far away from boothill.

you can escape the sight of him, the feel of him, but not the sound of him as he yells after you. “see you around, sweetheart!”

thanks for reading! consider reblogging if u enjoyed :3

[cybergirrll]

coming home

hamzah x reader (fluff)

hey guys!! this is my first little one shot on here (sorry it’s so short😮) i used to write for someone else but kinda stopped doing that a while ago. i love writing tho and i noticed the lack of hamzah fics soo here we are!! enjoooy

the soft sound of rain pattered on the dark windows as you slowly creaked open your apartment door. the living room was empty and quiet. hamzah’s cat red jumped off of the kitchen counter and trotted over to you, purring as she rubbed against your legs. you squatted down to pet her, smiling softly.

the warm, diffused glow the few lamps in the living room emitted washed a sense of calmness over you, a relief from the bright fluorescent office lights you sat under all day. your head hurt from computer screens, deadlines, and annoying co workers. you just wanted to see your boyfriend.

“where’s your dad, huh?” you cooed softly to red, giving her one last pat before you stood up, placing your bag on the counter before making your way into the bedroom.

hamzah was sitting at his desk, his curls messy, sweater a grey-ish blue matching the light that reflected off of his glasses. his brow was furrowed, focused on the email he was typing, faint muffled music sounding from his headphones. you smirked, slowly creeping up behind him.

he nearly jumped out of his chair when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind, your laughter muffled against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt. “jesus,” he whispered, taking his headphones off.

“hi.”

“that scared me. i almost passed out.”

“don’t be dramatic.”

you glanced at his screen and realized he was in fact not writing an email, but grinding away on level 50 of some random typing game. “working hard on that?”

he chuckled, prying him off of you so he could spin his chair around, sitting you on his lap all in one swift motion. “yeah, i was gonna impress you with my awesome typing skills. i was bored, i missed you.” he smiled, brown eyes dark and sweet in the ambient lighting.

you gave him a quick kiss, a hand tangled in his curls as he spun the chair back around, facing his desk. blue jumped up onto the desk, a paw landing on the keyboard, unpausing the game and filling the type bar with a slew of jumbled letters. a big red x popped up on the screen, with an option to restart the level.

“are you kidding me…” hamzah groaned, picking up blue with one hand and giving him an angry kiss before setting him on the floor. you grinned, laying your head against his chest.

hamzah kissed your forehead. “how was your day?” his voice held a tone of sweet adoration to it now, slipping strands of your hair in between his fingers and watching as they slipped out of his grip and cascaded back onto your shoulder. he gently swept away your bangs so he could see your eyes better. “it was okay. stressful,” you mumbled, feeling safe and content.

“yeah? wanna talk about it?”

“not really, i just wanna be with you.”

“alright. yeah. that’s okay.”

hamzah smiled, still completely not over the fact you loved him, he didn’t think he would ever be.

rain torrented down on the window at a fast pace now, a pumpkin candle on the nightstand flickered and reflected onto the window, revealing the droplets of water against the dark night sky. red was asleep on the foot of the bed now as blue swatted at something invisible on the floor.

you felt completely at peace now that you were home.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

hello :) could you do a poly!marauders with a reader who has a really bad fear of spiders and then helping her? (Like she will cry at the sight or can’t sleep if she’s thinking of them haha) :))

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: poly!Marauders x Reader

You were tucked comfortably into bed, surrounded by the warmth of three of your four boyfriends—Remus on your left, Sirius on your right, and James sprawled across the foot of the bed, his head resting on your legs. Peter had just popped out to grab some snacks, which left you all in a peaceful, sleepy state.

Or at least, it was peaceful until it happened.

You had glanced up at the ceiling to admire the star-shaped stickers glowing faintly in the dark. But instead of the comforting sight of twinkling stars, your eyes landed on a spider. A big, hairy, terrifying spider dangling right above you.

A spider.

Your heart dropped. It wasn’t just any spider—it was massive. Okay, maybe not massive, but to you, it might as well have been the size of a dragon. Frozen, you let out a small whimper, your eyes glued to the eight-legged terror.

Sirius was the first to notice your panic. He dropped the magazine he was flipping through and leaned closer. “Babe? You alright?”

Your body froze, and a strangled squeak escaped your lips.

"What's wrong, love?" Remus asked, his voice soft with concern. He leaned up on his elbow to look at you, but all you could do was point a trembling finger at the ceiling, eyes wide with terror.

Sirius frowned, following your gaze. The moment his eyes landed on the spider, his own face scrunched up. "Bloody hell, that thing's huge."

That was it. Panic set in, and you scrambled to the foot of the bed, practically clambering over James, who was still half-asleep, blissfully unaware of the eight-legged horror hanging above.

"What—ow! What’s going on?" James groaned as you elbowed him, trying to escape.

"Spider!" you cried, voice cracking as you buried yourself behind him, using him as a shield. "There's a huge spider on the ceiling!"

Remus sat up, sighing deeply. “It’s just a spider, love. No need to—”

But then he saw it, and even the normally composed Remus faltered. "That’s... quite the specimen."

Sirius, already on his feet, grabbed one of James’s trainers off the floor. “Don’t worry, doll, I’ve got this. I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”

James groaned as Sirius stepped on the bed, ready for battle. “Hey! Careful where you—OW!—step!”

But as Sirius swung at the spider, the little devil dropped lower from its web, dodging him. That was enough to send you into full meltdown mode.

“I can’t! I—can’t sleep knowing it’s here! It’s going to crawl on me! I’ll die!” You wailed, tears welling up as you hugged James’s back for dear life. “No!” you yelped, grabbing his arm. “Don’t squish it! Then it’ll haunt me forever. Just—just get rid of it!”

Remus shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “I’ll get a jar.”

“I’m not sleeping if it’s anywhere near this flat, Moony,” you warned. “You have to throw it far.”

James gave you a comforting smile, kissing the top of your head. “We’ll make sure it’s gone.”

Sirius climbed onto the couch, making exaggerated swipes at the ceiling with James's trainers. “I’m gonna get you, little bugger—”

“Sirius!” you shrieked, half laughing, half sobbing as he missed it completely. The spider scurried toward the corner, which sent another wave of panic through you. “Get it away!”

Remus sighed and calmly approached with the jar in hand. “Padfoot, quit messing around.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Sirius said, jumping down from the couch with a dramatic flourish. “You heard the lady, no squishing.”

“Careful, Moony! It’s coming right at you!” Sirius shrieked.

At that moment, Peter strolled back into the room, holding a bag of crisps and a bottle of pumpkin juice. "What's all the noise?"

James, with you still clinging to him, pointed upward. “Spider crisis.”

Peter looked up, spotted the spider, and to everyone's surprise, casually walked over with a tissue. “You’re all acting like babies.” He reached up, gently plucked the spider from its web, and without so much as a flinch, opened the window to let it out.

Silence filled the room as all four of you stared at Peter, dumbfounded.

“Did... did Peter just save us?” Sirius muttered, lowering James’s shoe.

James blinked, still processing. “I’m questioning everything right now.”

You, on the other hand, exhaled a deep breath of relief and finally let go of James, wiping your teary eyes. “Th-thank you, Pete. You’re my hero.”

Peter grinned, giving you a little bow. “All in a day's work.”

Remus chuckled and patted Peter on the back. “Well, thank Merlin someone here can handle spiders.”

Sirius quickly recovered and threw his arms around you dramatically. “But it was me who grabbed the shoe first! I was ready to lay down my life for you, love.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his over-the-top antics, feeling the tension ease from your body. “Yes, Sirius, you’re very brave.”

“Oi, what about me? I cushioned her from all the drama!” James said, twisting around to pull you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you snugly. “Best spider shield in the business.”

Peter flopped down on the bed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Next time, just call me. Spider-slayer Pete, at your service.”

You couldn’t help but smile, surrounded by all four of your boys, safe and sound. “I feel like I should bake Peter cookies now.”

“Hey, don’t spoil him! He’ll get used to it!” Sirius teased, poking Peter in the side.

You chuckled as you started to stand up to bake cookies for Peter when you suddenly looked around, "You guys are sure it's gone right?"

Sirius slung an arm around you with a devilish grin. “Oh, it might have babies. They could be anywhere now…”

Your face drained of color, and you swatted his arm with a groan. “Sirius!”

James shot Sirius a warning look but couldn’t help laughing as well. “Alright, mate, stop scaring her.”

“I’m just teasing!” Sirius pouted, pulling you into a playful hug. “I’d never let a spider near you, promise. Not while Pete's around.”

You buried your face in Sirius’s chest, half-laughing, half-sighing. “You’re the worst.”

Peter sat next to you, patting your knee comfortingly. “You know we’ll always protect you. Spiders included.”

With James still holding you, Sirius on one side and Peter on the other, Remus beside Peter, you finally started to relax, your heart calming down. “Thanks, guys,” you whispered.

James kissed your temple. “Of course, darling. We’ve got you.”

Sirius snickered. “Now, if it was a snake, that would’ve been another story…”

You groaned again, but this time it was full of affection. “Never change, Sirius.”

[kingkunigami]

— Kunigami Rensuke

Masterlist.

Keeping every other player on their toes was the true goal. Reminding them that he deserved his place— that he was meant to be here. But Kunigami wouldn’t deny that obtaining a prize that every other man on the field coveted was a good enough reward. He really was the wildcard, in every sense of the word.

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, spit, Kunigami’s got an oral fixation, blow jobs, no prep, unprotected sex, light choking, squirting, creampie.

Pairing: Kunigami Rensuke x f!reader.

Word Count: 2.8k.

If there was ever a man who didn’t appear to want the prize he’d rightfully won, it would be Kunigami Rensuke. Lingering in the doorway as you felt the cool chill seep into the room from behind him, prickling against your form as goosebumps began to appear against your forearms. The sheer lingerie doing little to hide your exposed skin as you shuffled on your knees against the soft sheets, your nipples hardening against pretty lace as you watched his tongue slip out to wet his lips.

It was as though this prize wasn’t good enough, that he was still searching for more. Every trophy and accolade he rightfully stole from every other player put on the field would never matter until his name was positioned at number one.

Keeping every other player on their toes was the true goal. Reminding them that he deserved his place— that he was meant to be here. But Kunigami wouldn’t deny that obtaining a prize that every other man on the field coveted was a good enough reward for now, stealing a last minute shot at goal instead of passing to Chigiri to land the ball in the top left corner— barely an inch from the post. A chance that had paid off well now that he was standing where the other twenty-one men on the field wished they could be.

No one would deny that he’d been through a lot to get this far— probably far more than most. A man that had tasted the disgusting bile of failure rise in his throat, the defeat one he promised himself he would never feel again. Arguably working far harder than his teammates to reclaim his position at the top, biting at the ankles of his competitors as he allowed natural selection to take place.

And Kunigami couldn’t lie, it felt good to be victorious. So used to the pack mentality of victory, succeeding at the hands of others. But this one? It was his. You were his. And he would return to the rest of his team with a story to prove it.

He took four long strides to meet you at the foot of the bed, like a lion stalking its prey as he towered over you. His hand was gentle when he cupped your cheek, leaning into his touch as you grasped onto the warmth of it. Feeling a rush of blood pump through your veins when you looked up to meet his burning gaze, enough to scorch your skin as you felt it set fire to you all the way down to your core.

“They were right,” He murmurs, “You are really pretty.”

Your heart jumped at his words, thinking about what sort of things the footballers said about you. Picturing them crowded around in their changing room at half-time, doused in dirt and sweat as they spilled their pure depravity. Talking about every filthy thought they had about you, or the lewd opinions of those who’d had a taste. Your clit pulsing in response as you swallowed thickly, wondering what Kunigami’s role had been in the conversation.

“So,” He hummed, tracing the calloused pad of his thumb over your glossy lips, the stickiness tacking you to him, “What can I do to you?”

“Anything.”

“Shit,” A groan rumbled from deep in his chest, his eyes fluttering as he felt his cock pulse beneath his shorts, “Anything?”

“Yeah—” Kunigami pushed his thumb past your lips as soon as he felt you part them to speak, pressing down on the pad of your tongue as your lips closed around it. Staring up at him obediently through thick lashes as you hollowed your cheeks, causing a deep blazing heat to burn in his pelvis.

“Fuck,” He growled, pumping his thumb slowly as his palm caged your jaw. Tilting your head as he used his strong grip you open your mouth, pursing his lips as he spat into your open mouth, “Hold it.”

You felt the moisture collect at the back of your throat from the way your head was tilted, your tongue wobbles as he draws back to dip his thumbs into the hem of his shorts. Pulling them down enough to free his heady cock, the tip swollen and bruised deep crimson as a a pearlescent glob of pre beads at the tip. You whimpered at the debauched sight, his spit gargling at the back of your throat as you squeezed your thighs together in a feeble attempt to alleviate the ache throbbing between them.

“Fu-uck,” Kunigami groaned as he felt the warmth of your mouth engulf him when he guided his cock inside you, deliberately smearing his pre against your pouty lips as he watched you begin to bob your head obediently.

The sordid stories he’d heard in the showers after practise were nothing compared to the sight of you in front of him like this now. His cock disappearing inside your wet mouth as his hips stilled to watch the way you leaned forward to try and take more of him.

“Cute,” He hummed when the confidence grew inside you as you tried to take a little too much of him, feeling his swollen tip hit the back of your throat as you pulled back with a gag. Spluttering as spit began to drool down your chin, landing on your chest as you regained your breath. Kunigami couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward to tug at the straps of your bra, tugging them along your shoulders as he pulled the cups down enough to free your round tits.

He sucked a hiss through gritted teeth when you tried again, your spit drying against his length as you engulfed him in warmth once more. His slender fingers reached down to toy with your stiffened peaks as he tugged one between his thumb and forefinger, “You like that?”

You tried to speak around him, slurring your words as he smirked in satisfaction. Pulling your nipple away from your body to let it go, your breast bouncing back into place in favour of him reaching his palm around the back of your neck. Cradling your head at the base of your skull as he begun to thrust his hips forward into your mouth, deliberately trying to press his leaking tip against the back of your mouth with each forward motion. Drawing more debauched noises from your throat, as more spit pooled down onto your bare breasts.

“You’re such a mess,” He groaned, his hand tight at the back of your head as he held you down on his length. Watching as pearly tears begun to clump in your lashes as they blurred your vision, gagging as his thick tip pressed against your throat. Cutting off your oxygen supply as he continued to hold you firm and steady, jaw locked with intent as he pushed you further. Your nose buried in the messy nest of hair at the base of his cock as you took in every inch of him; Cutting off any chance of breathing, thick tears now streaming down the apples of your cheeks as your hands came up to claw at his muscular thighs. Leaving dark, crimson lines against the skin as you clawed at him for relief.

“That’s it, you got it—” The lack of oxygen how had your eyes rolling back into your skull as Kunigami finally took pity on you, easing his grip with a sharp hiss as you marked him, “Good girl.”

Glistening strings of spit and pre snapped off between your bodies, sticking to your chin as you looked at the deep gashes you’d left against his skin. Low enough on his thighs to be seen when he was wearing his shorts out on the pitch, and that’s exactly what Kunigami wanted— his teammates would probably think him far too much of a prude to do anything with you, but he’d show them. A cocky, knowing smirk on his lips when he prepared in the locker room before practise.

You squealed when he bent down to curl his palms around your thighs. His heavy cock glistening with your spit as it bobbed from the sudden motion, pulling your legs out from beneath you as your back met the satin sheets. Pulling you to the edge of the bed as though you weighed nothing until your ass was practically hanging off the edge of it. Thighs either side of his muscular frame as he was gifted the perfect view between your thighs, noticing the dark stain on the fabric as he brushed his knuckles against it. Smirking when your sensitive body jolted upon contact.

“So you said I can do anything,” Kunigami mused, pressing his thumb down against your clothed clit, “That mean I can fuck this pussy raw?”

“Yes,” You gasped, shamelessly spreading your legs wider to give him more access as he began to trace his fingers along the apex of your thighs, dangerously close to the hem of your panties.

The position he had you in left you nowhere to plant your feet, almost uncomfortable as you fought to hold your legs in the air, pressing your legs against his hips as Kunigami pulled your panties to the side to reveal your lustrous cunt to his eager gaze.

“Shit,” He shook his head, darkened eyes hidden behind his messy mop of ginger hair, “Is there anything I can’t do?”

“No,” You answered truthfully. So desperate for some kind of relief you truly would’ve allowed him to do anything to you in this moment, to use your body in any sick and twisted way he deemed fit.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else,” Kunigami snarled, roughly pushing your thighs back towards your chest as he curled his tall body over you. His rigid cock laid flat along the length of your creamy slit as you felt his weighty balls press against the curve of your ass, “And you’re gonna take it.”

The thick veins that forked along the length of him grazed your clit as he smoothed himself in your slick, the swollen tip of his cock catching against your tight ill-prepped hole as he pressed two fingers inside you crudely. A debauched squelch sounding around the room from how wet you are, as he began to scissor them roughly in a feeble attempt at prepping you for the sheer length of him.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the feeling of him breaching your tight heat, stealing the wind from your lungs as the length to his cock immediately had him spearing your insides. What he made up for in girth, he compensated for when his swollen tip nudged your cervix.

“Oh, fuck.”

With his feet still poised on the ground, Kunigami hovered over you and began to fuck into you hard and precise. Determined to have you remembering him over all of his competition— Wanting to be your number one.

You felt the weight behind his thrusts as his full balls slapped against your ass with each forward motion, echoing in your ears but drowned out by the sultry moans that escaped past your parted lips. His darkened eyes almost black as they stare down at you with such scrutiny that you can’t match his gaze, letting your head lull to the side as he keeps himself folded over you. Your tits bouncing with the ferocity of his thrusts.

No longer the prized golden boy you’d once seen at the start of the program, now a tainted man with the weight of the world on his shoulders as he let every ounce of emotion pour out into his pace.

Kunigami pressed his palm flat against your sternum before sliding along your clavicle, weaving his fingers around the column of your neck as you felt the tips of his fingers press into your jaw. Turning your head back to face him as you met his gaze, clenching around him in response as his palm began to tighten around your windpipe.

The head of his cock kissed your cervix with each forward motion, and he was so deep inside you were certain you could feel him in your lungs. The constricting of air only increased the sensation as your walls pulsed around him, squeezing his length as you began to feel the telltale signs of your release. Far too pent up to try and fight it as you lay helpless beneath him, feeble attempts at his name spilling from between your parted lips.

“They didn’t fuck you like this, did they?” Kunigami was eager to prove himself to you. Hungry and desperate for this sick source of validation that would hold him above all the others, to place him at number one, “They didn’t make you feel as good as me?”

And you couldn’t answer even if you’d wanted to. The pleasure building inside you made it difficult to think of anything other than the way he managed to keep you dangling on the edge of your release. Desperate for something that would have you tumbling over the edge, to have you coming undone for him.

Sacrificing his grip around your neck in favour of pressing a palm flat against your pelvis, pulling back the hood of your clit as his calloused thumb pressed messy circles against it. The weight of him enough to increase the pressure to breaking point as you began to writhe beneath him, trying to ignore the dull throb from your bladder as you fought back the relief. Your pliant walls tightening around him in response as he sneered down at you through bared teeth.

“I can’t, I’m gonna pee!” You flushed, wide panicked eyes staring up at him.

“Don’t fight it, just let go.” He pressed down harder, strumming your puffy clit as your toes began to curl. Crying out his name as you felt a warm, wet stream of squirt begin to gush against his pelvis. His hand quick to intercept it and have it flying in all directions. Soaking his palm and the sheets beneath you as he grinned in satisfaction.

“That’s it—” He groaned, ignoring your pleas for him to give you a moments respite, “Just like that.”

You weren’t sure you had anything left to give as your climax hit you like a freight train, trembling around him as Kunigami still managed to coax more streams out of your willing body. Almost as wet as the tears that streaked down your temples from overstimulation as your body trembled beneath him.

“Bet no one else has made you do that, hm?” He groaned, the crude squelch echoed in your ears as the heat boiled inside you.

Kunigami pressed his hands against the back of your thighs as he resumed his frantic pace, the muscles in his body constricting as he used you for his own release. Working himself towards his climax as he leaned his weight over you to smash his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss that was all tongue and teeth, feeling you clench around him at the sensation as he found his release. Groaning against your lips as his warm breath fanned your skin and he spilled his release into your velvety walls. His hips still rutting as he fucked his cum deep inside you, reluctantly pulling away when he had nothing left to give.

He kept his grip on your thighs when he pulled out of your spent cunt, watching your fluttering hole slowly start to push his spend out in thick white globs as it drooled down your slit towards your asshole. He wished he’d brought a phone in to document the scene, a filthy snapshot to share in the lockerroom the next day to prove his worth. His fingers quick to collect his spunk as he scooped it up with his fingers to push it back inside you, cherishing the final tremors of you around him as he pulled your panties back in place. Giving a final pat to the crotch as he pulled away from you, staring down at you with a shy smile.

It was like he was a different man now, smooth hands stroking along your aching thighs as he pressed a kiss to your knee.

“I— uh, can I get you anything?” He mumbled shyly, the powerful intense man gone as he finally revealed the soft glow in his auburn eyes.

“You don’t have to,” You smiled, letting your fingers run through his hair as your nails grazed his scalp. Letting his cheek rest against your inner thigh as he stared up at you.

“Well— do you want to cuddle?” He seemed nervous to even ask.

“Isn’t that a waste of your time?” You whispered, knowing the real reason for why each man was really here.

“It would never be a waste of time,” Kunigami moved to hover above you, his sticky cock pressed against your inner thigh, “And besides, I’ll be back again tomorrow.”

[anyarose011]

"There Must Be Something in the Water" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: Many men with one eye have followed you home before...but never one with silver hair. What could he possibly want with you?

Part 1 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Swearing, vulgar jokes, talk of sex, prostitution, and spice (but not smut)

I jumped on the HOTD bandwagon, and even worse (I don't know how it happened, seriously, I don't), I started loving Aemond "Mommy Issues" Targaryen. I came up with this lovely little mini series, and I hope you enjoy it! If you know where the song in this chapter is from, 100 points to *insert your Hogwarts House*! Also, please don't try and keep a timeline of events (the show for sure doesn't), and if you need help on the Westeros money system, use this.

Word Count: 4.2k

You knew a man was following you one lonesome night. It was like clockwork though; you walking through the empty, darkened streets of King’s Landing, a hollow water jug on your hip as if it were a babe.

It didn’t matter if it was the same one who’d been following you all week; what mattered, was what he had. You hadn’t caught sight of him yet, so perhaps he was a different man. Still, if it wasn’t, then simply from how his eyes must traced over you, he’d plan on coming closer that night.

Wearing only your sandals and a thin dress, you continued down the narrow path. It must’ve been…oh, perhaps three hours before sunrise? If you’d gone any sooner or any later, than members of the City Watch would surely be out.

Whether they wanted to aid or hurt you, it would all be the same.

As faint torches began to appear alongside the walls you walked, and you knew you grew closer to the well, you began to hum lightly at first. Then, you sung even softer; no words, just your voice in its purest form. It was only when you finally made it to the well, and after you sat atop the stones, did you finally add a story to your song.

“Father’s hunting in the forest, Mother’s cooking in the home. I must go to fetch the water, ‘til the day that I am grown.”

You cranked the bucket down into the well, still singing.

“’Til I’m grown, ‘Til I’m grown. I must go to fetch the water, ‘til the day that I am grown.”

You glanced up and saw the shadow of the man who had been following you. He was still peeking out from behind an alley, but once he saw your head move, he stepped out. Yet, you merely kept your back to him, cranking the handle on the well to bring the bucket up.

“Then I will have a handsome husband, and a daughter of my own. Then I’ll send her to fetch the water, I’ll be cooking in the home.”

Taking the bucket off its hook, you poured it carefully into the jug. Setting the bucket back, you then stood up, taking the full jug of water into your arms. Slowly, you began to walk uphill and out of the area of the well, singing quietly.

“My own home, My own home. Then, I’ll send her to fetch the water, I’ll be cooking in my home. My own home, My own-.”

You’d gotten better at making it look like an accident when dropping your jug of water. The first time you’d done it, you glanced back to make sure your unsuspecting victim was watching and let go of it. Needless to say, he was the one that robbed you that night.

The jug rolled down the cobbled hill, and ricocheted off the well, spinning in place. Soon, the silhouette of a man became visible as he came closer to the jug. Your eyes drifted up from the ground. When you saw his face, the first thing you noticed was only one eye; the other, his left eye, covered by a humble patch.

Then, the one thing that frightened you: Long hair that was almost the shade of the sun, it was so light.

This wasn’t a drunken man wandering alone at night, this wasn’t a Kingsguard who had an itch to scratch.

No…no, this was Aemond Targaryen, a prince. A prince who could do anything to you, and you wouldn’t be able to resist; even if you fought.

And he was staring at you from the foot of the hill. You weren’t even at the top, only halfway. In actuality, this wasn’t the most afraid you’d ever been in a situation like this. Still, the way he bent down to pick up the jug without his smile wavering, or his eye never leaving yours, greatly unnerved you.

Then, he turned away from you, approaching the well. Setting down the jug, he began to turn the crank of the well, lowering the bucket back down into the water. This wasn’t the first time a man had done this…yet from a prince?

“Come down now,” he beckoned, not looking at you. “I won’t cause any harm. You look ridiculous.”

You hadn’t any idea at the time what words he would say…but those weren’t what you expected at all. Making a sour face, you slowly trailed down the rocky hill until you were at level with him. Aemond stopped cranking, and finally looked at you.

“I know you aren’t a mute.” He taunted. “You wouldn’t sing so sweetly if you were.”

Still, you refused to speak. Instead, you folded your hands, standing tall as if you were an equal to him. This only widened the smile upon his face. He sat atop the rocks of the well, leaving a space for you.

You approached him, but did not sit. Even as his eyes trailed over your figure (and how little of your curves the dress hid), you remained stoic; at least, as best as you could. It certainly wasn’t the first time a man looked upon you with lust…but it felt stranger now.

“Don’t tell me I have to pay coin solely to have a conversation with you?” He laughed.

“No.” You finally spoke. “But you are the second Targaryen I have witnessed to take comfort in brothels whilst mourning his line in succession.”

…If you were going to die at any point in life, you at least thought you would die in a fight. This wasn’t the one you were imagining, but it would do.

He nodded, his voice returning to what you assumed to be normal; a natural edge to it that one would find difficult to discern if he was angry at them. “I assume my brother was the first to receive your comfort then?”

“He has never laid eyes on me.”

“I have heard the stories of you.” Aemond hissed. “A living siren, luring those thinking with the head between their legs, only to rob them of all they have. How is it possible he has not seen you?”

“Perhaps you underestimate the King’s intelligence.”

“You followed me.” You wanted to say, but only did so in your mind.

He sighed, standing up to be almost toe to toe with you. “If you are not a whore, then how did you come to know I have visited the Street of Silk?”

Dropping your eyes to the ground, they were soon brought back up by Aemond’s hand cupping your jaw. You did not know if it was shock or stupidity, but you weren’t the least bit afraid. He wanted answers, and he wasn’t so pigheaded to kill you before you gave them.

You backed out of his grip, sighing as if he was an inconvenience (he was, but you couldn’t tell him that). “For years I have made deals with the ladies of the night. I come to them in the evening, they tell me what men are still sick with lust, I lure those men, rob them, maim them, kill them if I have to, and share whatever I have taken.”

A smile lurked in the corner of his mouth. “You’ve killed men before?”

You crossed your arms. “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t matter to me what you believe.”

“Did the women tell you to lure me?”

“They did not tell me it was you.”

“But you knew I was in their attendance.”

“Are you going to fill my jug of water or not?”

Aemond turned back to the well, your empty water jug still resting on the stones. “Answer my question.” He gritted his teeth, yet still brought his hands to the crank and turned it.

You leaned against the basin, watching him and debating your words. “Have you spoken to any women outside your house?”

He snickered (to your surprise and your delight). “You’re very strange.”

“Answer my question.” You teased gently.

“Yes, I have.” The bucket resurfaced, and he took it off the hook. “If my frequent visitations to the Street of Silk haven’t made you aware, then I would say that the gods have cursed you with selective attention.”

“Then you must know that women like to talk.” You sat upon the rocks. “That it would be impossible for them to keep quiet about a silver-haired prince with one eye.”

Aemond said not a word as he poured the water into the jug. When it was filled, he set the bucket back on the hook and walked to stand in front of you. His hands resting on the stones outside of your thighs, caging you.

“Do you favor talking?”

“Only when it brings me favor.”

He brought one of his hands up to your thigh, dancing dangerously close to the inside of it. You sucked in a breath as he asked. “This is what it takes to grant you favor? Dressing yourself up like a doll, singing like a bird for men?”

“Why did you follow me?” You brought your face just a little closer for him to hear your whisper.

“I thought I already told you.” He held your face in his other hand, shutting his eye and hovering his nose above yours. “I have heard the stories; I wanted to see if you were real, and as beautiful as many have claimed.”

You brought your hand to grip onto the wood of the well, steadying yourself as you felt his breath upon your skin. “And what are your thoughts?”

He opened his eye, wearing that same smile. “You’re not…unpleasing to look at.” Pinching your cheek, he drew himself away from you to see the state you contorted your body in. He scoffed. “Seven Hells, you thought I’d push you, didn’t you?”

Relaxing, you hopped down from where you sat, cradling the heavy jug of water into your arms. “You can never be careful around men.”

He hummed. “Especially those who look like the monsters mothers tell their children hide that under their beds.”

“I would’ve thought that if I hadn’t spoken to you.” You tried to pass by him.

His hand came to rest on your bare shoulder; his fingers playing with the thin strap. “And now that you have?”

You felt bold that night (if it wasn’t obvious prior). So, holding the jug on your hip, you brought your other hand over his; softly caressing his knuckles as you smiled. “You’re funny.”

He didn’t laugh, not even smiled. Instead, for a moment, you saw his eye grow. You pulled away from him, your stomach churning at what you had just said and done. You offended him, you must have.

“Goodnight,” your curtsied. “your grace-.”

“-Aemond.”

Now it was your turn for your eyes to enlarge.

“You may call me Aemond.”

He said it as if you would surely see him again. Taking a crisp breath, you smiled shyly. “And what if I were to call you ‘Little Prince’?”

“Perhaps when I hear you sing again, I might allow it.”

 “Then I bid you goodnight, Aemond.” You curtsied playfully, quickly turning on your heel to walk away from him.

You heard his footsteps behind you. “You have not told me your name.”

“Perhaps when you hear me sing again,” you repeated his words. “I shall give it to you.”

You expected him to follow you for the second time that night. To maybe pull you into a dark alleyway and make you tell him your name in the most pleasant way possible. Yet, you did not hear a retort as you walked back up the cobbled hill and turned on the first right to where your home was.

The sound of life soon flooded your ears as you walked through the main part of the city. Even with it being almost sunrise, there were still enough people out and about. It was only when you were nearing close to home, did the events of the night truly dawn on you.

You ran into the prince, and not only had you come out of it unharmed but also liked by him. It couldn’t possibly have been anything more than him wanting to wet his cock again (wet his cock with a girl his own age to put it more accurately, but you could never say that aloud). Despite how much the interaction thrilled and entertained you, you hoped to any gods above you wouldn’t see him again for that very reason.

Whilst turning another corner, a hooded man had tried to do the same, causing the two of you to collide. The jug fell out of your arms and crashed onto the road, the water spilling out.

“Cocksucker!” You cursed, falling to your knees.

You glanced up at the man who caused this, but he quickly pushed past you. For a moment, you thought you saw silver hair.

It was an open secret amongst the Smallfolk how…peculiar the Targaryens were.

Sighing heavily, you pulled yourself up along with the jug. When you began to walk though, you heard soft clinging from the jug. Stopping soon as you started, you glanced into the empty jug, and a faint shining momentarily blinded you. You reached in and pulled out five silver coins.

Stags…they were Stag coins.

You could pay half a years’ worth of food, a somewhat nicer place to live, clothes that were your own…but it wasn’t enough for passage on a ship, none the less, a new life.

Sliding the coins back into the jug, you continued on your way home as if nothing had happened. All the while, pondering if running into the little prince again would do more harm than good.

Not the day after you ran into Aemond, but the day after that, you were in the streets with the other smallfolk, weeping with his sister and his mother.

The same night you first met him was the same night Prince Jaeherys was beheaded. You hadn’t an idea how old he was until you watched his little body wheeled through King’s Landing. There had never been a procession like this, and the whole event made you feel ill.

It felt strange to call it an event; to have the same word used for festivals and celebrations describe a funeral. 

As you attempted to escape the crowds that were reaching out to Queen Halaena, a daunting thought dawned on you: Was it Daemon Targaryen, the traitor to the Crown, uncle and husband to Rhaenyra, that you saw the previous night?

Swallowing down the sickness that stirred within you, you decided to cauterize your doubt with work.

“You know,” one of the brothel workers, Valda, smirked. “a certain, silver-haired dragon keeps asking about you.”

Scowling, you looked at her in the mirror while sitting at the vanity, one of the other girls doing your hair. “And what have you told him?”

“I’ve told him nothing. Chansey though-.”

“-You said you wouldn’t tattle!” Chansey, after running a comb through your hair, threw  it at her.

It was dinner for most of the girls, and every one of them laughed as they ate in one of the sitting rooms.

“What did you tell him?” You interrogated.

She sighed. “When he came last night, he asked for ‘The Woman at the Well’, and if I knew your name. I said you’d have to tell him yourself, and that you left an hour before he arrived.”

“So now he knows I’m here right now.”

Valda rolled her eyes, kneeling to your height and wrapping her arms around you. “If he cared so much for you, why isn’t he here right now?”

“I don’t want to know.”

He was more than likely fucking Sylvi as you spoke.

“What did you do to the Kinslayer to make him act like this?” She jested.

There was that name people were calling him. He killed Lucerys Velaryon, son of Rhanerya and probably the reason there would be a war in the coming month. People said that the boy fell from his dragon, others said Aemond’s dragon ate him, you didn’t know at the time. All you knew was that you wanted the conversation to end.

But, Valda persisted.

“I know you’ve never lain with anyone, but I didn’t know you sucked cock like a goddess.”

“What?!” You shrieked, and the girls howled with laughter. “I did nothing of the sort!”

Chansey giggled. “Don’t tell us you let him nurse on your tits like a newborn babe.”

“…Huh?”

More giggles followed as she said. “That’s what he does to Sylvi-!”

“-Who does what to me?”

Four little words silenced the room quicker than a drawn sword would have. All eyes darted to the opened door, and Sylvi entering. She only looked at Chansey.

She swallowed thickly. “No one, Madame Sylvi.”

“I hope you aren’t shaming the activities that I or other girls have done in this house; considering you have spread your legs and filled your mouth for far longer than half of the women in this room alone.”

“I didn’t intend any harm, Madame.” She dropped her head solemnly. “Please, forgive me.”

Sylvi approached her, caressing her cheek. “All is forgiven unless I hear those ugly words from you again. That goes for the rest of you, understood?”

They nodded and mumbled their agreement. Sighing, Sylvi announced. “Take the rest of your dinner in your quarters. If any men request you, tell him to wait, you still have fifteen minutes left. I need to speak with our ‘Woman at the Well’, as the title has been given to her by the prince himself.”

The girls chuckled, offering sincere goodbyes as they passed by you before exiting. When it was only you and Sylvi, she sat down on the long couch just behind where you were sitting. She looked at you through the mirror and tilted her head. You got up and sat beside her.

“Did you get anything from last night?” She first asked.

Nodding, you took out a small pouch from your boot. “It was the man visiting from Essos.”

“The rich one or his pageboy?” She opened it, revealing two copper Star coins, and one Groat. That answered her question.

“Apparently,” you relaxed further into the couch, leaning against her. “the rich one grew a conscience and decided to go back to his wife instead of fucking Valda. Did she tell you that?”

“You know her.” She stretched her arm to hang behind you. “She doesn’t like being left dry.”

“Does anyone?” You giggled.

Sylvi lightly tugged a piece of your hair. “Don’t slouch, you’ll mess up Chansey’s hard work.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you sat up. “It’s already dark, is there someone waiting for an innocent woman at a well?”

She shook her head. “No, not that I’ve heard of now, but tonight, perhaps. There’s so much talk of war, I’m feeling ill already thinking of it. Still, it will bring fortune for the both of us.”

“I suppose so.” You sighed, leaning forward.

Her hand came up to stroke your back, her finger trailing your spine. “Is it true you still haven’t fucked anyone?”

“Sylvi!” You laughed.

“Is it wrong I find it hard to believe?!” She shoved you playfully. “You’ve done so much good for us throughout the years; I’m confident there isn’t one handsome fella who wouldn’t want to bed you. Or one of the ladies, if you prefer.”

“I’m alright.” You had told her that a hundred times prior, and you felt as if you would tell her a hundred times more.

She sighed. “Suit yourself. Come back in an hour or two, we should have someone drunk on cunt for you to sedate.”

“Of course.”

You dusted yourself off and stood, heading to the door. Sylvi called your name, and you turned.

“I don’t want you speaking with the prince.” Her face was sullen. “You shouldn’t have to deal with his burdens.”

Nodding, you opened the door. “Tell him to leave me be if he asks again; I don’t want to deal with him either.”

You had decided on not wanting to see him again; even if he gave you a hundred Dragons (…that’s a lie, you would).

So, after wandering around King’s Landing for another hour, sticking close to the well-lit parts of the city and almost enjoying the merry crowds, you went back to the brothel, changed into your thin dress, and applied a light coat of makeup. Valda had been with a boy who turned two and twenty that night; friendless, wanted to do something extraordinary to celebrate his name day, and she had been the first person who made him cum. He didn’t even get to slip his cock in her, he was so overwhelmed.

She said he was sweet; you almost felt bad as you spotted him whilst preparing around the corner.

You began to sing the same song you sang every other night, carrying the jug on your hip. You were bolder that night knowing he was more innocent than you, so you glanced over your shoulder and beckoned him closer.

As you sat on the well, letting the bucket lower, you could feel the boy’s presence grow stronger. When you finished your song, you finally looked at him, grinning from ear to ear. Then, your eyes fell to a figure in the alleyway behind him.

“Does your mother know you’re here, boy?”

Said boy turned to look over his shoulder and was met with the face of a hooded one-eyed man, grinning like the devil. The boy’s jaw quivered and only stammers escaped. Aemond walked closer to him.

“What did you think would happen tonight?” He taunted. “You’d come up behind her and fuck her senseless?”

“N-no, I-I-!”

“-Leave us.”

The trembling boy said nothing more; only kept his head down and walked quickly away from the well. Rolling your eyes, you drew them away from the prince once it was only the two of you.

“You’re welcome.”

‘You’re welcome’ he said.

You looked back at him, your face falling into disgust. “What do I have to be thankful for?”

“I assumed you didn’t take pleasure luring little boys night after night.” He sat beside you. “Seems like a chore.”

“It’s worse.” You sighed, cranking the water bucket up. “It’s a job; something us smallfolk need.”

He snickered. “You believe I’ve never worked a day in my life.”

“For coin? Yes.”

“Is there anything else you do for work? Or are you just a siren?”

You looked at him, halting yourself. “Why did you pay me that night?”

He shrugged. “You gave me a service.”

“Someone to talk to?”

“Entertainment.”

Leaning against the wooden post of the well, you asked. “So will you pay me in gold this time? Considering you entertained yourself so much I lost a quarry?”

“We’ll see.” He stood up and placed his hand on the crank.

Humming, you stood as well, turning your whole body to him. “And no, I don’t just do this.”

“What do you do?”

“I usually tailor, sometimes look after children; many odd jobs.”

“Where do you tailor?”

You smirked. “Try asking me later.”

He took the bucket off its hook once it appeared. “I won’t, if you tell me your name.”

“How much coin do you have for that?”

“You didn’t have to pay for my name.”

“I already knew who you were.”

“Well, then you didn’t have to pay for the privilege to use it.” He poured the water into your jug.

You shrugged. “You made me lose a quarry, so…”

Aemond rolled his eye, but you could still see a smirk playing on his lips as he reached into his pocket and took out three silver coins; Moons. Your own eyes grew, and like a greedy child, you instantly stretched your hand out to grasp them. He was quicker, holding them closer to his chest.

“Ah, ah, ah, your name, and something else…”

That’s what made you lose interest. You forced yourself to stand taller, but your heart was trying to beat itself out of your chest and run away in terror.

“I’m not going to…to…”

He tilted his head, mimicking you. “To…to do what?”

“How plainly am I allowed to speak to you?”

“As if you were my own brother.”

“I’m not going to fuck you.” You forced out. “And I won’t let you do that to me either.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head. “Is there a difference?”

“Out of the both of us, you’re the only one who’s been in a pleasure house for its intended purpose. I thought you would know.”

“And you have thought correctly.” He pocketed the coins. “I don’t wish for that; only a walk.”

You furrowed your brow. “To where?”

“Nowhere, just around King’s Landing.”

This was stranger than the first night. The coins were meant to be found after you left, but now there he was, paying you directly for a service. He more than likely had his fill with Sylvi earlier, and after you first mentioned him to the girls, one of them let it slip that Madame Sylvi was the only woman he pleasured himself with.

So, despite how much he would deny it, Prince Aemond Targaryen was paying you to be a friend.

And damn it all, even though you had a feeling it would all end in tears, you couldn’t stop yourself from giving him your name.

[flemingsfreckles]

Mama’s Girl

Synopsis: R and Jessie’s daughter has decided she no longer wants to be a princess for Halloween, instead she wants to dress as her favorite person.

Warnings: very very minor injury to R and Jessie’s child

WC: 1.4K

A/N: hi, happy (early) Halloween

“Drew, baby come on, you love your princess dress.” You tried coxing your three year old out from where she hid in her closet.

“I don’t want it.” Her little voice complained through the wall. You had spent the better half of an hour trying to get your daughter dressed for a Halloween party the team was having. She had suddenly decided she had no interest in her costume, taking every chance to run and hide, making a game out of it with you.

“Drew, this is what you picked out. Remember how excited you were to get it?”

“I don’t want it.” She said still hiding herself in the closet. “Want something else.”

“Baby, we don’t have other costumes.” Your daughter had been so set on the princess dress for months, it was all she talked about, she had been so excited the day you and Jessie told her you were finally going to go buy it at the store. Except now she hated it.

“Make my own.” The closet door opens and your little girl bounces by you and out into the rest of the house. You hear a door slam and bring your hands up to your face, taking a deep breath. You were doing your best to stay patient with her, but you just wanted her dressed and ready for when Jessie got home.

Standing up from the floor of your daughter's bedroom you grab the princess dress off her bed and start heading toward the sound of the slammed door. Before you make it out of the room you’re startled by your wife walking into the room, causing you to jump slightly.

“Where’s Drew?” She then sees the dress in your hand and points to it. “Why isn’t she dressed? We’ve gotta get going in a few minutes.”

“I know,” you clasped your hands together. “But your daughter is refusing the costume she begged for two weeks ago and now she said she’s getting a different one, so I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Hmm.” Jessie pretends to ponder, her hand on her chin. “Stubborn, headstrong, indecisive… sounds like your daughter if anything.”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes at Jessie before shoving the dress in her direction. “Your turn to try.”

Jessie smiles at you, grabbing the dress from your hands before turning and heading out of your daughter's room with you following close behind her.

“Drew! I’m home, want to come show me your costume?” Jessie shouts in hopes of luring your child out from where she was hiding.

When there’s no response, Jessie starts wandering around the house, looking for your daughter. You hear her calling for your daughter, checking the basement and then she heads into the playroom. As Jessie disappears into the other room you hear the pitter patter of small feet coming your way.

“Want to be Mama!” Your daughter came flying around the corner, you expected her to still be half dressed but instead you’re met with the sight of your little girl swimming in a shirt. More specifically she’s wearing one of Jessie’s jerseys, backwards, waddling toward you.

“Mama!” Her little fingers point at the name and number that are normally displayed across your wife’s back. Her other hand had a tight fist around the laces of one of Jessie’s boots.

You can’t help but giggle at the sight of your daughter in the shirt that was way too big for her toddler body. “Baby, you said you didn’t want to be a soccer player.”

“No soccer player, want to be Mama!” You gently take the boot from your daughters hand, placing it on the ground.

“Drew, you have your own shirt, one that fits, do you want that?” Your hands find the hem of Jessie’s shirt, ready to help untangle your daughter from it. She had her own child sized Fleming jerseys she could wear.

“No!” She squirms from your grip before taking off running down the hall again. You watch as the fabric of Jessie’s shirt catches under your daughter’s foot, causing her to trip landing hard on the floor. Her immediate wail has you running to her and you hear Jessie’s footsteps behind you as you both rush to her side.

Quickly sitting your daughter in your lap you hold her sad face. Looking her over you notice the small cut and bump forming on her cheek, just under her eye. “Did you hit your face baby?” Your daughter gives you a nod, her bottom lip sticking out as she sniffles. Jessie turns and hurries away before returning.

“What happened?” Jessie stares at you wide eyed, handing you the ice pack and towel she had run to get. You gently place them on your daughter's face.

“Mama.” Your daughter extends her arms in Jessie’s direction, hands grasping at air, reaching for her. Jessie sits down next to you and you let Drew crawl from your lap into Jessie’s.

“She was in our room. I guess she wants to be you instead of a princess, she tripped on your jersey, it’s too long for her.”

“Want to be Mama!”

“Okay Drew, you can be like Mama.” You say, not about to argue with your injured daughter. “But we have to make sure this is safe, we don’t want you falling again okay?”

“Okay Mommy.” She mirrors your nod with a smile.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up.” Jessie says tickling your daughter's sides causing her to squirm and shriek with laughter. She picks Drew up, carrying her to the bathroom and sitting her on the countertop.

“I got an ouch.”

“You did babygirl.” Jessie says as she gently blots your daughter's cheek with a wet washcloth. “But guess what?”

“What?” You watch your daughter look up at Jessie, eyes wide waiting to hear what she had to say.

“You know how you wanted to be like Mama?”

“Yes!”

“Remember when Mama had the purple spot around her eye?” Jessie asks, referring to the black eye she had gotten back in February.

“Yes.”

“You might have one of those too in a couple days, just like me.” Jessie says finishing cleaning up your daughter’s cheek. You loved watching Jessie with Drew, it was a privilege to get to parent with her and watch her become the mother she was to your little girl.

“Just like Mama!” She claps her hands together, letting her legs swing a little bit, overwhelmed with excitement that she’d be even more like Jessie.

“Yes baby.”

“Okay all clean.” Jessie says before scooping up your daughter to give her a tight hug.

“Mommy hug?” Your daughter looks over Jessie’s shoulder to where you stood in the doorway watching your wife and baby. Her little hands reached for you. She had always been Jessie’s little girl, clinging to her side, but it was nice that she wanted your hug too.

“Come here my tough girl.” You take her, giving her a tight hug.

“Tough like Mama!” Your daughter waves her hands about in excitement.

“You’re so tough.” You say to her, bending over to place her feet on the ground. “Okay, you can go as Mama for your costume, but can I help you? We don’t want you getting another boo boo right?”

“Okay Mommy.” She lets out a tiny huff and rolls her eyes. Jessie’s eyes widen and she stifles a laugh at the sass from Drew.

“See, your daughter.” Jessie says with a smirk on her face before she kisses your cheek and heads out into the living room. You quickly help your daughter turn around and tie up Jessie’s adult sized jersey, tricking her into tucking it in, the same way her Mama tucks in her training kit and everyday shirts.

“Okay baby, go get some socks on, and then you’ll be ready to go.” You pat her on the back as she runs to her bedroom to get a pair of socks.

You arrive at the Halloween party, a tiny bit late, but no one minded. You and Jessie walk hand in hand, letting Drew run ahead of both of you. She immediately runs up to Jessie’s teammates, turning around and showing them the name on the back of her shirt.

“She’s such a Mama's girl.” You shake your head before resting it on Jessie’s shoulder.

“I know.”

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You give her hand a squeeze.

“Me either.”

[mockerycrow]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a one shot with gn!reader who gets hurt in a mission trying to save Ghost and as he feels bad for it, so he gets reader a small plushie (kinda like those for the key chain) and when reader wakes up doesn't know it was ghost how gave it to them

💙

KEYCHAIN (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — 1.3k words

authors note; it’s your local author criticizing their writing non stop again!!!!!! i feel like i could’ve written this better idk i’m sorry, anon! i wrote this whilst focusing on other projects </3

[WARNINGS; violence, descriptions of stabbing and choking, gore, hospital settings, fluff at the end.]

Ghost did not expect you to do what you did. Someone somehow managed to get the jump on Ghost from behind, wrapping their arms around the man’s neck with a knife in their hand. It was right in the middle of Ghost claiming he cleared a building; in his defense, he had cleared the entire building of every hostile for the exception of one. You heard him grunt and choke before going radio silent, you decided that you were on your way to his location the second something sounded wrong.

Ghost gasps for air and reaches for a knife of his own, trying to stomp his foot down on the man’s foot, but the man grunts and laughs when Ghost discovers he’s wearing steel-toed shoes. Ghost struggles against the man, his head beginning to swim—when is the last time he’s been overpowered like this?—and Ghost manages to grab one of his knives, taking it out of the sheath—

Ghost’s vision goes white for a moment when he feels the man’s blade sink into his abdomen, the man shushing him in his ear. “It’ll be over soon, big boy.” The man hisses, carelessly ripping the knife out of Ghost’s gut, making his legs buckle. Ghost must have blacked out for a moment because the next time his vision and hearing work, he’s on the ground in immense pain, witnessing a figure fighting off the strong, armored man. Ghost hears someone cry out—is that you??—but his vision won’t focus just yet.

His ears are ringing as he puts a forearm against the ground, a groan leaving Ghost as his other hand goes to his gut, and he winces as he applies pressure to his stab wound, hot thick blood trickling between his fingers and onto the ground. Ghost’s throat aches terribly, so he clears it as his vision finally focuses and it’s you fighting off a man that’s bigger than him. His eyes widen as he shouts your name, his voice hoarse and broken, laced with panic.

There’s blood staining your uniform as Ghost lets go of his stab wound, and he groans loudly as he leans down and grabs his handgun out of his ankle holster. Ghost inhales through his teeth and he shakily aims his handgun, and holds his breath to steady his aim, and he pulls the trigger.

The bullet ripples through the air and rips through the man’s temple, causing him to stumble for a second before crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll. Unfortunately, you follow suit, a loud pained gasp leaving you as you land on your side. Ghost holsters his handgun and he calls your name again, fighting through the pain to quickly crawl over to you, blood trailing him. “Oi, oi—“ Ghost hisses, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to roll onto your back.

There’s blood caking your uniform so horribly he doesn’t know where your wounds begin. It’s smeared against your neck and face, your eyelids fluttering from the pain. Your lips part and shut multiple times as your mind tries to comprehend what just happened. Ghost calls your name, a loud noise of pain leaving him, one hand pressing against his own wound whilst the other grabs your jaw to keep your head still.

Ghost hears Price shout your name through comms in an angry and panicked tone. “Ghost?? Fuckin’ hell, someone come in!” Ghost pants before he begins to tear the velcro straps off of your vest as he needs to know where you got hurt. He moves his hand off of his own stab wound—he is a bit lightheaded—and he presses down on his radio. “Ghost to Price, we’re both injured. One SW for me, I’m not sure how many for them.” Ghost croaks into the radio, trying to multitask.

“Bloody—where are you two?” Price demands through the radio, sounding a bit breathless. Ghost inhales sharply as he leans over, his body bending the wrong way as he grabs the front of your vent and he grunts loudly as he drags it off of you with one hand. He’s lost a bit of strength with the blood he’s lost. You gasp and grab for Ghost’s wrist as he begins to press down on one of your multiple stab wounds near your vital organs. “Building two, third floor.” Ghost responds with a strained voice. He notices your head rolling back, and you barely hear Ghost yelling.

Don’t let this be the end.

You ended up passing out from pain and blood loss, despite Ghost’s best efforts of keeping you awake. You slowly awakened in a plush setting, slight pain humming through your veins, your throat dry and aching. You twitch, your muscles heavy from not being used for a bit. You hear a monitor or two, which gives you an indication you’re in the hospital. Your eyelids fluttered open and luckily, the overhead light in your hospital room was not on. The curtains were drawn open, and the light streamed into the room.

You glanced around, seeing Soap with his journal in his hand, sketching something. It gives you a warm feeling in your gut and you glance over to your other side, seeing Gaz sitting there, holding.. your keys with a little fuzzy thing?

“What’s that?” You croak, causing both Gaz and Soap’s heads to snap to look at you. “Aye, look who’s awake!” Soap exclaims, grinning. He closes his journal and puts it on the ground next to his chair before he grabs a foam cup. Soap brings it to your lips, and you realize it’s water so you greedily gulp it down, the water soothing your throat. Gaz lets out a breath before he scoots closer, the crease in his eyebrows finally relaxing. “It’s nice to see you awake.” Gaz murmurs with a soft smile of his own.

Soap pulls away the cup and sets it back down. “How long was I out?” You question. “What even happened? It’s in sections for me..”

Soap and Gaz share a look before Gaz fiddles with the fuzzy thing in his fingers, your keys clinking around. “You saved Ghost. He was being overpowered and you found him, but uh..” Gaz winces a bit, causing your eyebrows to furrow as bits and pieces begin to flood back to memory. “—But you got injured yourself. Luckily lil’ ol’ LT got off with one stab wound. You? Ya got off with six.”

You blink for a moment. “Oh.” You utter, taking a moment to process that. “You had to have surgery which is why your throat aches so much, the tube.” Gaz explains, putting your keys and the fuzzy thing in your lap. “They said everything should heal normally, but you'll be out of commission for a while.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and you nod, your hand reaching out and grabbing your keys. “And Ghost?” You ask, your tone tight, expecting the worst. “He’s alright,” Soap assures, causing you to look at him now with a look of relief. “He just left a bit ago to get some rest, since he can’t stay and lay hunched over.” Gaz chuckles and you can’t help the smile that appears on your face. You finally look down at the fuzzy thing attached to your keys; it’s a little keychain plushie of a black and white cat. You let out a soft “aww” before looking at Gaz, and then Soap. “Who gave me this?” You ask.

Soap and Gaz share a knowing look—a glance you can’t quite yet decipher—before they shrug and mutter stuff like “i don’t know..” and “no idea” when in fact they watched Ghost, in a wheelchair, wheel himself into the room and grunt for your keys. Soap had wordlessly handed them to the man, and they watched him put on the kitty keychain and made them promise to not tell them he gave it to you.

[stevieschrodinger]

Link to Part One

Link to Part Two

TW mentions of human trafficking, rescue, injury, trauma

Steve locks Eddie in the car which, yeah, okay, it makes Eddie jump a little reflexively at the quiet click of the lock. And it might just be habit, or whatever, because it’s a really nice car.

Or maybe he’s even doing it for Eddie’s safety.

It still feels like he’s been locked in, though, and Eddie finds he’s...really not a fan of how this feels.

Either way, when Steve comes back less than ten minutes later and opens Eddie’s side of the car, Eddie’s still not sure how to feel about it. Suspicion is hard to shake.

Steve kneels right there on the floor of the lot, “swing around,” Eddie does, watching as Steve pulls antiseptic wipes out of the bottom of the bag, opening a packet and lifting Eddie’s foot. Eddie hisses when the wipe makes contact, it’s cold and, even though surely most of the wounds have scabbed by now, it still stings quite a bit, “sorry.” Steve looks up at Eddie earnestly, big eyes and floppy hair and, well, the moles are cute.

And having an Alpha kneel on the floor for him, that’s kind of nice too. Maybe Steve really is that good looking.

He wraps Eddie’s feet in a bandage, some tube bandage over the top, Eddie still slurping on his peanut butter chocolate shake. He’s going to have the absolute worst shit later, he knows it, too much rich food all at once, after a really long time of non at all, but honestly, so worth it.

“When we get home, I’ll set you up in one of the spare rooms, and maybe we can order you some clothes?” Steve pulls the bandage comfortably tight around Eddie’s foot, a nice gauze pad wrapped around the sole for cushioning.

“Errr, I mean, I, before, I was usually a good will kind of shopper, you know? Maybe Target on a good day?”

Steve just blinks at him for a second, before that clearly sinks in, “don’t...don’t think about the money, if that’s what you mean, we can get you some clothes, really, I don’t mind.”

And Eddie’s sure as fuck not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, Steve’s already broke the bank on Eddie, what’s a little more, right?”

Eddie whistles, he can’t help it. Objectively, obviously, he knew Steve was loaded. There’s a difference between knowing that and…seeing it. This is like a fucking mansion. Well, it’s not like a mansion, obviously. It is a mansion.

Automatic electric gates, a drive that’s got to be a half mile long...and lawns. Trees. Land stretching off into the distance.

The house is fucking nice. It’s kind of sprawling...just the garage looks fucking massive on it’s own.

Steve sort of hovers around Eddie as he limps over the threshold, and, yeap, just as nice inside as it is outside. Very sleek and modern, big open spaces, lots of glass. Dark wood and bookcases filled with leather books and big paintings that look impressive but aren’t...well. Eddie’s not a fan, really. Eddie spies a building out the back, also lots of glass...Eddie’s money is on indoor pool.

“Something smells good,” Eddie says, as he limps further into the house, “smells kind of homey.” Which is true, something here smells vaguely relaxing. Kind of...comforting. Safe.

Eddie looks around as he gets further in, and the place is so big it is kind of a walk, it’s...really nice, but also kind of soulless. It doesn’t look lived in at all. And, Eddie frowns, something occurring to him for the very first time. Steve’s a good looking Alpha, and he’s fucking loaded, “will your, erm,” Eddie flounders, “partner, mind me being here?”

Steve laughs, seeing Eddie through to the lounge to sit on the couch, “don’t think I would have been able to play my part today if I were in any kind of serious relationship. Hagan would have known if I was seeing anyone, the press loves that shit.”

And yeah, all of that makes total sense, and Eddie feels kind of stupid for not putting that together. But it...doesn’t really make sense, considering Steve is, still, clearly, very hot and very loaded.

“Okay,” Steve plops a laptop into Eddie’s lap, open to a clothing website. “just open tabs on some stuff you’d like, and then give it back to me when you’re done. You’re going to need some clothes while Hopper tracks down your uncle, okay? I’m going to go and set up a room.”

Eddie’s just sort of rolling with it at this point, so he nods and smiles and then blinks down at a Tom Ford Slim-Fit Button-Down Collar Checked Cotton shirt...that’s nearly seven hundred dollars.

And Eddie would never, in a million fucking years, be caught dead in it. Honestly, he thinks he actually prefers the white nightdress.

Eddie looks at the drop down menu, clicks on ‘cashmere’ for shits and giggles, and then laughs to himself when the very first listing is a black turtle-neck...for over a thousand odd dollars. Fucking rich people are batshit.

Eddie manages to find a drop down that lets him filter out everything over two hundred and fifty dollars, and then he searches by lowest price first. He starts opening tabs, mostly inoffensive lounge wear – a large portion of which is very, very unfortunately beige.

Eddie hears Steve coming before he sees him, “just do it please Carol,” and he sounds...exasperated by whoever Carol is. Steve comes back and takes the laptop. He very very briefly frowns at Eddie over the top of the screen, but it’s over so fast Eddie’s not entirely sure he saw it, “you think you’ll want something more to eat later?”

Eddie did eat his weight in McDonalds a couple of hours ago...but he hasn’t been really full for years, “uhm, yeah, in a bit, maybe?”

“Sure, I’ll see what we have.”

And then Eddie just...sits there. He can’t actually remember the last time he just...sat on a couch. The only place the Omega at the ranch are allowed to sit is either the floor, when they’ve been told to, the table, but only when eating...and probably their beds in the dorm.

Sitting here feels kind of naughty, actually, sitting here, relaxing, comfortable and warm. Eddie touches the lush, velvety feel of the couch, it’s really nice, really soft-“chicken and pasta?” Eddie nearly jumps out of his fucking skin. Like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Logically, he knows that isn’t the case, but his feet are tingling regardless.

Steve can actually cook, who knew? Well, it might only be a simple dish, browned off chicken chunks in something creamy and mushroomy, sitting on some pasta, but it’s absolutely delicious.

“We should probably get someone to look at your feet tomorrow.”

Eddie shrugs, nearly vibrating with excitement at the sight of garlic bread and trying his best to hide it, “always been fine before.”

“Still, I wouldn’t want them getting infected. Do you want me to tell Hopper anything about your uncle? I presume he will be busy for a little bit but…?”

Eddie swallows but...nods, Steve getting his phone and Hoppers card, “he’s called Wayne Munson, he’s my dads brother. He lives in a trailer park in, uhm, Hawkins. Indiana.”

Steve taps at his phone, “that’s not actually that far, we could...probably drive that, maybe in a day, once you feel up to it. I’ll see what Hopper says, see if he gets back to us tomorrow, I figure we've both had a long day.”

And that sounds...well. Eddie's running out of reasons to be suspicious, to question this, to question Steve. He has a little kernel of hope, real, genuine hope, growing inside him now...that this is true. That he's going to be free. That he's going to see Wayne.

Eddie nods, keeps eating, is thrilled when Steve offers him a beer, nodding happily. Steve withdraws it at the last second, “wait, just how old are you?”

“Errr…twenty one?”

Steve laughs, “try again,” but he does hand over the beer.

“Eighteen. I was there for a couple of years, maybe a bit longer, they got me walking home from school. Pretty sure my parents wouldn’t have, you know, noticed, probably best I don’t go back there, anyway. Quite a few Omega came through in the time that I was, you know, there...”

Steve’s staring off into space though, looking somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder, clearly not listening.“-oh.”

“Errr...Steve, you okay?” Steve looks like his brain has just stalled. Like completely shut down, “Steve, man, you’re freaking me out a bit here.”

Steve frowns, finally showing some life, his fork still literally hanging in air, half way to his mouth, “Tommy Hagan is probably being arrested.”

“I, err...I mean, yeah? I fucking hope he is?”

As Eddie watches, a bit of chicken falls off Steve’s fork and splats onto his plate, “right now, other than me, you, and the FBI...no one knows that. That Tommy’s being arrested, arrested for something fucking terrible.”

“Riiight…”

“He’s being arrested for something he can’t come back from. It’ll got public. His names about to be mud. His stocks are going to tank. Every part of everything Tommy owns is about to go up in flames.” Steve’s fork clangs onto the plate, “I’m so sorry, I have to go to work.”

“I...what?”

Steve’s already picking up his phone, his keys, sliding on his jacket, “help yourself to anything you need, I’ll be back...at some point.” Steve’s already calling someone, “I need you in the office, right now. I want Wheeler, from legal, make sure finance is there, actually, make sure Henderson has availability tomorrow,” Steve comes back from the front door, sliding a business card in front of Eddie, “no, right now, I’m on my way, twenty minutes.”

Eddie looks at the card; it’s Steve’s, has his email, office number and mobile on it, presumably so Eddie can get hold of him. Eddie’s pretty sure he just witnessed the first steps of a hostile take over, or something.

And now he’s in this massive house, all alone.

Link to Part Four

@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @weekend-dreamer7 @lololol-1234 @anne-bennett-cosplayer

[kannouo]

Bennett Dupe

fandom: obey me pairing: demon brothers & dateables x gn!reader warnings: none summary: the brothers and dateables with an extremely unlucky mc. prompt by @snoogeewoogee: as a contrast to super lucky MC, an MC who’s super UNLUCKY like Mammon refuses to take them gambling- like on their first day of R.A.D, when they come through the portal and they just immediately face plant 😭 (Could this include the brothers and the dateables if that’s ok? If it’s easier for you you can only just do the brothers!! Sorry if my request isn’t clear it’s my first time trying it-) A/N: your request was perfectly clear, don't worry about it! and i included all of the characters you asked for. forgive me for the title. also, i literally just looked up "bad luck superstitions" and tried to incorporate some into these hcs, so if some things seem random thats why lol.

LUCIFER

• From the moment you first stumbled through the portal to the Devildom and landed face-first on the solid ground, nearly breaking your nose in the process, Lucifer knew you were going to be a headache.

• At first, he thought you were just clumsy. You'd bang your knee on the dinner table almost every time you stood up, tripped over yourself more times than he could count, and managed to break several vases and plates within the first month of your stay that you had to replace.

• He quickly noticed that it wasn't just carelessness, however. No — bad omens and misfortune seemed to follow you everywhere you went.

• As strangely excited you appeared to be when a magpie flew into your room through an open window, Lucifer couldn't help but be suspicious when as soon as he shooed the bird out of the house, it was immediately followed by some of the heaviest rain he's seen in years despite the forecast having predicted clear skies.

• Lucifer learned very quickly that you essentially required a bodyguard to protect you from... yourself.

• All windows are shut, locked and covered during a lightning storm, and you are to stay within his sight at all times just in case. He or one of his brothers are to escort you to and from RAD as well as between classes to prevent you from accidentally walking out in the middle of a brawl between two demons. He scours the halls and every classroom you've been in after every school day because you somehow always leave something behind. He baby-proofs most sharp edges and corners in the house because you just keep hitting your head against them.

• But despite the grey hairs you give him, he finds you've clumsily made yourself at home in his heart anyways.

• Life has truly dealt you a bad hand — but you still carry on, and with so much enthusiasm. Perhaps it's how upbeat you are, even when you come home soaking wet as it suddenly started raining the moment you stepped one foot out of RAD. Perhaps it's how willing you are to offer your help, and even when it blows up in your face as it so often does, you don't give in until you're able to complete what you set out to do.

• You've helped him and his family an indescribable amount, all while it seemed like fate itself was working against you. He respects and — dare I say — admires you for it.

• He tries to sprinkle in some good omens throughout your day-to-day life. Even if they go unnoticed, he hopes they will help, even if it just means you won't end up getting hit by a stray baseball that day. Ouch.

"MC," you jump as you hear Lucifer's voice sound from behind you. You spin around, almost tripping over yourself as you do so and having to steady yourself against the wall. "Uh— yeah?" He just stares at you for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he lets out a sigh and walks closer, pulling a folder out from his jacket. Your eyes widen as you recognise it — that's where your Seductive Speechcraft work went! You take it from his hands and excitedly hop towards him, wrapping your arms around him in a hug, which he simply accepts. "Thank you! Ah, I can't believe you found it!" "Yes, well, be more careful in the future." He warns as you back away again. You nod and give him a smile, but he doesn't seem particularly convinced. Then he looks down. "...Your shoes are untied, by the way." Oh.

MAMMON

• Not only did you almost trip multiple times and step in every possible puddle on your way to the House of Lamentation with him, but you also managed to get your clothes stuck in the gate leading into the front lawn, causing your RAD uniform to rip.

• Geez human, did you open an umbrella indoors before you came here or somethi— Did you just hit yourself in the face with the front door? How did you do that?

• You're so unlucky it actually astounds him for a moment, and then that astonishment quickly morphs into annoyance. He's meant to be responsible for your safety while you're here, which was enough of an inconvenience, but now it looks like you have the entire world out to get you. How is he supposed to keep you safe from yourself?

• As a result of you constantly getting hurt, put in harm's way or losing important items, Mammon gets in trouble with Lucifer a lot at the beginning. Lucifer isn't buying his excuses that you're just "really, really unlucky," so he ends up being subjected to multiple of his older brother's lectures within the first couple weeks of your arrival.

• As a result of this... he kind of resents you at first. You being here only serves to make his life harder. Don't worry though, this doesn't last long.

• Hearing a series of bangs and shouts coming from the kitchen that sounded suspiciously like you, he rolls his eyes and makes his way over with a scowl on his face. Standing in the doorway, he could see the absolute mess you'd made. Ingredients knocked over and spilling all over the counters and floor, the burnt countertop, and the damp cloth hastily put over the top of the frying pan, suggesting it'd caught on fire.

• "The hell happened?"

• "I was... I was trying to cook a meal for you," you explain sheepishly. "You've been looking after me since I first came here, and I wanted to thank you, but... well..."

• "...Really? Aw... Uh... hey, it's okay, just clean this up, alright? Actually— no. Don't touch anythin'. I'll just do it for ya."

• After that incident, he starts to realise just how hard you try. Yes, your bad luck streak causes issues for him too, but it never fully clicked in his mind just how out of your control it was. He switches from being annoyed by you to feeling really sorry for you in an instant.

• Instead of treating it like a chore, he now willingly stays by your side almost 24/7. Unless he's going gambling. He took you to a casino with him once and nearly lost his entire life savings in record time. Lesson learned.

• Mammon will also look into good omens that are supposed to boost luck. He usually uses them for himself, but he can only take so much of seeing you somehow bruise or scrape your knees every single time you go outside.

"I'm tellin' ya, it's genius! Dont'cha think so too, human? I'll be rich— practically drownin' in grimm!" "Uh, Mammon—" "—Of course that dumb stick-in-the-mud Lucifer 'forbade' me from doin' it, but whatever, I'll prove him wrong!" "—Mammon?" You tap his shoulder to get his attention and he finally stops, turning his head to look at you. "I, uh... My wallet's gone." He blinks at you and then glances around. The streets of the Devildom get fairly busy every evening, and the crowd is a perfect cover for a pickpocket. Mammon of all people would know. "...Dammit."

LEVIATHAN

• He first notices when you two were executing that plan to force Mammon into a pact with you.

• You managed to get the information out of Lucifer, sure, after it seemed like every demon in RAD was going the opposite direction as you all at once, causing you to get lost a couple times before you found your classroom again. But when the both of you met up in the kitchen to find Mammon's precious credit card... you just kept dropping the damn thing.

• He knows the ice it's stuck in is slippery, but at least hold it for a few seconds! And how the hell did you manage to jam your finger in the freezer door?!

• The human's cursed LOLOLOL. He has enough misfortune in his daily life already, especially these days when it seems like all the most promising anime get cancelled or abandoned after the first season. He won't go anywhere near you at first.

• However, when you're one of the only people to show genuine interest in his rants about various tv shows, anime and manga, he starts to feel bad for avoiding you. I mean, it's not like you're trying to have so much go wrong in your daily life...

• He slowly warms up to you and even invites you into his room to play games and watch anime with him! Though, he kind of had to learn his lesson the hard way after the first time he had you watch you an unfinished show, because the moment you started getting really into it, its cancellation was announced the next day. At least you had him to share the pain with.

• Levi tries his absolute best to show you the ropes when he plays video games with you, but even if you know the controls like the back of your hand, you just cannot win. Not even if you're teamed up with him.

• You accidentally caused him to lose his minecraft bedwars win streak once and you're still not entirely sure he's over it.

• Don't get me wrong, he really enjoys hanging out with you. Even if the controller he gave you keeps somehow running out of battery even though it was fine a moment ago, even if he's unable to finish any co-op game with you because you just cannot get past the first stage, and even if you once gave him the fright of his life by accidentally breaking the glass to Henry 2.0's tank...

• You're still his Henry, his player 2. He'll deal with all of the fallout of your bad luck if it means he gets to spend more time with you.

"Left! Left! MC, you're going the wrong way!" "I'm pressing left! It's not working!" You argue, and Levi quickly grabs the controller from you. He fiddles with it a bit, then huffs. "It's broken," he whines. "Hooow?! I give you a charger so it won't die on us again, and it breaks instead?" He flops down onto his back, covering his face with his hands. Before you can apologise, he peeks at you through his fingers and speaks up again. "I— uh— just to be clear, it's not your fault, normie. I mean, you didn't do anything, so... W—whatever, it's not a big deal. I'll just buy a new controller, and... you can... watch me play for now, I guess."

SATAN

• I mean, you would have to be pretty extraordinarily unlucky to be the one human picked to come to literal hell.

• When he first saw you stumble out of the portal and unceremoniously faceplant on the ground, he couldn't help but laugh. He quickly hid it behind his hand and his brothers quietly scolded him, but even Asmo's slaps to his shoulder didn't stop him from finding your misfortune very amusing at first.

• Before he forms much of a connection to you, he essentially uses your unlucky nature as a form of entertainment.

• He feels bad looking back on it — but come on, watching someone trip, fall directly into a puddle and then somehow drop their DDD down a drain is pretty funny in a messed up kind of way. It was like everything in your daily life was orchestrated to go wrong in the most comically elaborate ways.

• Sometimes he handed you random fragile items from around the house to observe how long it'd take for you to break it. It pissed off Lucifer, which only encouraged him to do it more.

• Eventually, he came to the same realisation the others did. After observing how your luck affected you for a while, he noticed just how much of a victim to your own misfortune you are, and started to feel very bad for you.

• He treats you much better now and no longer treats your luck as a source of comedy, but that doesn't mean he can't still find joy in it. Like when black cats just happen to cross your path almost every time you go outside. A "bad omen"? Maybe for you.

• You have to question his decision making skills when he declared you a part of the Anti-Lucifer League with him and Belphie. He insisted over and over again that it was fine, that they both want to include you in their plots. And as sweet as that is, you can't help but notice how miserably all of their schemes fail if you even happen to be close by.

• Lucifer doesn't even have to do anything. Your participation guarantees his safety. Any curses they try to use backfire on them. When they try to slip something disgusting into his food or drinks, the plate or cup always somehow gets mixed up with their own. If they're planning some kind of stealth mission, they always, always get caught, because Lucifer or one of the other brothers just happen to be in the right place at exactly the right time to catch them.

• As absolutely infuriating this is to Satan, he just grins and bears it, because he loves you and would feel terrible about excluding you now.

• He'll absolutely go looking for rare spells or enchanted objects meant to act as good luck charms and gift them to you.

Satan stares into space, his face red from both embarrassment and seething rage. You remain a cautious distance away from the net he managed to get caught in, prepared for him to turn into his demon form at any moment, but he doesn't. He just sits there, stuck in his own trap. You cringe. "...Maybe I really shouldn't participate next time." Satan looks down at you and you can see the fury in his eyes that he tries to quell with a deep breath and a forced smile. "No, it's alright. We want you here," he says, and it's the same line you heard the last time his prank against Lucifer backfired on him too. "Get me down now." Despite the fact he's trying his hardest to stay calm for your sake... you get the feeling he can't do so for much longer. You nod and advance, hoping you'll be able to get him down without making the situation even worse.

ASMODEUS

• Gasp! Oh, dear, are you alright?! Your beautiful face—!! Satan, stop laughing!

• He might have scolded the fourth-born for laughing at you, but to be honest, he was biting his tongue to keep from giggling as well. He didn't mean anything by it, it was just so comical the way you fell out of the portal. He'd never seen such a terrible landing.

• Makes a joke about how you should be careful not to break any mirrors around the House of Lamentation — it's seven years of bad luck, you know — but it isn't a joke anymore when the first time you set foot in his room, you accidentally break one of his prized full-length mirrors. An angry Asmodeus is a force to be reckoned with.

• He was pissed at first, yes, but when you apologise later on, he sighs and tells you it isn't your fault. It was just a silly little mistake. But you're not allowed inside of his room again, sorry.

• As he gets to know you better, he soon comes to the conclusion (entirely on his own) that all of these dilemmas will surely be solved with a little bit of Asmo in your life!

• He thinks of himself as a good luck charm and will try to cling right to your side whenever he can. It doesn't necessarily work, you still end up accidentally breaking most things you touch and tripping over nothing, but Asmo being with you 24/7 just means that you have another pair of eyes looking out for you. So even if it doesn't have the effect he thinks it does, it's still a huge help.

• He clashes with Mammon even more as a result of this, however, which is not so good.

• "MC don't need ya constantly hoverin' around them! They already got me — I'm the one supposed to be lookin' out for them!" "Well you clearly haven't been doing a very good job! You should've seen the bruises on their legs—" "Uh, guys? My shoe is stuck in this mud..."

• Asmo also doesn't appreciate how most of his... "quality time" with you tends to get interrupted before it even begins. One day he's going to absolutely lose it at whoever next barges into his room while he's trying to get it on with you.

• He's the perfect person to go to whenever your clothes somehow get ruined. No matter if they rip or just have a stain that won't come out, he'll either fix it or give you a brand-new outfit.

"How did your uniform get ruined again already? Didn't I just fix it for you the other day?" Asmo asks as he holds the ripped fabric up in front of him. You look down at your feet bashfully. "Sorry..." Asmo clicks his tongue and gives you a smile. "Don't apologise, honey," he pats your cheek affectionately and you tilt your head back up to face him. "I'll sew it right up again. I'll even add a cute pattern. That'll encourage you to be a little more careful next time, right? ♡"

BEELZEBUB

• He was too distracted by his hunger to notice how you fell down the moment you stepped out of the portal at first. He only realised when everyone else stirred up a commotion about it, otherwise he would have made an effort to catch you.

• Similarly to the lucky!MC headcanons, Beel likely won't piece all of the unfortunate events that seem to surround you together. He notices that you always come home soaking wet, he notices that you always seem to forget to bring something to RAD with you, and he notices that whenever you sit at the dining table, everyone becomes strangely prone to dropping and spilling their salt. But he separates these moments in his head and doesn't realise they're all connected.

• Again, it will have to be pointed out to him. After that, he'll put it all together and become doubly protective of you.

• He's pretty good at pointing out and putting a stop to unlucky situations before they even happen.

• "Watch out, your shoes are untied again." "Those stairs look slippery, take my hand." "Your jacket is stuck in the gate — don't move, I'll get it for you."

• Of course, your unluckiness effects him too, but he isn't really bothered by it. He's so unbothered that you aren't even sure he realises you're the reason why you both keep getting served the wrong dishes whenever you go out to eat together.

• Also, this man is a tank. He'll just catch you whenever you're about to slip, but he won't ever fall down himself. Not even fate can cause Beelzebub to topple over.

• Also, due to his protective nature, he tends to act as a literal meat shield. Any stray rocks that would have hit you now just pelt him on the arm and somehow get broken in half. Any cyclists who would have crashed into you are forced to an abrupt stop as Beel stands in front of you. You're even protected from sudden spells of rain because he'll hover beside you and cover your head with his huge jacket.

• Gets really sad on your behalf whenever you drop your ice cream cone. He even tries to offer you his sometimes, which you can never bring yourself to accept because you know how hungry he is.

"Oops," you hear him utter as he swiftly catches you in his arms before you can fall to the ground. He picks you up and places you back down on your feet like a doll. "Are you okay?" "Uh..." A little stunned from the sudden adrenaline rush of almost falling flat on your face, you take a moment to respond. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you." He shakes his head. "It's fine," he says and roughly pats your head. "I'll walk you home. It just started raining a couple minutes ago, even though Lucifer said there wouldn't be any... Weird." "...Yeah, weird."

BELPHEGOR

• He could probably hear you trip up and down the stairs to the attic multiple times as you made your way to and fro pre-lesson 16.

• Back then, he either didn't care or found it annoying. Now, it's a mix of concerning and amusing.

• He was never a believer in superstitions, but he has to wonder, did you do something that pissed off fate itself? Did you commit an act that's supposed to be bad luck, like walking under a ladder or something? Were you born on the 13th?

• Belphie has to admit that, sometimes, your misfortune presents itself in hilarious ways. He snickers whenever you seemingly trip over nothing and makes fun of you when you somehow forget to bring your backpack to RAD. But the danger your luck lands you in is far less amusing.

• If he's awake enough by the time you return home from RAD, the first thing he does is ask if you got hurt. Whether it was by taking a particularly nasty fall or by being in the wrong place at the wrong time and getting involved in a dispute between demons, he doesn't care. He just wants to know, otherwise he'll be unable to stop worrying over it.

• As much as he loves using you as a pillow, all nearby alarm clocks need to be put away or they'll, for some reason, malfunction and keep going off every 5-10 minutes. It drives him insane.

• Also, about having you in the Anti-Lucifer League... he really does like having you at their group meetings, but he's been trying to convince Satan to let you go for a while now. He knows you mean well, but, I mean... literally nothing is getting done.

• It's the Anti-Lucifer League and they haven't managed to pull off a single Anti-Lucifer scheme in a year. He doesn't want to exclude you entirely, but maybe just... reserve the really good prank ideas for days when you're already busy?

• It's not like he brings that up often though. It makes Satan mad and Belphie would also feel just as guilty about bringing it up to you.

• If your bad luck happens to cause you nightmares, Belphie is the best person to go to. He can influence people's dreams, so as long as you agree to cuddle with him, he'll be there to make sure you dream of nice things.

"Uuuugh..." You blink your eyes open to the sound of a relentlessly beeping alarm clock and Belphie's frustrated groan from where he lay on your chest. Tired and disoriented, you've barely had any time to remember what day it is and where you are when you see Belphie's tail wrap around the offending alarm clock and pick it up. Then... CRASH. You watch as the alarm clock barrels towards the closed window and breaks right through the glass. Then, silence. Sweet, sweet silence, but... "Lucifer's gonna kill you." "At least there won't be any malfunctioning alarm clocks when I die," Belphie huffed and buries his face back into your chest. You're unsure how he can even breathe like that. "Go back to sleep."

DIAVOLO

• Very startled when you fall flat on your face through the portal.

• Did he somehow summon you incorrectly, or in a bad position? No? You just... happened to collapse like that? Oh.

• After making sure that initial fall didn't do any serious damage, he, like Lucifer, assumed you were just a clumsy person. Because of this, he asked Mammon to keep an extra-close eye on you — something he knew you were going to need but didn't yet realise just how vital it would become.

• He was very glad he gave that order when he was informed of an incident in which you nearly walked out right in the middle of a brawl between two students at RAD. If Mammon hadn't been there to pull you back in the nick of time, your head probably would've been taken right off your shoulders. He enforces an even stricter no-violence policy in RAD after that.

• Of course, demons are demons and even if they have respect for their King, a rule against fights isn't going to stop them from breaking out. So the best he can do is try and aid the brothers in keeping an eye out for you. Mostly with the help of Barbatos.

• Despite taking your safety very seriously, it might not seem like he does considering his amusement at many of the unfortunate situations you seem to land yourself and the people around you in. Even if your bad luck ends up impacting him, he's more likely to find the inconvenience funny rather than frustrating.

• You have accidentally planted a curse on yourself more than a couple times during an enchantments and spells class that Diavolo has had to help in removing. Because of your tendency to do this — and the strange phenomenon of the spells that are afflicting you being somehow too strong to be removed by the brothers — he altered your schedule to make it so you don't attend classes where transformation spells or potions are involved.

• It's probably for the best, to be frank. If you did attend those classes you'd somehow end up as a block of cheese before long.

• Diavolo is another one who will look into good-luck charms and omens to help you with. He actually probably knows a few, he just never had to use them until now, and they work splendidly.

You blankly stare up at the skies of the Devildom as if to glare at whatever being decided it should start pouring with rain the moment you set foot out of RAD's main building. You sigh, pulling your jacket over your head as you prepare to make a run for it, when you suddenly hear a voice behind you. "How strange," Diavolo booms, and you can't help but jump a little. He holds his hand out into the rain as if to test it, even though it's visibly teeming it down. "It was clear skies just a moment ago. I assume you don't have an umbrella?" "...No. Do you?" "No, I seem to have left mine behind as well. I suppose we'll both have to hurry, then." He smiles, and you get the feeling he's enjoying this far more than you.

BARBATOS

• "The second human exchange student is going to make quite an entrance. It's best you be prepared for it, Young Master."

• I mean, he did try to warn him. Vaguely. Kind of.

• He's stated himself that he doesn't use his powers of future-sight constantly because it would make life boring. So although he does sometimes predict your misfortune before it happens and takes steps to prevent it, he can't always be there in time to stop unlucky situations in advance. Still, he's good at noticing and pointing things out himself without the use of his powers.

• Somehow manages to be very graceful about it. Like, you'll just be walking alongside him and in one swift movement he catches a stray pebble headed your way in his palm, tosses it to the side and encourages you to keep on walking. It's like, weirdly attractive?

• Other than that, he keeps a close eye on you, but you won't even know most of the time. He's literally one with the shadows.

• You'll be walking around the Devildom, blissfully unaware, when suddenly some random hell-beast ends up charging at you down the street. Before you can even react, Barbatos just... appears and seems to immediately have the creature tamed. His glare frightens even the most terrifying of predators.

• He'll then turn his head to look back at you, smile, and tell you to continue on your way. Yes, he was following you the whole time. No, he will not tell you that. To your knowledge, he simply knew it was going to happen thanks to his ability of foresight, and teleported to your location right in the nick of time.

• Barbatos has literally no concerns about your luck affecting him because it just won't happen. Fate can try as hard as it can, the impeccable butler will not be caught off-guard or inconvenienced in his duties.

• He does have a specific fear about letting you around him while he's in the kitchen cooking or baking, however. You're generally barred from that area while he's there.

• You're still somehow safer company than Solomon, however.

• Is one of the best people to go to if you sustain an injury as a result of a bad fall or anything else, really. He's also usually the first person to show up when that happens, considering he shadows you for most of the day. If a demon is behind you getting hurt, he'll reassure you that the offender will be dealt with appropriately, but you don't actually know what that means and you're not sure if you want to.

"And then he—" You cut yourself off with a frightened yelp as a strong hand suddenly pulls you backwards, away from the road as a speeding car whizzes by your vision. Disoriented, it takes you a moment to realise you nearly got hit, and you watch in shock as the car continues barrelling down the road until it's out of sight. "Are you quite alright?" Barbatos asks and snaps you out of your frightened daze. Suddenly your legs feel weak, and your hands are visibly trembling from the adrenaline. "I did not mean to grab you so harshly. My apologies." "No, it... it's fine, you saved my life there..." Your voice shakes. "I, um..." He extends his arm as an offer for you to lean on him, and you gladly take it, needing the support. "...I'd... like to go back home now, I think..."

SIMEON

• Very, very concerned for your well-being. He wasn't there when you were first summoned, but he was told of the incident where you face-planted right after stepping through the portal and has also been witness to a few other unlucky incidents of yours.

• Once insisted on re-tying your shoelaces himself because they kept getting undone, only for you to trip over thin air a few seconds later, at which point he concluded the shoes weren't the problem.

• While he's still an angel, he's quick to give you a blessing. I imagine, even if it won't necessarily increase your luck, it helps protect you from specific dangers — like coming into contact with certain curses or attacks by lesser demons.

• As a human, he obviously can't bless you anymore, and he instead turns to Solomon in the hopes he can apply some sort of protection magic onto you. That, and he still has Luke's blessing to rely on — the young angel had insisted on giving you a blessing as well after he'd seen Simeon do it — that might not be quite as strong as his used to be, but is still potent enough to manage lighter threats.

• You once accidentally spilled an ink pot onto a page of a new story he was writing and he nearly cried. Don't worry, he forgave you right away when he saw just how guilty you felt, but the pain...

• Next to Barbatos, Simeon is also a very good person to come to if you get hurt. He may scold you a little, but he's damn good at pampering.

• If you really sell it, you can even convince him to "kiss you better", or just lay your head down on his lap as he strokes your hair. Even if he knows you're playing it up for his attention, he thinks it's endearing enough to go along with your antics anyway.

• Absolutely holds your hand like a chaperone whenever you two go out together. It's nice, but you getting lost is a genuine concern, so you also understand the reason behind why he does it. The last time he looked away from you for two seconds you got suddenly dragged into a crowd and he lost you for what may have been the most terrifying 5 minutes of his long, long life.

• He also likes to think holding onto you will help him catch you if you start to trip, when 9 times out of 10 it just means that when you go down, he's coming with you.

"I thought it was your knee that's hurting." "Mhm." "So, how exactly is me stroking your head going to help?" Simeon asks, a soft chuckle on his lips. Despite his questions, he's already lovingly threading his fingers through your hair anyway, which tells you he doesn't really mind. "Emotional support." "Mmmhm. Alright then."

SOLOMON

• Solomon... isn't going to be of much help.

• He finds your misfortune funny and, as your teacher, would much prefer you learn how to cast luck-enhancing enchantments yourself than do it for you. So, he doesn't really do anything to help with your bad luck. At least, that's what you think.

• In actuality, he absolutely does help, but he goes about it in a similar (but even more discreet) way than Barbatos. Not only does he shadow you and follow you around whenever he has the chance, but thanks to his prowess in magic, he doesn't even need to step in to save you. He'll have some kind of spell at the ready that will do it for him.

• Of course, sometimes it's more obvious than not when he's helping you. Like when you nearly fell face-first into the very edge of a table and suddenly started floating, you could probably come to the conclusion that it was Solomon's doing all on your own. But when it comes to subtler things, like a pebble under your foot suddenly disappearing or moving away on its own or a pencil you couldn't find re-appearing on your desk, you're unlikely to even notice.

• That being said, he does still find the unfortunate scenarios you land yourself in somewhat entertaining. He especially finds it funny when you're always somehow the one to get caught in Thirteen's traps meant for him.

• "Ahaha! Good thing you opened the door before me, huh?" He laughs as you rub your aching head where the bucket collapsed on you.

• "Solomon, I'm fucking soaked."

• Also, sometimes he'll just walk up to you, give you a bunch of ingredients and a vial and tell you to make a potion. It'll be a very simple potion and he'll give you basic instructions throughout, and you may be confused as to why he does this at first until you realise that no matter how perfectly you seem to follow the recipe, the potions always turn out wrong.

• By some miracle (reverse-miracle?), the concoctions you make always have an undesired finish or effect. Sometimes it's because your horrific luck caused something else to get in by accident, other times it's completely unexplainable. It's some kind of fascinating phenomenon to him and he will continue to experiment with just how extraordinarily unlucky you can get.

"Are you two alright?" You turn your head at the sound of a voice behind you. Satan does the same, but you can see the rage he's biting back become much greater at the sight of Solomon's face. The sorcerer looks up at the two of you, both caught in nets. "How did you manage to do this?" "He got caught, and when I tried to cut him out..." You fiddle with your sleeve, a little embarrassed. "...The back-up trap activated." "Get us out." Satan demands with a hiss, and Solomon meets him with a smile. "Alright. As long as there's no back-up, back-up trap."

[rubysunnday]

as white as snow

summary: Y/N runs into Anthony Bridgerton, someone she's known of for years, but never gotten close to, at the winter solistice ball. Through a dramatic turn of events, the two are forced to acknowledge one another and their feelings.

The winter season had always been a dark, cold and occasionally lonely one. Many families of the ton left London for their country estates, choosing to spend the winter time in sprawling fields.

But there was one event that many families travelled to the outskirts of London for. the Countess of Derby's solstice ball.

It was the biggest event of the winter period. Invites were a coveted prize. Which was why Miss Y/N Hughes was currently staring, open mouthed, at the green envelope in her hand, her name elegantly scrawled on the front in gold.

'Y/N, close your mouth, we are not a codfish," her mother, Lady Hughes, snapped, setting her teacup down on the saucer with a clink.

Y/N hurried over to her mother and held the envelope out in front of her. Her mother cast an uninterested gaze over to her hand. There was a second before the envelope registered in her mind and, when it did, her mother let out an undignified shriek, snatching it from Y/N's hands.

"Robert! ROBERT!" Her mother yelled, barging past Y/N and hurrying into the morning room where her father sat, reading the newspaper.

Y/N stood to the side, trying not to show her amusement at her mother's reaction to the invite.

"We must go to the modiste right away," Lady Hughes said, rushing back into the room, their housekeeper trailing behind. "We need new dresses suitable for this event. Y/N, come along, we need to get you a new dress, dear."

"Is this," Y/N inhaled sharply, "corset meant to be this tight?"

"Of course, miss," the modiste said, pulling the laces even tighter. "It's meant to accentuate the waist and boobs."

"I think it's meant to be comfortable," Y/N muttered, wincing as the boning began to poke into the side of her boob. "And allow me to breathe."

Her mother had insisted the modiste was to dress them the night of the ball - making sure their new dresses looked the best. No expense had been spared, as was always the way, and Y/N's new gown was covered in gems and beads.

It hung on a hanger, on the edge of her door, sparkling and glittering in the candlelight. The modiste trotted over to the door, lifting the hook of the hanger off the wood.

Y/N put her hands on her waist, wincing as she tried to take a full breath in, the tight corset restricting the action.

"Would it be possible to loosen this corset a bit?" Y/N asked, looking over at the modiste.

"No, we would ruin the silhouette of the dress otherwise," the modiste said, shaking her head. She turned to the dress. "Now, let's put this on."

Their carriage rolled to an abrupt stop. Y/N tried not to lurch forward, gripping the carriage door tightly to stop herself from falling into her mother's lap.

"Remember, best behaviour," Lady Hughes warned, poking a few pins further into her hair. "We want to make an impression. And you, dearest," she looked at Y/N, "are running out of time to make a match."

"Oh, mama -"

"No, I won't hear it. You've been out in society for almost two years. Unless I see something happen tonight, your father and I will be arranging a match for you."

Y/N's eyes widened. "What? Mama!"

"Silence, Y/N." Her mother leant forward, pushing in to her space. "We will discuss this more later."

The carriage door opened and her father jumped out, extending his hand out to her mother, guiding her down the stairs. Y/N took a moment, pulling back the blanket that covered her legs, and then slid across the seats to the door. She lifted her dress up and put a slippered foot onto the first step, placing her hand in the footman's.

The Countess of Derby's mansion was a magnificently beautiful building. There were fifty-five acres of immaculately maintained gardens and the house itself was set in over two thousand acres of land.

It was a beautiful example of architecture. Each brick had been placed with care, flowers curling around the columns and windows.

Y/N pulled her velvet cloak tighter around her shoulders as she began to walk up the steps. A freezing gust of wind whipped at her skin, raising the hairs on her arms. Braziers and torches lined the stone steps leading up to the front door. Footmen stood at intervals, ready to assist if anyone needed it.

"Miss Hughes!"

Y/N turned, looking back down the path. Another coach had pulled up and its inhabitants were clambering out in a gaggle of laughs and complaints.

"Lord Bridgerton!' Y/N exclaimed, a smile overtaking her face. She walked back down the steps, holding her dress hem up off the floor. "This is a surprise!"

Anthony Bridgerton took the steps two at a time, meeting Y/N half way. He took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, all whilst looking directly at her.

Y/N suddenly found it hard to breathe. His gaze was intense and his hand warm against her cold skin.

She'd known Anthony for a few years now. It'd been a chance meeting at the opening of a new art exhibition that he'd brought them together. Both of them had been drawn to the same painting for the same reasons and, suddenly, Y/N had a new friendship.

A friendship she yearned to evolve into something more.

"Brother? You're blocking the path."

Anthony stood up, rolling his eyes as he did so. He stepped to the side and his younger brother, Colin, stepped up.

"Hello, Miss Hughes," Colin said, winking at her. "You look lovely."

"As do you, Mr Bridgerton," Y/N said, smiling back at him.

Benedict followed behind Colin. "Miss Hughes," he said, nodding at her, a smile on his face. As he passed, he squeezed her arm in greeting.

"Mr Bridgerton," Y/N replied.

Daphne and Eloise followed behind their brothers, the former practically dragging the latter with her.

"Duchess," Y/N said, curtseying. "Miss Bridgerton." Y/N leant in to Anthony. "Good lord, there are a lot of you."

Anthony sighed heavily. "Imagine the carriage ride."

Y/N greeted Lady Bridgerton as she walked past, smiling warmly at her. "Shall we head inside, Lord Bridgerton?"

Anthony held out his arm and Y/N placed her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. "We shall, Miss Hughes."

As soon as they stepped inside the foyer, Y/N's breath was taken away. Fir trees covered in candles and decorations sat in each corner, lining the expansive space. Each one guided them towards the main ballroom where even more fir trees were stood. Dancers waltzed around the room, reds, greens, golds and whites blending together.

"Is this your first solstice ball?" Anthony asked, his voice quiet.

His breath danced across her skin and Y/N felt her arms tingle with goosebumps.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes trying to take in every detail in front of her. "It's... magical."

"Here, let me take your cloak," Anthony said, releasing her arm and coming around to stand in front of her. His fingers effortlessly undid the bow at her chest. His knuckles brushed across her skin, his signet ring cold to her warmth.

Y/N breathed in deeply and then regretted it as her corset almost tightened around her torso. She hid her stuttered breath until Anthony turned away, handing her cloak and his cape to the attendant by the door.

"Would you like to -"

"Miss Hughes?"

Y/N mentally swore. She turned her head and forced herself to smile at the older man standing in front of her, looking expectantly at her.

"Captain Sanders. I'm an old friend of your father's," he explained. "Your mother said I could ask you for a dance."

Y/N felt her lungs constrict. "Oh. Yes, of course, Captain."

She reluctantly held out her hand to the man. As he led her way, her other hand brushed against Anthony's her fingers locking with his for a split second as she tried to cling on.

Anthony watched her disappear into the crowd. His hand clenched into a tight fist and he then flexed it, trying to ignore the jealously and pain going through him.

It'd taken him far too long to realise Y/N was who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He'd know she was running out of time and now, when he was about to begin trying to court her, she was being pulled from his grasp.

"Please tell me you did not just let Captain Sanders whisk Y/N away," Benedict said, coming to stand next to his older brother.

"He didn't give me much choice," Anthony grumbled. "Apparently her mother sent him over."

"Ah, Lady Hughes - she's on par with Lady Featherington."

"What do I do?"

"Are you actually asking me for advice?" Benedict asked, gaping at his brother.

Anthony shoved his shoulder. "Yes." Anthony sighed. "You know why."

Benedict did. He'd seen how his brother looked at Y/N, how he spoke to her, acted around her. She made him a better person by simply existing in his life. Anthony had never smiled as much as he did when Y/N was around.

"Ask her to dance," Benedict said with a shrug. "Then, take her for a stroll round the room and tell her. Her mother is clearly plotting. You know your time is limited."

"I know," Anthony whispered, his gaze fixed on Y/N as she danced around the room. Her gaze fixed on his for a moment and he felt his heart ache.

Y/N, too, felt her heart ache. Felt the pain of being so close to the man she wanted. Yet so far away.

Captain Sanders walked her back to her mother after their dance ended. Y/N could feel her dress clinging to her skin, the corset restricting her every movement and every breath. She knew it was far too tight - it should not be this painful to simply breathe.

"Captain Sanders, I do hope you'll call on us tomorrow," Lady Hughes said, smiling at the man. "I'm sure Y/N will be delighted to see you again."

Y/N just nodded.

"Now," her mother said, as soon as they were alone," your father and I have decided that come spring, you and Captain Sanders shall be wed."

Her heart stopped. A high pitched whine took over her hearing, drowning the ballroom noise out. Y/N put a hand on her stomach, trying to maintain her composure.

"Mama -"

"No discussion, Y/N," her mother said, the warning clear in her tone. "You've had two years. Time is up."

Her mother flounced away, leaving Y/N behind. She stood there, stunned. Her breathing had quickened, her chest frantically rising and falling.

A cloak fell around her shoulders and Y/N jumped slightly, her head shooting up to see who had appeared behind her.

Anthony, his dark eyes full of concern, looked at her. "Shall we go outside?"

Y/N nodded, numb to everything around her. She didn't even realise when Anthony took her hand in hers, gently tugging her out onto the veranda.

The cold, winters air hit her instantly. It did nothing to calm her racing heart, to ease the tightness of her lungs as they stuggled to keep up with her panic. Her corset was impossibly tight, her vision was begin to spin.

"I am to be wed," Y/N whispered, walking aimlessly down the steps of the veranda and out into the hedged gardens.

Anthony followed at her side, his hand still holding hers. "I overheard."

"Captain Sanders is the same age as my father," she said softly.

"I know."

Y/N stopped abruptly, the reality of her situation hitting her. It stole what little breath she had left and the gardens began to spin in her vision. Everything became harder to focus on - as if she was being spun around and around and around.

"Y/N?" Anthony said, his tone urgent. He squeezed her hand, trying to get her attention. "Y/N, what's wrong?"

Y/N's breath was laboured, her chest rising and falling far faster than it should've been. She gripped Anthony's hand tightly, her nails digging into his skin.

"Corset," she gasped out, arching over, trying to breathe. "I can't breathe."

Her knees buckled, she could feel herself falling, she gripped onto Anthony's arms as he fell down with her. Her head hit the gravel path and the blackness overwhelmed her.

Anthony knelt beside her, his hand holding hers. His heart was pounding. "Y/N?" He gently shook her. Her head lolled to the side. Her chest wasn't moving and when he hovered his hand under her nose, no breath hit his hand.

He was trying to stay calm, to focus. But his heart was controlling him. Anthony shook her again and then, abruptly, harshly, remembered what she'd whispered.

Anthony pulled her limp body up and rested it against his chest. His fingers ran down her back, struggling to undo the buttons of her dress. One snapped off as he tried to undo and, in a moment of frustration, he ripped the buttons open.

He could see the red lines where her corset had pressed against her skin, even through the chemise underneath it. It didn't take him long to realise the corset was far too tight.

He'd seen countless corsets over the years and knew how they were meant to be done up and tied. This one was too tight, to constricting. No wonder she'd collapsed.

Anthony deftly undid the laces, pulling on them until the material of the corset came loose from Y/N's body. He laid her back down on the ground, making sure the ribbons of her cloak weren't tight around her throat.

He waited for a moment but she still wasn't breathing. Anthony shook himself and snapped back into action. He tilted Y/N's head back and gently opened her mouth. He leant over her and pressed his lips to hers, breathing into her mouth until he had no air left.

Anthony took a deep breath in and then pressed his mouth to hers again, blowing all the air he head into her.

"Come on, Y/N, please," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

There was a horrible moment where Anthony thought nothing had happened. That it hadn't worked. That, all the tales his tenants told him of men coming back to life after someone breathe for them, were false.

But then, Y/N started to cough, her hands flying up and gripping his arms tightly.

"It's okay, I've got you," Anthony whispered, pulling her up and into him, letting her lean against his chest. "I've got you, Y/N. I've got you."

Y/N slumped against him, closing her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. She let her hand trail down his arm until it reached his hand. Y/N threaded her fingers through his and squeezed tightly.

"You saved my life," Y/N whispered.

"You scared the hell out of me," Anthony whispered back. He leant his chin on the top of her head. "Why was your corset so tight?"

"Modiste insisted on it,"" Y/N replied, her words coming out a little clearer as her breath came back. "She kept pulling tighter and tighter."

"Ssh," Anthony whispered, sensing her panic brewing. "It's okay."

"It's not though," Y/N said softly. "Nothing's okay, Anthony. I'm to marry a man I barely know. I have no control over anything anymore."

They sat there, on the cold gravel path, clutching on to one another. Anthony pressed a kiss to the top of Y/N's head and she closed her eyes tightly, resting her head on his arm.

Snow began to fall around them. It danced gently down, light enough that it wasn't going to settle, but enough to tell that it was snowing.

Anthony helped Y/N to her feet. He turned her around and carefully did her corset back up, making sure the laces were comfortably tight. He then did the back of her dress back up the best he could, swearing every time he fumbled with a button.

Every time he did, Y/N laughed softly, her shoulders shaking.

Anthony turned Y/N back around to face her. He pulled the hood of her cloak up, letting his fingers trace the line of her jaw as he pulled away.

"You still have control," Anthony said quietly. "You can still chose."

"How?" Y/N asked, her voice almost lost to the dark night. "How can I chose?"

Anthony raised his hand, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. He held her chin in his hand. "Chose me."

He saw the surprise in her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, he could see it.

"Anthony, you..."

"Have changed," Anthony said, cutting her off. "I apologise for making you wait so long, Y/N, darling. But I know, now, that it is you I want to spend the rest of my life with. No matter how long or short it is, I know the time we spend together will be worth the grief and pain that may come later."

Y/N looked at him. "Do you truly mean it?"

"Every word. With all my heart."

The snow began to fall faster, the flake getting bigger. Y/N smiled at him, her eyes lighting up for the first time all evening.

"You can kiss me again, Lord Bridgerton," Y/N whispered. "I'll be conscious this time, I promise. I'll remember this time."

Anthony chuckled. "You'd better, Miss Hughes."

Anthony leant forward and pressed his lips to hers. There was a moment of quiet bliss before the urgency, the desperation, the desire took them over.

They walked backwards, disappearing behind the hedges and into a smaller, secluded garden. Anthony pushed Y/N until the back of her legs hit a stone bench. He guided her backwards until she was lying down on the bench.

Y/N pulled away, pushing Anthony back slightly. She smiled up at him, her skin hot.

"Lord Bridgerton, are you so desperate to make me yours?" She asked, dragging her hand down his hair and then onto his neck. Anthony groaned softly, leaning his head back into touch. His hand brushed down her thigh, the sensation reaching her even through her dress. He reached under her dress and Y/N arched up into him as his fingers danced up her leg, to her inner thigh, pulling the chemise up and up and -

"I don't think I could wait a moment more," Anthony whispered, pausing. "As long as you -"

"Yes," Y/N replied, pulling him down onto her and pressing her lips to his again. "Just.. yes," she whispered against his lips.

Anthony's hand resumed it's dance, delving higher and then disappearing inside her. Y/N felt a noise she'd never made before escape her lips and she arched up into him, her hand gripping the back of his neck tightly.

"Our absence will be noticed soon," Y/N said, her words disappearing into a moan. Her nails dug into his neck as he pushed her dress up higher, his fingers dancing around before going deeper inside her.

Anthony smiled, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered, "Don't worry. I'll be quick."