#i lost my v card boys

[quinnifredtt]

To celebrate Caesar being dead for 2068 slutty, slutty, years. I too have been impaled

[daddy-dotcom]

Bet on Me

Spencer Reid x Sugarbaby Reader

Spencer Reid never loses, especially when the prize is you.

Summary: Reader is a sugar baby for Reid's opponent, and he bets a night with her if he loses to Reid.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected p in v, bj, swearing ig?

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This wasn't the first time he'd done this. Granted, the Boss only did it when he was losing a lot of money and needed to sacrifice his "lucky charm." However, this was the first time he bet me and lost, to a man half his age nonetheless. I never liked being used as a gambling chip, but he lost so rarely that I didn't dwell on it too much. The man he was playing only gave us his first name, Spencer, and damn was he good. If I didn't know any better, I would say he was counting the cards. He was slightly cocky, but not in the way that the Boss's usual opponents were. He knew he was good, but he wasn't arrogant. There was an air of confidence to him, almost as if he was guaranteed to win, which was exactly what he did. I'd never seen the Boss this upset before, practically throwing a tantrum on the casino floor. But Spencer won fair and square, more specifically, he had won me. 

Under normal circumstances, he would have bet on me as a last resort against some other equally sleazy old man. He would have won and I wouldn't have to worry about the idea of sleeping with a man who I didn't know and who had zero respect for boundaries. While the Boss wasn't exactly in his prime anymore, at least he paid me well and we had strict boundaries in place. But whenever he bet on me, I had no idea what I would be getting into. Something about Spencer being young immediately eased my nerves, especially since he was so lanky and boyish. He was probably close to my age, but you would never be able to tell because he looked like he was barely old enough to be gambling. 

"Just go on and get it over with, doll, I'll pick you up in the morning," the Boss said irritably. 

I made my way over to Spencer, who was the only one left sitting at the poker table. He sat quite awkwardly for a man who had just swept the entire table. All of the confidence from before had completely melted away. 

"Well it looks like I'm yours for the night, Spencer. I'm (Y/N) by the way." 

I leaned against the poker table, making sure to show off my best assets. If I was going to have to spend the night with him, I at least wanted to have some fun. Between my day job and being a part-time sugar baby, I didn't have the time or energy to date much. So I planned on taking full advantage of the situation. Even if I didn't end up sleeping with Spencer, there was something about him that made me want to get to know him. 

"Nice to meet you, (Y/N)" he said, and I could tell he was avoiding my gaze. This was most likely because from where he was sitting, his line of sight was directly at my boobs. 

"C'mon Spencer, let me buy you a drink."

"Shouldn't I be the one buying you a drink?" he asked, looking puzzled. 

"Looks like you need it more than I do, pretty boy." I said with a smile as I pulled him by the hand towards the bar. 

------------

"I'm not a hooker by the way. Just putting that out there . . ." I said, suddenly matching Spencer's awkwardness. 

"I figured as much," he replied before taking a sip of his drink. "You're very well dressed and your jewelry is definitely real. Which could mean you're a high-end prostitute, which isn't uncommon for Vegas, but your relationship is too close for him to just be a repeat customer. So I assumed you were either a sugar baby or a trophy wife." 

"Wow. You got all that just by watching us?"

"It's kind of my job." 

"You a PI or something? What kind of job allows you to pick up on all that Mr...?" 

"Reid. And it's Dr. Reid actually. I work in the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI."

"No kidding! You? The lanky yet mysterious card counter who hasn't looked me in the eye this entire conversation, works for the FBI?"

“Yes and for the record, I wasn’t counting the cards. . .at least not this time,” he said with the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. 

Feeling a little tipsy, I replied by saying "you know, around here that acronym FBI usually stands for Female-"

"Body Inspector, yes I'm familiar with the joke. I grew up getting my head dunked in the toilet by bullies wearing those cheap souvenir shirts from Circus Circus" 

"Ah so you're a local too?"

“Yes ma’m, Las Vegas born and raised,” he said before taking another sip of his drink. I took the opportunity to ask him another question. 

“So do you have me figured out yet, pretty boy?” 

“Well I don’t see a ring on your finger,” he said while finally looking me right in the eyes, “so that leads me to the conclusion that you are a sugar baby.” 

I could tell the effects of the alcohol were starting to creep to the surface because he wouldn’t break eye contact with me and his body began leaning towards me when he spoke instead of away. He was less guarded and almost flirtatious, in his own adorable way. 

“Ding ding ding, you got me Dr. Reid. I, uh, work as a lab assistant during the day but being his sugar baby is helping with the crushing weight of my student debt.” 

“I’m sorry that you have to spend your evenings with that jerk, (Y/N). That was mostly my motivation for accepting his offer to bet on you. I hope you know I wasn’t planning on taking advantage of you or anything, I just wanted to give you a night off from your boss.” 

My gaze softened and I tried to push away the tears that threatened to spill from the corners of my eyes. 

“That was the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time, Spencer. Thank you,” I said, gently placing a hand on his thigh. 

I saw a wave of crimson begin to appear on his cheeks and he flashed me a smile before saying, “It was my pleasure. I don’t mean to brag but I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187, all of this to say I’m pretty good at cards.”

“Wow! Handsome and smart? Guess you’re not the only one who hit the jackpot tonight,” I said while raising my eyebrows, “but I don’t see a ring on your finger either, Dr. Reid. You’re alone at a bar in Vegas with a pretty girl, so I’m assuming you don’t have anyone waiting for you back home?” I asked, suddenly very interested to know if this smart and adorably sweet man was single.

“So you’ve been profiling me too,” he said with a chuckle, “to answer your question, no I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend or anything like that,” he said, almost enthusiastically. Taking that as a sign, I quickly asked, 

“Would you want to come upstairs with me? I just feel so comfortable talking to you and technically you still have the rest of the night with me,” I said with pleading eyes. 

“Um . . .sure!” he said with both hesitation and excitement, which I’m assuming is because his desire is going against his better judgment as an FBI agent. 

“You agreed to that awfully fast for someone who works for the FBI.” 

“I’m not worried. I’ve been watching my drink the entire night, and I’ve been profiling you, remember?” 

At this point, we were both beaming at each other like a couple of idiots; I had to stop myself from yanking this man’s arm making a run for the elevator. 

———

"It's nice to be with a guy who doesn't have an AARP card for once." 

"Actually, it’s a common misconception that the service is limited to people 50 and over. You can apply for a membership once you turn 18," he rambled, causing me to giggle. 

"You're cute," I replied, placing a hand on the inner part of his thigh. We stayed there for a moment, our eyes fixed on one another with a blush creeping up on Spencer's cheeks. I could see his Adam's apple bob as he gulped, and I could almost swear the crotch of his pants looked tighter than before. 

"W-we don't have to do anything you know," he said, finally breaking the silence. 

"I know. . . " I said as I leaned in close, "but what if I want to?" 

I took a chance and pressed my lips to his. I let them linger there to gauge his reaction before going any further, not wanting to scare the poor man away. After a few seconds, he didn't pull away and I took the quickened pace of his breathing as a sign to kiss him more. I began slowly at first and his lips followed my lead. To my surprise, he brought his hand up to tangle his fingers in my hair and I moaned into his mouth at the contact. Our kisses quickly became hungry and passionate, and there was no denying the now obvious bulge in his pants. I moved my hand from his thigh and began rubbing him over his pants. This time, he was the one who let out a groan, the sound of which motivated me to force my tongue into his mouth. He tightened his grip on my hair, but I pulled away to tend to his growing erection. He remained seated on the edge of the bed as I dropped to my knees in front of him. 

"Y-you don't have to-" he stuttered with wide eyes. 

"Spencer, it's okay, I want to." 

He didn't protest further and I began to unbuckle his belt. I unzipped his pants and pulled down his underwear just enough to let his cock free. I wrapped my hand around the base and began to jerk him, causing him to hiss at the contact. I teased him a little by licking the tip of his dick before I placed his entire length, or as much of him as I could fit, in my mouth. 

"Oh my god” he groaned, with his eyes screwed shut. I continued to bob my head up and down his cock, his hand finding that familiar place in my hair where he began to tug again. My. pace was purposefully slow, dragging out each suck to earn a moan from Spencer. It was thrilling to be in control of the situation for once. As I sped up my motions, his hands were practically ripping the strands from my head. The wetness pooling between my legs was becoming too much to ignore, so I released my grip on Spencer's cock and used his thighs to push myself back up from my spot on the floor. 

"Spencer. . ." I whined, planting myself onto his lap, "I need you."

I took his hand and guided him to the heat between my legs. I shimmied up my dress to allow him to feel the wetness that now soaked my panties. We both let out a gasp as his fingers became slick at the touch. 

"It's been a while since anyone's made me feel like this," I admitted. I felt safe in his presence, especially since judging by his reactions, he doesn't do this very often either. 

“I-I don’t have a-," 

“Don’t worry, I’m 90% sure we’re both clean and I’m on the pill. Trust me I’m not trying to scam you for child support or anything.” 

I could feel his body relax underneath me after reassuring him. I pressed my lips to his once again, our kiss more sensual and intimate than before. Seizing the rare opportunity to be on top, I had one hand on his shoulder for support and the other on his dick to line him up with my entrance. It was almost dizzying how good it felt as I finally sank down onto his length. 

“Oh god, Spencer.” 

I buried my face into the crook of his neck, completely overwhelmed by the few of him stretching me out. Once I was comfortable, I slowly began rocking my hips. We were a mess of breathy moans and strings of profanities escaped my lips as I began bouncing on his cock. 

“Fuck Spence, you you’re so big.” 

It’s always the skinny, shy guys.

“(Y/N) you feel so good,” he grunted as he bucked his hips up in an attempt to fuck me even harder. After observing his reactions to my every move so far, I knew he wasn’t going to last long. But he was fucking me so good that I couldn’t bring myself to care. 

“Yes baby keep fucking me like that.” 

His hips continued with their relentless pace and our bodies slammed against each other again and again. It wasn’t much longer until his thrusts became sloppy and he finished inside of me with one last resounding groan. We stayed that way for a while, just grateful for the intimate connection. Once we finally caught our breath, I spoke up.

“Well you still have a few hours with me Dr. Reid, what do you propose we do?” I said with a smirk.

“We should probably go to bed, I have to catch my flight back to D.C. in the morning. . . but maybe after we do that again.” 

“I’m all yours Spencer.” 

————————————————————————

Not 100% confident about this one but lmk what y'all think :) thanks fro all the love so far besties

[kivino]

PROFESSOR!NANAMI KENTO X READER HEADCANONS

my jjk masterlist || my cod masterlist

Word counter - 900-ish

Tags/Warnings - NSFW - MDNI; professor x student relationships; reader is an academic weapon (or not really); p in v freak nasty; oral (reader receiving); afab!reader.

A/n - my first time in a long time writing smut, so i hope it’s decent ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ please, like and reblog if you liked it, i’m trying to find my jjk audience （╹◡╹）♡

Professor!Nanami, who went into education instead of pursuing a job of a salaryman and surprisingly, found it rather fulfilling, helping students, explaining the nuances of classical literature to them and igniting the passion for his subject of study among them.

Professor!Nanami, who’s eyes keep lingering on you, despite his effort to force his gaze away from you, so beautiful, incredibly insightful and hardworking, pages upon pages of messy notes under your fingers.

Professor!Nanamix, who recognizes your efforts, fond look in his eyes when your answer to his question strikes a chord within him, making his heart swell in his chest. “Good job. I see you’re already familiar with the material, are you?” He asks, arching his brow at you, as he puts his hand on your desk for some support, his tall form towering over you, making you hold your breath from a simple glance of his hazel, almost golden eyes.

Professor!Nanami, who, upon seeing you through the glass doors of the study hall freezes in his place, his eyes taking in your every movement, down to the flutter of your eyelashes and quick fingers turning another page of your notes.

Professor!Nanami, who lets out a shaky exhale when you bite your pen, lips squishing against the tip of it so deliciously, oblivious to your infatuated observer.

Professor!Nanami, who can’t refuse you a conversation after class, getting lost in your eyes, dissecting your mannerisms and patterns of speech in his thoughts during his evening rides back home, just to find some sort of sign that you might like him more than as an educator.

Professor!Nanami, who can’t help but palm his hardening dick through his slacks when remembering your absolutely stunning doe eyes looking at him with such eagerness and fascination, when talking about his subject.

Professor!Nanami, who clasps a hand over his mouth and shuts his eyes tight, imagining it’s your thumb swirling around his red tip, and it’s your fingers clasping around his painfully hard member as you nip and kiss the soft skin of his exposed neck.

Professor!Nanami who, when noticing at your messy hair and ragged breathing after you’re late for class, has to squeeze his hand into a fist, blunt nails painfully digging into his skin just to keep him grounded.

Professor!Nanami, who feels nothing but shame, pining for his student like he’s some kind of pubescent high school boy.

Professor!Nanami, who just can’t say “no” to you, when you ask oh-so-nicely to help you and explain the final assignment privately, in his office. “Of course you can come in for a consultation. This card here has my office hours…” he nods eagerly, pulling out his business card holder from the inner pocket of his discarded jacket.

Professor!Nanami, who’s oblivious to a fault to how you’re leaning over him when asking for help, your soft hand connecting with his shoulder, fingers gently rubbing his arm and sending electric sparks right to his brain.

Professor!Nanami who makes you see stars on his tongue alone, devouring your pussy like it’s his last meal, fingers spreading you folds, soft lips leaving rough bites on your thighs and suffocating himself in you.

Professor!Nanam, whose hair you keep tugging for leverage, whose face you keep grinding into, desperate and hot from his passionate touches, aching for release, that he’s so nicely working you up to with his fingers and his mouth.

Professor!Nanami, who has you cross-eyed, fingers toying with your clit, halting your attempts to squirm away from his touch, overstimulated and needy, making your whole body twitch with uncontrollable surges of pleasure as you forget any words, but the name of your favorite professor.

Professor!Nanami, who wishes he would’ve taken you out on a nice date, perhaps a candlelit dinner at his favorite place, before having you with your legs spread out, whiny and sensitive on his office table, as his hand muffles your (very loud) moans. But what’s done is done.

Professor!Nanami, who marvels at the way your pretty tits bounce with each thrust of his cock in your drenched pussy, lewd, pornographic squelching and your pleasure-filled yelps filling the dark space of the room.

Professor!Nanami, who just can’t keep his mouth shut, when he’s looking at you. “Ah, hah, y-you’re, a-ah, doing so…m-mh! so well for me…” Nanami whispers, hot breath fanning over your ear, as he dives back, leaving wet kisses all over your neck, some of them swelling into rough, stinging markings, reminders from him.

Professor!Nanami, who keeps driving his cock inside of you, reaching so deep you’re barely able to form a thought when you all can feel is his broad tip giving such sweet kisses to your cervix.

Professor!Nanami, who after multiple hours of you getting to know each other so deeply and intimately in his office, your captivating smell still in his mind, gingerly asks you, while buttoning up your shirt: “Would you like to get dinner sometime with me?”

“Are you inviting me on a date?” you clarify, not able to hide your incredulous tone when asking this question. You knew that he was a gentleman, but had no idea he would want it to be something else…more than you imagined. Or he just felt obligated to do that, in which case…that’s worse.

“Precisely. I…it’s embarrassing to admit, really…” you mentally scoff. You just saw each other naked with every possible consequence of that also happening, and he’s…embarrassed? “But you’ve caught my eye. So, I’d like to invite you out. See where it goes.”

Well, how can you say “no” to your favorite professor?

check out this masterlist for more jjk fics or send me a request/comment!

[solarsturniolo]

Sub Matt abcs or hcs (maybe one or two where reader uses a vibrator on him)

Sub!Matt Headcanons

Tags: @flowerxbunnie @simplysturn @lacysturniolo @mattslolita @megamett44-lover @creamoncreamoncream2 @soursturniolo @meg-sturniolo

a/n: this is absolute garbage lmao sorry in advance

Warnings: semi smut / cursing (maybe? didn’t proof read) / sex !!!!!!!!!! / mentions of overstimulation / p in v / no protection / the end has me clawing my hair out of my scalp

• He’s a good listener, he always has been. That doesn’t change in the bedroom. He wants to please, he wants to be good for you, he wants you to guide him

• He LOVESSSSS the pet names, ‘pretty boy’ being his favorite

• It takes some convincing to use toys on him, but when he finally lets you use the vibrator he loses any and all sense of dignity that he once had. It shocked both of you seeing how much he enjoyed it. Although he’ll never bring it up first, when you ask if he wants to use it he is more than willing.

• Matt goes feral for your tits. Practically begging you to suffocate him with them. He loves to suck on them and hold them and feel the weight of them in his hands. He loves feeling your nipples hardening under his touch or his tongue.

• And on the rare occasion that you titty fuck him, he is a whining mess. He loves to watch his cock get lost in the valley of your breasts, feeling the warmth of your skin engulfing him. It drives him absolutely crazy.

• He doesn’t pull the ‘mommy’ card often, just when he can’t handle the teasing any longer.

• “P-Please, I’ve been s-such a good b-boy, I-I’m so close, please. Need it s-so bad, p-please mommy-“

• Not crazy about restraints, he likes being able to touch and feel you. He’ll do it every now and again but he’d much rather have his hands on you.

• He does, however, enjoy the blindfold. Never knowing when you’ll touch him or where. It drives him crazy. It makes his dick throb just thinking about what you’ll do to him next.

• He loves being marked up. He’ll bitch and moan about it the next morning, knowing he’ll have to cover it up before recording later, but he loves the possessiveness. He’ll lay there and let you mark him up for hours, he practically lives for it.

• He’s a good boy, he always makes sure to ask for permission before doing anything. “Please can I touch you? I-I’ll make you feel so good, I promise…” “F-Fuck please d-do that again, o-oh god…” “P-Please let me cum, I’ve been so good, I-Im such a good boy, p-please…”

• After the third or fourth round, he’s a mess. Panting, whining, sweating. Muscles in his thighs spasming from the intensity of his numerous orgasms, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his sweaty hair sticking to your neck as he rests his head on your chest. Trailing kisses along your breasts and up to your collarbone. Soft “thank you”s leaving his lips as he tries to catch his breath.

• The aftercare is his favorite part. Soft praises of his performance whispered in his ear, your fingers running through his messy hair, nails gently massaging his scalp. He stays buried in you, loving the closeness and the warmth between you both.

• He could stay like that all night, but once he senses your tired energy, he lays down with you, pulling you into his chest. His arms around your body, fingers gently massaging your hipbones, his lips leaving tender kisses across your face.

• He professes his love in soft gravely whispers, his fingers now tracing the shape of your jawline while he stares into your eyes. He kisses your lips, much gentler now, savoring the taste with a slow sensual make-out session

• To end the evening, he asks if you can cockwarm him, and you aren’t one to deny his wishes. He’s gentle and slow, making sure to not hurt you or get things too heated again. With him buried in you once again, he pulls your back against his chest, peppering soft kisses along your shoulder. His hand instinctively comes up to rest at the base of your neck, fingers ever so gently wrapping around your throat, though being careful not to apply any pressure.

• “My perfect girl,” He whispers, kissing your jaw. “What did I do to get so lucky?”

[mulletmitsuya]

Toman Groupchat

Warnings: swearing, the topic of sex is brought up a lot, mentions of the r word (i don't actually say it i just say "r word"), gayness, mentions of depression, mentions of suicide, teenage boys. also snuck in a lot of personal headcanons so that might not be your thing

Desc: Mikey lost his V-card

Mikey: just had the sex

Mikey: it's not all that, tbh

Mikey: i didn't like it

Mikey: i was quite indifferent to the situation actually

Mitsuya: that's great 👍

Smiley: you're the last one to lose your v-card and you come back with a report like this?😒

Smiley: we want details

Draken: whose we?

Mitsuya: no we don't

Chifuyu: it must have been difficult tackling the whole issue with you being 5'3 and all

Mikey: you're an inch taller than me😐

Chifuyu: "taller" being the key word

Baji: what didn't you like about the sex?

Baji: i think sex is great

Kazutora: i think it's super nice until you get in over your head and freak out about your performance so you end up having a panic attack and she just leaves

Smiley: LMAOOOOOO

Draken: that's actually kinda sad, you good?

Kazutora: no? i'll never emotionally recover. never again

Baji: maybe it should be with someone you trust and have been friends with for a number of years. maybe even your best friend who would do anything for you. that's just my opinion tho

Draken: just tell him ffs. anything but this

Kazutora: i have no girl friends?? the only women i know who're affiliated with this friendgroup are hina (taken), emma (mikey's sister and also taken), and yuzuha (gay)

Baji: why does it have to be a girl

Mikey: bro

Hakkai: 💀

Smiley: mention homosexuality once and here Hakkai comes

Hakkai: 😐

Kazutora: Baji i know you're gay and i support your lgbtq+ lifestyle but i'm not into dicks like you are man

Baji: what about assholes

Mitsuya: what's the point of this, like just ask him out atp

Mikey: you'd let KAZUTORA top???? insane

Kazutora: what's wrong with me topping? also who am i topping??

Smiley: well you're a twink so you're obviously a bottom

Chifuyu: Kazutora are you actually just gonna ignore what everyone else is saying

Kazutora: aren't you guys talking to Baji?

Draken: are you stupid or what

Kazutora: i'm really confused rn can we just to back to talking about Mikey

Mikey: yes actually. i've decided that i don't like sex and won't be doing it again

Chifuyu: bad day for Takemitchy

Takemitchy: what?

Chifuyu: well since you ride his dick so much

Takemitchy: HUH

Takemitchy: i've never done that with Mikey-kun tho??? i'm with Hina? also I'm straight so I don't understand what you mean by that 😥

Chifuyu: i don't actually mean-

Chifuyu: nvm

Baji: are we allowed to call people the r word anymore

Angry: no it's a slur

Baji: you're probably mad because people said it to you huh? lmao

Angry: yes

Baji: oh

Smiley: i didn't even mean it Angry it was just that one time

Angry: several, one times. but okay

Angry: i still love you

Smiley: can you not say that in front of our friends like idk what to do rn cause i can't say it back so it looks embarssing for you

Angry: 😕

Smiley: ...

Angry: ☹️

Smiley: i love you too

Angry: thank you

Chifuyu: very rare Smiley human decency moment

Draken: you guys are such weird siblings but that was great to watch. character development in a matter of seconds

Smiley: you should all kill yourselves

Mikey: man i really want to

Mikey: that was a literal joke before you guys get weird

Draken: you've actively tried to kill yourself tho

Mikey: yeah but like i won't do it anymore

Baji: we must just, believe you?

Mikey: i know that's hard to do because i lie all the time but yes

Draken: not a convincing argument but nice try

Mitsuya: terrible try actually. Mikey should we be worried?

Mikey: miss me with that gay shit, i'm fine

Mitsuya: i hate you guys so much

Draken: not me tho cause i'm your og

Mitsuya: 😐

Mitsuya: yeah i guess

Draken: 🤞

Draken: i'm gonna go out with my girlfriend now

Draken: also Mikey you're probably asexual. or you haven't found the right one to do it with yet idk

Mikey: what's asexual

Draken: google it

Mikey: Ken-chin c'mon i'm having a crisis rn

Draken: basically low or very little sexual attraction to others

Draken: there's a whole spectrum to it tho so you should probably do some research because that was an extremely watered down explanation

Draken: i'm ace too if that helps

Baji: Emma's a whole ass slut so how does she deal with that

Smiley: imagine bagging Ryuguji Ken with his sexy ass and he doesn't wanna smash. tragic

Draken: first of all, Baji i'll fucking kill you, never say that about Emma again

Draken: and fuck you Smiley

Angry: are you traumatized because of living in a sex orientated/obsessed environment so you eventually began to detest any affiliation with the act?

Draken: yes actually

Angry: i see

Mikey: i just don't like it. i'm not traumatized like Ken-chin :(

Draken: it's whatever

Baji: calm down i didn't call Emma a slut as an insult i just mean it as a describing word because she likes fucking

Baji: i've known her longer than you and she's been fucking since she knew what the thing was

Mikey: i probably should have addressed that as an older brother or something

Mikey: yk, cause i take care of my family

Baji: now she takes care of you with your chronically depressed ass

Mikey: 😒

Kazutora: is Emma also traumatized? like the opposite of Draken?

Mikey: wait should i ask?? her mom did abandon her and she did grow up without a father figure so like maybe i should talk to her

Smiley: you didn't have to dish out her problems like that 💀

Baji: she's got the Sano slut genes because wasn't Shinichiro falling in love with different people everyday? then your dad was impregnating people all the time. skipped Mikey tho

Draken: not everything is trauma related. also Emma just likes sex. it's not a huge deal breaker and if it was she would tell me and we'd talk about it

Mikey: what about having kids?

Draken: stop asking me this shit we'll do that when we're ready

Smiley: it's crazy how Draken is one of the healthiest people here. always reacting sensibly to situations and dealing with his trauma normally. he's such a good guy. hate him

Draken: love you too

Mikey: did he deal with it all that healthily if he beats people to a pulp most of the time

Draken: i stopped doing that

Baji: why though, you were an actual unit

Baji: wasted talent. i still beat people up

Draken: Emma said to

Mikey: fair

Smiley: Mitsuya could be on Draken's level too but something went wrong along the way cause he's a boy liker

Mitsuya: 🖕

[samoankpoper21]

Numb - Jo Togame

Jo Togame x chubby! reader

Word count: 3.2K

Content warnings: a bit of self deprecation (only because the reader is still growing into her own), cussing, unprotected sex (always use protection!), p in v, creampie

Genre: angst, smut, smut with plot

ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED 18+! MDNI!

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Togame wasn't slow, just the way he spoke.

You remember the first time he and his family had moved next door. "Y/N, come say hello to our new neighbor." Peering from behind your mother you peeked to see the slender boy with dazzling emerald eyes peeking behind his mother as well. The two women chatted as you both regarded each other quietly. "Y/N, this is Togame. Togame this is Y/N."

Your family owned a small clinic that you were set to take over once you were older; your weekends spent readying, studying anatomy, medicine, herbs and the likes. "Do you actually want to do that when you're older?" Togame drawled one lazy afternoon. "'course! Why wouldn't I?"

"Have you ever thought about doing something else?"

"Nuh uh. From the moment I saw how my dad tended to this elderly man I was hooked. I want to be like him."

"Hm." Togame smiled while ruffling your hair. That was the first time your heart beat like crazy. Trying to rationalize your heart's wild thumping due to the fact that puberty hit you both differently there was no denying that you were attracted to your childhood friend. What you once saw as a small boy with thick black hair and big forest green eyes grew to be a lean, muscular man whose jawline was sharp, hair now shoulder length, veins traveling the length of his arms, legs thick and taut with muscle; only thing similar was his aloof nature that wouldn't allow him to make friends easily.

He was your first when it came to intimacy: your first kiss, first hickey, first hand held, first sexual partner. You remember storming into his room demanding, "Togame! I need you to kiss me!" Smirking he drawled out, "Well where is this coming from?" You relayed the story of how most of the girls in your friend group had already had their first kiss all but you and Emi earning pitiful gazes. Swallowing slowly he asked, "You sure about this sweetheart?" Nodding fervently he chuckled instructing you to sit on the bed with him. Turning your body to face him you suddenly felt self conscious: would he be turned off by your belly and rolls? Would he grimace at the way your skirt hiked up your thick, melanated thighs? He doesn't have to do this anyway. He's just being a good friend. Lost in thought you failed to realize how much closer he moved toward until he gently cupped your chin whispering, "Stop overthinking this." He pressed his lips against yours gently first, your eyes widening, your brain reveling in the feel of his slightly chapped lips; he taking in the softness of yours. You closed your eyes as your lips began to brush and move against one another, your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck pulling him closer, your fingers carding through his hair tugging lightly til he growled. Pulling back panting you murmur, "Sorry, didn't mean to hurt-"

"Don't stop." he demanded, pulling you closer by the back of your neck, your back meeting his covers, not an iota of space between you two; both his and your hands traveling, exploring, squeezing.

Your makeout sessions were becoming more frequent, both of you not wanting to put a title on what this was; for all you were aware of was how good it felt, the thrill of being able to run to the other person's arms and feel their lips against one another. Until one particular session became too heated. Laying in bed, Togame on top, his hand slowly crawled underneath your shirt, squeezing at the fat, dancing along the curves of your love handles and waist. He cupped your clothed breast, pinching and rolling the erect nipple causing you to gasp in the kiss, his tongue slowly traveling into your mouth, exploring. Your tongue began to intertwine with his when he sucked on it causing you to moan. "Do it again." he demanded before slowly sticking his tongue into your mouth, your tongues fighting against one another, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. That was your first french kiss.

Sitting in his room anxiously he could read you like a book. He knew whenever you failed to meet his gaze gnawing at your lip that there was something "difficult" you wanted to ask of him but was too shy to. He laid there patiently waiting, watching you clench and unclench your small, chubby hands. He always told you he found your hands cute. "Togame," you whisper.

"Mm."

"I...I have a favor to ask you."

"What is it sweetheart?" your heart clenched at the endearment he always used when it came to you. Figuring you've already done embarrassing stuff together you settled to just be out with it. "I need you to fuck me." His eyes widened. "Come again?"

"I just-I just want to see what the other girls keep talking about. None of the guys at school find me attractive which I don't mind because they're not my type either it's just-" Cupping your cheeks he earnestly gazed at you. "Ya sure?" Holding his gaze, your blush heating up Togame's hands, you nodded. If only you knew all the dirty thoughts that ran through his mind as he fucked his fist at night: thoughts of you. Kissing you slowly, gently, as a means to relax you he lowered you onto his bed, his lips brushing your cheeks, trailing down your neck, murmuring "beautiful" as he nipped at your pulse point making you gasp. His lips traveled down to your collar before reaching your shirt. "May I?" looking away covering your face you nodded for him to continue. Slowly peeling your shirt over your head he audibly gasped "Beautiful", your arms failing to cover your tummy. "Stop that." he scolded. Peeking at him you silently gasped, for this was the first time anyone, let alone a man looked at you with so much want. His blown out pupils nearly covering his beautiful beryl eyes as he bit his lip taking in the entirety of you. The want and need in his eyes fueled your courage. Reaching behind you unclasped your bra tossing it somewhere in his room, your bountiful breasts spilling over. You always knew Togame had huge hands but in comparison to your 46D breasts it still covered a good amount. You watched as his calloused hands cupped both mounds causing you to squirm, watching as some of it spilled through his fingers. "So soft." he dazes. Finally meeting your eyes he gauges your reaction as he slowly began to pinch and roll your nipples, watching as your eyes close, lips caught between your teeth. "Togame." you whimper, the bulge in his pants growing tighter. Slowly leaning his head down he took one of the rocky pebbles in his mouth and began to suck, catching it between his teeth lightly tugging, your back arching. Maintaining eye contact with you he swirled his tongue around before fully enclosing your breast into his mouth sucking harshly. "To-Togame!" you gasp out. Blowing air on your nipple he chuckled at your whimpering before moving to the next breast, your fingers tangling themselves into his thick hair pushing him more into you. Leaving your nipple with a pop he smirked at your panting figure, nipping at the tops of your breasts. His lips gently placed kisses in between your breasts, slowly making their way down your chubby tummy, licking at some of the stretch marks, pushing a deep kiss into your belly before reaffirming how beautiful you are to him.

Locking eyes with you once more for consent your lust filled gaze nodded as he slowly peeled your skirt down your legs groaning at the wetness found on your panties. Lowering his face to your mound he inhaled, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Hooking his fingers around the band he slowly pulled your panties down, you subconsciously spread your legs wider for him. "Togame," you whined. "Do something." Licking his lips he lays himself flat on his stomach, his hands wrapping around your thighs pulling your closer to his face. He took a tentative swipe along your folds making you let out a small gasp. Biting and sucking on your inner thighs he sucks on your puffy clit causing you to let out a drawn out moan, the tension in his pants becoming stuffier. He began to suck and lick at your folds, moaning at your saccharine taste. You tasted so much better than he imagined, thankful that he was the one to be able to do this with and to you. Bumping his nose against your clit his tongue slid into your entrance, your back arching, your hands tangled in his hair pushing him deeper to your mound. "Please! D-don't stop." your hips began moving of their own accord, all sense of shame out the window. "That's it sweetheart," he urged. "Keep using my fucking face." before landing a slap on your thigh making you moan. Taking your clit in his mouth he gathered some of your slick on his middle finger sliding it into you slowly earning a silent "o" from you. Slowly pumping his finger in and out he watched as your eyes went from squeezing tight due to the uncomfortable pressure to your eyebrows relaxing. His finger was able to glide in and out of you with ease. "I'm going to add another finger in, think you can handle it?" You nodded and he slowly inserted his pointer finger along with his middle. You gasped at the delicious stretch. "'s tight." Letting his fingers stay in your warm cavern he waited until you gave him permission to move. Slowly jutting his fingers in and out he watched as your breasts bounced, your hips moving in accord with him. "T-Togame, more." Scissoring his fingers he took your clit in his mouth as he moved them at a faster pace. Bending them on contact of something spongy you gasped out, "Ah! To-Togame there! Right there!" Using his middle and ring finger he pumped his fingers in and out of you at lightning pace, bending his fingers inside beckoning in a come hither motion. "Listen to how fucking soaked you are for me." The wet squelching sounds filling the room was driving both of you insane. "To-Togame, I-I feel-"

"I know sweetheart. You're going to feel so good, I promise." Using his other hand he began to rub rapidly at your clit while the other was busy thrusting in and out of you. "To-To-Aaaaah!" Trying to close your legs Togame held one of them down as your orgasm washed over you. Trying to catch your breath all your ears could pick up on was "mwa" each one landing on your sensitive pussy lips. Licking you clean Togame praised you: "My pretty girl did so good for me. So fucking good for me." Once your breathing calmed down you looked over at him. "'s not fair. I'm the only one naked." Smirking he replied with, "Patience sweetheart." Getting off the bed quickly he tossed his shirt aside leaving you to admire his physique. You always knew he was built but not to this extent. Mesmerized by his hardened abs, broad shoulders, and the veins running down his forearms and onto his hands you pressed your legs together to create some type of friction, an action that did not go unnoticed by Togame. Ridding himself of his sweats and boxers you could feel yourself salivating at the thickness and length of Togame's cock as it hit his stomach. Crawling to the edge you gently took his cock in your hand reveling at the weight and warmth of it, he letting out a low hiss. Looking up at him you opened your mouth making sure to cover your teeth before taking his length in moaning at the contact, his heady scent making you dizzy. "F-fuck Y/N." You swirled your tongue around his tip, watching as he kept his hands glued to his sides, balled into fists, his eyes closing. Remembering to breath through your nose you slowly took inch by inch of him making sure to get his dick wet and slippery. Using your hand at his base you began bobbing your head up and down his length, hollowing out your cheeks. Hearing you gag he pulled back breathing harshly. "Y-you okay?" Biting your lip you crawled off the bed kneeling in front of him looking up through your lashes. Gawd Togame wanted to cum from the sight in front of him, imprint it in his mind forever. Keeping eye contact you hollowed out your cheeks using both hands to twist his cock as you slurped and sucked. All restraints broken Togame moaned tangling his hands in your hair fucking your mouth. You moaned and gagged loving how he was using you as his personal fuck toy. "S-shit 'm gonna cum." Pushing your face against his pubes as encouragement he let out a low groan before releasing into your mouth, his sticky hot seed hitting the back of your throat.

Taking a moment to process what had happened he slowly peeled his hips away from your face tilting your head upward. Glaze filled eyes locking with his you opened your mouth extending your tongue, letting him know that you were a good girl for swallowing all of him and not wasting a single drop. He groaned. "Gawd you're gonna be the death of me sweetheart." Pulling you off the floor he harshly pushed his lips against yours, you both moaning at the taste of each other's climax hitting the other's taste buds. Pushing you to the bed as if in a trance he says, "I gotta fuck ya otherwise I'll lose my mind." Spreading your legs again he kissed you, rubbing the tip of his cock against your folds. Slowly sliding in you both moaned at the fullness. "Pretty girl you're so tight. 's like you're suffocating my dick." Running your hands through his hair you whine, "Togame, fuck me." After those words left your lips you watched his eyes darken, as if a switch had flipped. Hoisting your hips up slightly he began pounding into you, watching as your breasts bounced in time with his thrusts. "Fuuuck Togame, yes. 's so good." Grabbing the back of your thighs he pressed you into a mating press his thick, long cock hitting deeper, poking at your cervix. "O-ohmygawd Toga-"

"Hmmm? Isn't this what you wanted? For me to fuck you?"

"Yesyesyesyes" your hands left his hair flying above your head clutching at the pillows, your eyes closing as you felt your impending orgasm rushing towards you. "To-Togame mmph!"

"Open your eyes. I wanna see you come undone." Togame slammed his hips against yours, the wet plap plap plap sound of his thighs meeting the back of yours had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Using his left hand he quickly rubbed at your clit your eyes shooting open. "Togameeeee please s-so close"

"Me too sweetheart." Slamming into you his hips faltered, pace sloppy, his fingers rubbing at your puffy bud. "Cum for me sweetheart." Locking eyes with him you screamed as your climax hit you hard, your wet gummy walls squeezing him oh so good his jaw clenched shooting his load deep into you. That was the first and last time you would sleep together before he left to be with Shishitoren.

You remember when he excitedly came bustling through the doors of your family's clinic, his way of speech a tad, just a tad bit faster, as he gushed over his new friend group and something about a guy named Choji; how Choji ushered him into Shishitoren gifting him with the yellow and white baseball style jacket with the emblem resembling the Japanese lion head on the back. You sat there staring up at him as he animatedly expressed to you how Choji was like the sun: warm, inviting, bringing out the best in people.

Months passed before you would see him again. Staring out the window you sighed as you saw the once clear skies being quickly covered with dark clouds, the heavy rain beginning to fall. You were closing up shop when the doors of your family's clinic slid open, thunder clapping behind him. "Togame!" you shouted. Rushing over to him you pulled him in shutting and locking the doors. He let you lead him to the examination table sitting there silently his head facing down as you busied yourself retrieving towels from your room upstairs. Shucking his jacket off you began to swipe at his forearms, moving your way up to his shoulders, damp hair, gently dabbing at his face. "Togame, what happened?" Staring ahead not answering you sighed whispering, "Let me grab more towels." Before you could fully turn around, his strong arms encased you pulling you closer, his forehead pressed against your chubby tummy. Biting your lips, tears brimming on the surface, you couldn't help but feel the butterflies in your stomach beating against its cage; the feelings you held trapped inside wanting to burst through your chest. "Please," you heard him lowly murmur. "Just stay like this...for a little while longer." Nodding your head your fingers automatically began threading through the thick, black trenches of his hair unaware that he too was fighting the same battle as you.

Weeks pass and he would stop by the clinic to get patched up, each time looking more exhausted, numb, dead inside. You noticed after that first rainy night how his eyes no longer held a trace of light or life in them, how he had braided the ends of his long locks, and now wore sunglasses. "Togame," you whisper while applying hydrogen peroxide on the newest cuts to his knuckles. "Why are you doing this? Why are you fighting so much?" Looking up to see him staring ahead you plead, "Answer me." Rubbing your thumb across his knuckles your tone turned accusatory. "Is it Choji? Is he the one making you do all this?" Finally getting a reaction out of him you were startled to see how fast his head whipped in your direction, his eyes glaring at you with a sharpness. "You don't know Choji."

"I-I'm just saying Togame look at you! You're all banged up! Every time you come to me now it's only for me to patch you up and then you come back with a new set of bruises! At what point is fighting not enough?! Hm?"

"You don't know anything Y/N."

"Then tell me! Because from what I'm seeing ever since you befriended this Choji guy you lost all sense of hope and purpose." Snatching his hand from your grasp, grabbing that damned Shishitoren jacket along the way he hissed out, "I don't need this shit and I don't need it coming from someone like you."

"Someone like me?! What's that supposed to mean?"

"You think you can tell me who to be friends with? You don't know anything. All you know is your stupid books and how you've been holed up here your whole life." Lowering your head so that he wouldn't see the tears brimming at the surface you ask in a low voice, "So that's how you think of me huh?" Without answering you turn your back towards him. "Let this be the last time I see you Jo." Once the doors of the clinic slowly slid shut your knees buckled leaving you to sob and wail at the loss of your friend, your first love.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── >>

A/N: I know I wanted to see more stories about body confident people on here but I felt like it would be more relatable if the reader suffers body image issues. My thought process went as follow: reader is insecure because she's a teen still going through puberty, trying to navigate what it means to be plus size. Once in high school that's when she owns it and learns early on how to love herself despite what society says.

©ALL WORKS BELONG TO SAMOANKPOPER21; ANY INFRINGEMENT OR PLAGIARISM WILL BE REPORTED!! DO NOT STEAL OR REPOST MY WORK!!

[eggtargaryenii]

EAST OF THE SUN | PART II

You were a disgrace to House Targaryen, the product of an impulsive wedding between a lost prince and some Essosi whore. You had little social capital within the Red Keep and few prospects for marriage, but that was alright. You were perfectly happy to stay out of the game of thrones, wed some politically relevant lord of Alicent Hightower’s choosing, and die in peaceful obscurity. Unfortunately for you, Prince Aemond had other designs for your future.

11.1k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys. childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. chapter warnings for targaryen incest and themes of xenophobia/racism and misogyny. see part I for full story details. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

V. STRENGTH

Jacaerys was a child when he found out that he was a bastard and his mother was a whore.

Bastard. Whore. Even before he understood those words, he knew that he was different, somehow. That he was not enough. The lords and the ladies in the Red Keep always stared at him and Luke when they walked by, clinging to their mother’s skirts. They whispered whenever Ser Harwin Strong spent his afternoons with them in the training yard, putting wooden swords into their tiny little hands and teaching them how to swing. They covered their mouths to hide their laughter whenever his father, Ser Laenor Velaryon, took Jace out riding, steadying him on his pony. Pay them no mind, Jace, his father always said. They're only staring at you because you will someday be king.

So Jace closed his ears and focused only on Mother, Father, Ser Harwin, and Luke.

But the older he got, the harder it was to ignore the whispers. Bastard. Mongrel. Son of a whore. A wonder that his dragon egg even hatched. I've never seen any Velaryon who looked like that. He don't look like no Targaryen prince, methinks. Look at that hair. Look at those eyes. He can only be a bastard.

He can only be a Strong.

It wasn't all bad in his family, at least. Queen Alicent always looked at him with contempt, but his grandsire kept her from saying anything. Sometimes his uncle Aegon would bully him about it, but then he would leave Jace alone whenever he was teasing Aemond instead, so all Jace had to do was join him in making fun of the scrawny boy. And whenever Aegon and Aemond teamed up to point out Jace’s bastardy, you would stop both of them. You would gently scold Aemond and that would make him quiet, but with Aegon you would throw things instead. (Oops, you said once, after dropping the Seven-Pointed Star on Aegon’s foot. Sorry, my hand slipped. I'm afraid that book burns my heathen fingers.)

You always defended Jace like that.

Jace’s mother was a whore, and he later learned that yours was too. Maybe that's why you were so nice to Jace, even though the lords and ladies of the Red Keep scorned you worse than they ever did him. To Jace’s wonder though, you never seemed bothered by it.

It doesn't matter who our parents are, Jacaerys, you told him once. We’ve got dragons. We’re Targaryens. So long as we play our cards right, no one can ever touch us.

But what if my blood isn't enough? he would mumble. What if Vermax doesn't let me claim him? What if I cannot fly? He did not have silver hair and pale eyes, the features of a Valyrian king. Perhaps his bastardy and Andal blood made him less of a Targaryen. Could a mongrel tame a dragon? Could a bastard sit the throne?

Could a Strong ever take to the skies?

You smiled at him whenever he asked. You can do all of those things, Jace. I promise. I can't help you with most of them—but at the very least, I can help you learn to fly.

So he found himself on your dragon, seated behind you, his hands tight around your waist. I've never seen Wildfyre so happy to have someone ride him, you laughed. Not even me!

The dragon clicked and grumbled and turned his head to look at Jace, golden eyes approving. Then Wildfyre’s great wings started flapping, his roar thundering through the skies, and suddenly Jace found himself rising higher and higher, the muscles of the great creature rippling beneath him. King’s Landing was getting further away, shrinking; the clouds were getting closer, and Jace felt a chill as the cold damp of them soaked into his clothes. A freezing wind whipped through his hair, felt like ice to his bones, but he screamed and screamed with laughter, heart dancing as he clung to you.

Once you'd steered Wildfyre through the clouds, drifting into the warm twilight, you turned back and threw him a smile.

See? you yelled. Only a Targaryen could be so fearless on dragonback!

Fearless, you called him. He clung to this word: Fearless. I must be fearless. I must not fear my duty. I must not fear the succession. I must not fear the court.

In truth, though, Jace was afraid. He was afraid of being a bastard and he was afraid of losing the Throne, of ruining his mother’s claim. But you were so good at dispelling it all. You were so good at making him brave.

So when his family was sent to Dragonstone indefinitely, he nearly wanted to throw up—because it meant he could no longer see you. He sought you out soon after the decision was made, nearly running through all of Driftmark’s grounds before going to the Queen’s rooms, where he knew you would be.

He found you by Aemond’s bedside, talking to the injured child as he slept. Your fingers threaded through his silver hair; you whispered Valyrian into his ears, soothing and pretty and soft. Jace wished he could understand it, but his mother never spoke it around them. Ser Harwin, being an Andal, only knew the Common Tongue, and so that was the language that Jacaerys had inherited instead the language spoken by kings.

Jace begged to you in his lowly, mongrel tongue, ugly and stiff unlike the melody of Valyrian: “Come with us, please. I know you'll like Dragonstone. No one will stare at us there, no one will whisper. You'll be happier for it.”

He was not surprised when you said no. There was no way you would ever leave Aemond, but he asked anyway, again and again.

“I can't do this alone,” he kept saying. “I need your help. I don't know how to be strong like you. How to be fire and blood.”

You smiled at him. Stepped away from Aemond’s bedside, then took his hands in yours.

“You need not worry, Jace. Your mother will guide you.” Your fingers were so gentle on his. “You will grow into a fine prince, an heir befitting the Iron Throne. And when you do, you can come back to the Red Keep—and you can take me to Dragonstone then.”

Jace tried very hard not to cry. Ser Harwin had made a promise like this before he left his mother—that he would reunite with Jace someday, that he would stay by his side then. But he had never come back, had been taken by the fire at Harrenhal, and then Jace found himself mourning a man whom he was not allowed to grieve—because Jace was not allowed to be a bastard, and so Ser Harwin was not allowed to be his true father.

But he did grieve. He hated losing Ser Harwin, and he could not bear the thought of losing you too.

“You’re not lying?” Jace asked. “You're telling truth?”

He knew it was a childish thing to ask, but you seemed not to mind. You only threw your head back, laughed. “Yes, I'm telling truth! It is my dream to get away from the Red Keep someday, Jace.” You looked at him, almost amused. “I’m counting on you to save me from the Hightowers, my prince.”

And Jace could not help but think, as you departed for King’s Landing and he for Dragonstone, how much he longed to do that. How badly he wanted to take you away from the place that called you both the children of sin, from the people that called him a bastard and you a whore. He wished he could have sworn it as an oath, for then you would know how seriously he would take it.

I will become a fine prince someday, he vowed privately, watching your ship grow smaller and smaller, then finally as it was swallowed by the mist. I will become an heir befitting the throne. I am a Targaryen, made of fire and blood. I am a Targaryen, no matter who my father was.

He woke up everyday and repeated those words like a mantra. Tried not to think about the possibility of failure—tried not to wonder if the lords and ladies of the Realm would revolt should he ever sit upon the throne. If the throne itself would reject a bastard, its edges cutting into his mongrel flesh. It was a solace that he heard you every time he questioned himself: It doesn't matter who our parents are, Jace. Only a Targaryen could be so fearless in the sky. You have a dragon. You have a dragon. You have a dragon.

He had a dragon.

“I have you, Vermax,” he would murmur to the creature in his clumsy Valyrian, and Vermax would rumble at him, reassuring.

The years passed. You exchanged letters with Jace, kept in touch, but the distance felt like a yawning cavern between you still. The older he got, the less certain he became that you ever thought about him the way he thought about you. After all, he was a child when you left; you were nearly a woman grown. Thinking back on it, you had obviously treated him like a child too, holding his hands and trying to soothe his fears with empty words.

Grow up, Jace, he told himself, every time he received a raven and found your letter shorter than the last. Forget about it.

And he did, for a while. He focused on his studies, his swordplay, his duty to the Realm. Several name days passed, and suddenly he was a man grown. His mother was speaking to him of potential betrothals, of Starks and Tyrells and the noble daughters of other great houses. His stepfather was telling him to see the whores in Spicetown since he refused to disgrace any of the servants, and their silks and perfumes were dizzyingly fragrant as he bedded them. The serving maids of Dragonstone and all the distinguished ladies who visited laughed and smiled pretty around him, fawning over his status—for even if he was a mongrel bastard, he was still a Crown Prince.

Jace found himself utterly disinterested in all of it.

Curiously, in some of those moments, he would suddenly think about your letters—shorter and shorter, fewer and far between, but coming still. Hello, cousin. How fare your studies? I find myself the object of whispers once more; what an exciting life people think I must lead. Last month I was leading Ser Criston astray and making him break his oath of celibacy; this month I am carrying Prince Aemond’s child. I wonder whom I will seduce with my temptress ways next month. Perhaps it will be Septa Falyse, or the High Septon himself!

Jace could hear your laughter in your words: carefree, lighthearted, just as you always were when it came to your reputation. But it left a bitter taste in his mouth, thinking of all those rumours, of all those people speaking ill of you. Of knowing he could not return the favour of defending you as you once did him, now that the sea separated the two of you.

The whispers, though, were not something a Crown Prince should be worrying about, and you were not someone an Heir should be thinking about.

Grow up, Jace, he kept telling himself. Forget about it. Forget about it. Forget about it.

But when the day came that he finally had to return to the Red Keep—he could no longer forget.

As he boarded a ship to King’s Landing for the first time in years, he found himself remembering the words you once spoke to him when he was a child—the ones he clung to for years. They felt so fitting now that he’d learned of the Hightowers’ designs for you, of what the Hand intended to do.

You will be a fine prince someday, you'd said. Take me to Dragonstone then. Save me from the Hightowers, my prince. 

He would see you again, Jace thought. And if you so much as breathed the word, he would do everything that you asked of him all those years ago: steal you away from the Red Keep, protect you from the petty court that so often mistreated you, give you immunity from the family that spurned you both. Because now that he was a proper prince—a Targaryen, black hair be damned—that was something he could do.

He could save you from the Hightowers.

VI. JUDGEMENT, REVERSED

The coming of Princess Rhaenyra and her party was met without announcement, nor fanfare.

Were it not for Jacaerys’ letter to you, you would not have even known that they were going to be in King’s Landing. The tourney was coming up soon—less than a fortnight now—but their presence had nothing to do with it. Supposedly, Prince Daemon had some urgent business to discuss with the King and the rest of House Targaryen. Even Princess Rhaenys had joined them. What would be important enough for the Lady of Driftmark to leave her home was a mystery to you.

Until such matters made themselves clear, however, you would not worry over them. You were only thinking of meeting Jacaerys again. Although you'd received many messages from your first cousin over the years (his preferred raven now knew you well enough to squawk your name), letters were simply not the same as seeing one in person.

And of course it was impossible to see Jace in person. Queen Alicent became oddly bitter every time you requested leave to visit Dragonstone, and Wildfyre was always mysteriously chained up after such conversations. Aemond, as well, despised his half-siblings too much to meet with them during any of your visits to Spicetown, and he never let you go there yourself either.

You are a young woman, and it would be unsafe for you to venture out alone, Aemond always said. If you must go to Spicetown, I will accompany you and guard you from any… unsavoury characters that you may meet.

You had the sense that he was referring more to his nephews than any bandits or rapers, for it seemed not enough to him for guards from Dragonstone to be sent to accompany you.

You looked forward to seeing Jace again, unfettered by neither Aemond nor the Queen. You wondered what the awkward and insecure little prince was like nowadays, what sort of person he'd become. But as you had not heard any word of Rhaenyra’s arrival, you did not go to receive him at the gates—so you spent the day like you would any other. You broke your fast alone, neglected your needlework, neglected your prayers, and resentfully studied household stewardship. You loitered in the throne room, watching the Hand and the Queen settle various petitions. Today, it was mostly smallfolk worried about the price of food, a couple of petty land disputes between minor houses, and an interesting request from House Tyrell to legitimise a bastard—some knight who had served in the Dornish Marches. For some reason, Ser Criston kept looking at him with disdain.

Then, as a reward to yourself for your hard labour, you went down to the training yard in the late afternoon.

Your favourite pastime was watching Aemond practise his swordplay in the afternoons. You used to go for moral support, to encourage him whenever he was beaten—which he always was, because of his previously short and scrawny stature—but now it was always to encourage him whenever he clobbered his opponents, for he always did.

Ser Criston used to scold you for your attendance, saying that a young lady should busy herself with other activities. “You should be studying the Seven-Pointed Star right now, my lady,” he once said, probably at the behest of the Queen. “The violence of the training ground is not something that a woman should be witnessing so often in any case. Bloodshed is usually upsetting for the fairer sex.”

“I know not what you are talking about, Ser Criston,” you replied. You clapped Aemond’s shoulder then—drawing murmurs from onlookers, because hand-to-shoulder contact between cousins was scandalous if you were the one initiating it—and added, “there is nothing more important to me than witnessing Prince Aemond’s improvement on the battleground.”

Ser Criston gave you both questioning looks. “And why would it be so important to you, my lady?”

“Well,” you replied cheerfully, “Aemond and I have an agreement that if ever I am charged with murder, I will prove my innocence via trial by combat and he would be my champion.”

Ser Cole gave you an incredulous look. “Do you plan to commit murder, my lady?”

“No, Ser. It is merely a contingency in case someone should frame me for it. You never know what might happen with all the plotting and scheming in this Realm.”

You were actually speaking truth here: you and Aemond did come to this agreement soon after Prince Daemon Targaryen was taken to trial for the murder of his first wife, which he won by combat. You then went into an anxious spiral about what you should do if you hated your future husband and he was stupid enough to fall off a horse and die like Rhea Royce. Who would save you from a similar accusation?

Aemond immediately volunteered himself, perhaps too eagerly.

“You need not worry about me, Ser Cole,” you said upon seeing his perturbed face. “I wouldn't actually ever commit murder myself. You would know, since Aemond would prove my innocence.”

Aemond’s lip curled. “She would never be found guilty of any crime in the Realm with me as her champion,” he affirmed. “I think it is fair that the lady should be allowed to watch the sword representing her, is it not?”

Ser Criston could hardly deny a royal prince, so he merely sighed and picked up his morning star. “Whatever my prince wishes,” he relented. “Come—let’s give your lady a show.”

The knight had not since protested your presence on the training grounds. Ser Criston hardly even glanced at you today as you approached, weaving through the sparse crowd of knights, squires, and spectators while he and Aemond began their warmups. You were searching for a spot that would serve as the best view of their match, and it was pure accident that your gaze happened to land on an unfamiliar form among the hustle and bustle.

It was not the clothes that struck you—for they were plain, a nondescript black cloak over an equally dark tunic—but his face. Dark curls framing finely carved, fair features. An aquiline nose, a pair of delicate lips curled into an interested smile as he spoke to some companion you could not see. He looked like a Northman, possibly a Stark or an exceptionally beautiful Blackwood. You wondered if he was one of your potential suitors.

Naturally, you had to go introduce yourself. Purely to show your hospitality as a lady of House Targaryen, of course.

“Excuse me,” you said, in the clearest and prettiest voice you could manage. “Pardon me for the interruption, Ser, but I don't believe we’ve ever met.”

The stranger turned to you, his expression quizzical, but reflecting pleasant surprise. As soon as he laid eyes on you, his brows lifted—and a brief silence passed as you took in each other’s appearances.

You were only certain once you saw the three-headed dragon brooch on his cloak.

“Cousin?” the two of you asked simultaneously.

“Seven hells, Jace, I didn't recognise you at all!” you blurted out. You then glanced at his companion for the first time. Sure enough, it was his little brother—still young, but certainly not the small child you remember. “Luke! Gods, you've grown up too! I had no idea you’d arrived!”

Jacaerys made an irritated expression that was comically familiar despite his comically unfamiliar face. “The reception to our arrival was… subdued. Not etiquette to the standard that I would have expected of the Red Keep.”

“Ah. A folly of the Queen, I'm sure.” You smiled at them both. “Forget about her. I'll give you a proper welcome after this match—take you around the old haunts and whatnot. Wildfyre will want to say hi, too.”

“Match?” Jacaerys asked, but he was quickly answered by the violent clang of steel against steel.

Jace’s noble countenance dissipated as he moved into the crowd, beckoning Luke to follow. An excited grin spread across his face as he watched the two figures sparring furiously—as if he were again a child, spectating as Ser Harwin or the other knights of the Kingsguard fought with one another. Ser Criston and Prince Aemond were in another league altogether, of course—perhaps not in skill, but in savagery. They moved viciously and lethally, not bothering to hold back. The swing of Criston's morning star carried brutal weight, but Aemond was himself a lithe weapon, his body honed for the sole purpose of killing. You were unsurprised when his blade ended up pressed against Ser Criston’s throat.

“You'll be sure to win the tourney next week, my Prince,” said Ser Criston, but Aemond did not smile.

“I don't give a shit about tourneys,” he said, and you had to hold back a snort. Perhaps not when he was younger, but he absolutely did give a shit about tourneys nowadays. Not the pageantry or the petty social trappings, of course—but the reputation. Prince Aemond would be loath to seem craven or weak before the knights of the realm, and so he had no choice but to sign up for every tourney in King's Landing and crush every opponent he met.

Your amusement wore off when you noticed Jace and Luke beside you—how tense they'd gotten, how Luke was inching behind Jace. You could not blame them. Aemond had never forgiven Luke for taking his eye, no matter how many times you counselled him to lay it aside lest his rage drive him to madness. It chilled you how he spoke of Lucerys when reminded of it.

Even now, you discerned a subtle anger in Aemond’s body—tightly controlled, but there nevertheless—as he approached.

“Nephews,” he said, “have you come to train?”

Not even a greeting, you thought. Well, he does take after his mother in some ways.

“I'm afraid we’re only here to visit today,” Jace said, and you were surprised at the clean but sharp edge to his words. You did not know he could sound so much like a prince. “We must first attend to urgent matters before we’ll have any time for leisure.”

“I wasn't aware that the Crown Prince would consider swordplay a leisurely activity,” Aemond remarked. “Those princes who are truly of fire and blood, at the very least, do not.”

Fucking hell. Not even two minutes and the bastardy talk had already started. There was fury in Jacaerys’ eyes, and you stepped in before Aemond could fuel it.

“Jacaerys must be one of the few men of fire and blood who are also capable of diplomacy,” you said dryly, “as I know you are, Aemond, when you wish it.”

Aemond gave you a careful look, seeming more amused than anything else. “I wish it when my lady does.”

You smiled, placated. “I always like diplomacy. Hospitality, too. I'll be showing Jacaerys and Lucerys around before our family meets tonight—you are free to join if you wish.”

From the way the two brothers tensed, it was obvious that Aemond was absolutely not free to join. Your cousin had the grace to decline: “Thank you for the invitation, my lady, but I will give you the space to host them. You are better suited for it than me.” He glanced at Jacaerys, and said, “Do make sure you return her to me before it gets too late. I would worry about my cousin if she were out after curfew.”

Jace gave him a look that was as curious as yours.

“You need not worry. You know I would not let any harm come to our cousin.”

Aemond hummed, giving you a meaningful glance that you completely did not understand. “I’ll look for you at dinner.”

“I’ll be… sure to find you?” you replied with uncertainty, still reeling from his words. Return her to me. Aemond left before you could ask him his intent behind the phrase—because he always spoke with intent.

Jacaerys, himself, also seemed confused. “I didn't know my uncle was courting you,” he said, and you gave him a startled, bug-eyed look.

“He isn't,” you said quickly. “Queen Alicent would sooner die than let me besmirch the reputation and honour of her son.”

The elder prince frowned. “He was certainly acting like it, getting all possessive.”

“I suppose Aemond never liked it whenever we spent time with you,” Lucerys observed, looking somewhat anxious.

“He didn’t,” you now remembered. “Don't feel too bad, Luke. He was always like that even before he lost his eye to you.” Aemond loved to monopolise your time as a child and grew sullen whenever someone else had your attention—as if you were being wrongfully taken away from him and would never be returned. Sometimes you felt like a toy being fought over, tearing at the seams. “I guess he never grew out of it.”

“Childish of him,” Jace observed, watching his uncle’s back as he readied himself for another match. “Makes me inclined to take up all of your time tonight.”

You snorted. “That’s childish of you, too. Come on, let's go—at least catch up with me before you and your uncle maim each other.”

“I wouldn't do that to him,” Jace protested.

“I know. It was only a jest,” you reassured him. But an uneasy pit grew in your stomach as you thought of the way Aemond carried himself just now—how none of that lethal violence left his body as he approached his nephews.

It struck you then that you weren't so sure if the reverse was true.

VI. THE SUN

When you were alone with Jacaerys, his presence felt oddly familiar.

It was unusual, given that the prince was so different now. He had grown, and you had expected things to be strange and stiff between the two of you, but the conversation came easily once Luke departed. Jace’s laugh was the same as you remembered. His smile was the same. He rode on dragonback with you, his arms firm around your waist and his front pressed tightly against your back, and—

—that didn't feel the same, actually. You tried not to think about how he felt against you, how he had obviously grown lean and hard with muscle. It made your stomach flutter in a way that felt suspiciously similar to your reaction to first seeing Cregan Stark at court. You concentrated on the memory of the awkward, insecure boy with whom you had grown up, whom you could have never fathomed attraction to. Jace was the heir to the throne—you absolutely could not consider him desirable.

Also, if your stomach kept twisting like that, you would surely steer your dragon wrong and make all three of you crash.

Wildfyre, at least, did not see him any differently; he allowed Jace to ride him without complaint, and once you all landed outside the Kingswood, he kept clicking and prodding at your cousin with his massive snout, making the prince chuckle.

“I think he missed me,” he said.

“I’m not surprised. You were his favourite.” You glared at your dragon. “Traitor,” you groused in Valyrian, and Wildfyre snorted in response. You sighed. “Look at that attitude!”

“I think he's quite lovely,” Jacaerys said, voice smug. Wildfire crooned, as if in agreement, and snaked his long neck around Jace’s back, rubbing against him like a cat. You gave them both a dirty look.

“Sometimes I think you claimed him behind my back,” you complained, even though you could feel the bond between yourself and Wildfyre, warm and alive like a shared heartbeat. It had been present since the day you were born, as if it had formed while you were still in the womb. Still, there was a period of time before your official claim where Wildfyre adored Jace so much that you were convinced he would abandon you.

“You know that's not true. He's like a puppy around you.” Jace patted Wildfyre’s snout fondly, and the great old lizard chuffed like a dog. You saw the resemblance. “Vermax hatched in my cradle and he’s not nearly so affectionate with me.”

“Vermax is a sweetheart.”

“To you.” The corner of Jacaerys’ mouth lifted. “Remember how he nearly roasted Aegon the one time? And he never let Aemond near him, either.”

“Dragons are influenced by the feelings of their riders,” you pointed out dryly. “Vermax only detested them because you did.”

“Perhaps.” Jace scratched Wildfyre, fingers scraping against glimmering, emerald scales. The spoiled creature rumbled in a way that nearly sounded like a purr. “Are you saying that you’re as fond of me as Wildfyre is, then?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You were glad that the two of you were alone and outside of the city. If anyone overheard you, or glimpsed your reaction, your reputation would have just been shattered forever. Worse yet, Jacaerys’ amused smile looked terribly handsome to you at that moment. You could not help but think, Well, I wouldn’t mind being pet by you either.

“I suppose your company is tolerable,” you said lamely.

Jace, of course, was not at all fooled. He turned to Wildfyre and said, in what you guessed was meant to be the Valyrian language, “We both know better, don't we?”

Wildfyre clicked in agreement, but your own reaction was not nearly so kind.

“My god, Jace,” you said, wincing. “Was that supposed to be Valyrian?”

He grimaced. “Was it that bad?”

“Terrible. What on earth is your mother teaching you? She's so fluent.”

“She never spoke Valyrian around us when we were children,” he explained, “so I never picked it up. Mostly, I learn from the maesters.”

“The maesters?” you repeated, appalled. You slipped into your native tongue, the timbre indignant: “No wonder you speak so poorly. You can't learn properly from maesters. You need to learn from someone who lives and breathes in the language!”

“There aren't many people in Westeros who do,” Jace replied in the Common Tongue. The two of you began to volley: Jacaerys in the language of Westeros, and you in the language of the old Freehold.

“Move back to the Red Keep. I'll teach you.”

“You’ve tried already. You were a poor tutor, remember?”

“You were a poor student.”

“That doesn’t change your own abilities. Could you even explain any basic grammar to me right now?”

“...you don't need to know grammar to talk.”

“No, but you need it to learn.”

“If I talk at you enough, you’ll pick it up eventually.” You gave him a mournful look, then tested his ear for your mother tongue: “However you do it, you should make more of an effort, Jace. You are a Targaryen, and a dragonlord besides. Valyrian is the language of your forefathers. How can you not know it?”

Jacaerys went quiet. “You know I have always tried,” he said, “to live up to my heritage as best as I can. I have neither Targaryen nor Velaryon features. People look at me and they see an Andal…”—he hesitated—“that is, they see a Strong. I have to show them I am more than that.”

Guilt gnawed at you. “Then I'll help you,” you said gently, in the Common Tongue this time. “Though truthfully, neither the language you speak nor the colour of your hair changes your blood.”

“Only you and Mother have ever thought so.” He looked away. “Apparently people used to think that my dragon egg wouldn't even hatch.”

You put a hand on his shoulder. “Yet it did, and every unbonded dragon responds to you. Vermax and Wildfyre can both attest to your claim and heritage.” You gave him a reassuring look. “Anyway, cheer up. You have more talent at the language than Aegon, silver hair be damned. His Valyrian is shit awful.”

Jace laughed. “Is it really so bad?”

“You’ll see during the meeting tonight. Aemond and I will force some Valyrian out of him—look forward to it.”

His smile faded. “I need to talk to you about that. The meeting, I mean.”

You made a face. “You know I don't want to speak of politics right now, Jacaerys. I'd rather talk about literally anything else, in fact.”

“It would be unwise to do so.”

“I live every day trying to be wise in matters of the court. Please let me be unrepentantly a fool for once.”

Jace gave you a sorry look. “Could I spend the rest of the day in leisure with you, I would. But it would be a disservice to you not to tell you, cousin. It is why I asked for time alone with you in the first place.”

“You wound me, Jace. I thought you asked it for you missed me.”

“Cousin.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s hear it.”

He breathed deeply. “There will be an announcement, one that involves you. In truth, the Hand said to keep the matter quiet until we could meet as a group, but I didn't think it was right, and neither did my mother. The Hightowers are trying to hide from you what Prince Daemon discovered.”

You gave him a curious look.

“What did he discover, then?”

VII. DEATH

The world felt so distant.

The Targaryens were seated around the Small Council table. King Viserys was absent, his mind addled with milk of poppy, so the Hand sat in his seat while his daughter stood at his side. As if in interrogation, you were at the other end of the table—the object of everyone’s scrutiny—clad in a neutral blue.

It was a powerplay. Jacaerys had predicted that the Hightowers would do it, and he tried to help you prepare. You had planned together what you should say, but the Stranger had stolen your words, your focus, your wits. Otto Hightower spoke and his voice sounded far away, as if your ears were stuffed with cotton. Your heavy breath and pounding heartbeat drowned out all other noise, thrumming alongside your bond with Wildfyre. It was singing with a pain to match your own, for the feelings of a dragon are always influenced by their rider—and he, too, had loved your father.

Otto kept speaking. You did not know why he was even here, really, nor Queen Alicent. Princess Rhaenys sat to your left without Lord Corlys, because this was a Targaryen matter—a grief shared only by those of fire and blood. The Hightowers were outsiders.

“...we must allow ourselves time to grieve your father,” the Hand said, “but the matter of his inheritance should be quickly settled.”

“What?” you asked, voice faint. This is what Jace said would happen, you thought. I should not be surprised.

But here you were—speechless, stupid.

The Princesses Rhaenys and Rhaenyra bristled. Prince Daemon, who sat on your right, openly scoffed. Helaena looked down, and even Aegon had the grace to keep his eyes on the table. He was feckless, a lecher, and he always quarrelled with you—but he was not cruel. He was not cut from the same cloth as his grandsire.

Even he disapproved.

Jacaerys was next to you, standing tall like a sentinel. Aemond watched from across the room, near his mother, in a shade of green so dull that it was nearly black—but green nevertheless.

Why was he not beside you instead?

“Please,” you managed to say, voice quiet. “I would like to hear the news from Prince Daemon himself.”

“As you should. This was not news that should have been delivered by a Hightower.” The Rogue Prince did not bother to hide his derision. “I was treating with the lords in Pentos, and they brought to my attention news of your father’s ship—the one that disappeared when he sailed for Lys. It came to light recently that pirates and sellswords accosted it. They sacked the ship, sank it. Then they took your father for ransom, but apparently he died not too long after from his wounds. Here is the proof.”

And sure enough, he laid before you what was unmistakably your father’s sword. It had been presented to him by the Lyseni while he was being hosted by the First Magister: a weapon from the former Valyrian colonies of Essos. Your mother had been by his side when he received it. In Westeros, she had been considered a common whore, but in Lys, she had been his beloved concubine—yes, a former bed slave, but respected nevertheless. She had thrived in the Lysene court.

You took the blade into your hands, unsheathed it halfway. It was pure Valyrian steel: ancient ore folded many times over, otherworldly hues rippling in daylight. Unlike the Valyrian swords kept by the Westerosi houses, this one had a name carved into it by a Qohori smith: Siglitanor. A word borrowed from Lysene Valyrian, a name chosen by your mother. The letters were as red as the Qartheen jewels encrusted into the guard, which was fashioned with Volantene elegance.

It was, through and through, a sword of Essosi antiquity.

For nearly ten years, you imagined that your father was somewhere in Lys, carrying this sword and speaking its language every morning, every night. Avy jorrāelan. Avy raqan. Ñuha ābrazȳrys. He would whisper these words into your mother’s ear in a courtyard somewhere, their plates filled with persimmons and mangoes and peace. He went to Lys and loved her too much to return. Yes, he abandoned you, but it was to take care of your mother, who deserved nothing less.

And now—now, this sunlit vision was turning to dust before you.

“Your Pentoshi friends—who told them this news?”

“Myrish sellswords who drank too much and bragged of their exploits. The Pentoshi thought I would like to know of their crimes against the Iron Throne and brought them before me. They're being held on Dragonstone now.” Daemon, for a moment, seemed reflective, and the sharp edge of his words softened slightly. “Your father was a skilled diplomat. It was his work that kept the Triarchy in line for so long. He died, and they soon after turned on us—and everyone else in the Narrow Sea. Pentos felt the loss of him as much as we did.”

“Yes, your father was quite the man,” the Hand agreed. “He was also skilled with his coin. He amassed great wealth in the Iron Bank, all profit from the Narrow Sea and the Free Cities. The Iron Bank was never forthcoming with information until now—they thought him alive and kept this from us—”

The coin is mine, Jacaerys coached you to say. It is my inheritance. I will go to Braavos myself and oversee the wealth. By the laws of the Realm, a daughter should inherit her father’s lands and wealth in the absence of a son.

“What happened to my mother?” you whispered instead, still staring at the sword. It shared its name with the mythical blade forged by Azor Ahai, tempered by the blood of his lover. Your mother had been a fervent follower of the Red Temple; when your father asked her to name the sword, she chose to honour her faith.

Would R’hllor really have let her die?

“Yes, your mother,” Lord Hightower said. “Your mother is gone, of course—the Iron Bank was willing to make the assumption after seeing the sword and the prisoners. And as such, yours is the only name that they have listed in ownership of your father’s coin—”

“We may speak of the Iron Bank in a moment,” you said bluntly, interrupting him. “What happened to my mother?”

Queen Alicent breathed in deeply. She clearly meant to chide you for your tone, but Prince Daemon answered before she could, himself unbothered.

“The sellswords mentioned that a woman was present,” Prince Daemon relayed. “She was saved by one of the guards, and the two of them were never caught. The sellswords did not chase them for ransom—they thought her a common whore.”

Then a whore is not such a bad thing to be, you wanted to laugh. Though you had never thought so anyway, because if your mother was a whore, then surely a whore was something to be cherished and pampered. You had always imagined her in a beautiful manse across the sea, hanging on your father’s arm. The two of them were supposed to be laughing in the sun as they drank Myrish wine and wondered how you were doing. They were supposed to be making plans to return to King’s Landing someday, to see you when they received news of your betrothal. You wrote to them everyday when you were a child, asking them what sort of man who they'd like to see you marry. You sealed the letters and asked the sailors passing through Blackwater Bay to take them to your parents in Lys. I don’t know where they are, you admitted to the seamen, but it can't be hard to find a Targaryen prince. The sailors would agree, pat your head, and give you a persimmon or a mango or an orange. You did this day after day after day—because surely your mother would reply to your letters eventually.

Surely, your mother would never forget you.

“Is she alive?” you asked.

“Perhaps. Likely not. The Narrow Sea was a brutal place before I conquered it.”

“But if she survived, where would she have gone?”

“The ship was overtaken at Bloodstone, so likely Tyrosh.”

“Not King’s Landing?”

Daemon gave you a long look. “I will warn you against any wishful thinking, girl.”

It wasn't a wish, you wanted to say. It was a promise. Your mother loved you. She wept when she was forced to leave. Someday I'll come back, she said in Lysene Valyrian, kissing you on the brow. When your grandsire is long dead, I will return and see you again—R’hllor will assure it. And until then, He will protect you.

Your father was supposed to love your mother enough to stay with her. Your mother was supposed to love you enough to someday return. But now your father was a skeleton on Bloodstone, and your mother was lost at sea.

And you—you were all alone.

“I grieve for your loss, my lady,” the Hand said. “But we must turn to the matter of the Iron Bank. That coin was grown from the wealth of the Crown, and as such, it belongs to the Crown.”

“You really have no shame,” Daemon sneered, but the Hand did not flinch.

“The animals of the Reach are plagued with sickness this year. Food has risen in price, and the smallfolk are suffering. Time is of the essence. If the Crown could find the coin to alleviate their burden…”

“The Crown has its own coffers,” you said quietly. The Hand paused, as if surprised by your resistance.

“The coffers are not limitless.”

“The coffers should be managed well enough for hard years.” Your eyes burned hot, but they still met Otto Hightower with hard steel. “If the Master of Coin has misstepped in his stewardship of the Crown’s wealth, I see no reason why I should pay for it.”

“It would not be your wealth being paid. It is wealth belonging to the Iron Throne. Everything from the coin in Braavos to the sword in your hands—”

You could not help it: a laugh escaped you. “You mean to take even my father’s sword from me?”

“It is an heirloom belonging to House Targaryen, so it should be inherited by a man of House Targaryen. Dark Sister was passed to Prince Daemon and not to Princess Rhaenys, was it not? A lady has no use for a sword.”

“An heirloom?” You could not help it—you rose to your feet and held up the blade, and it shone true in the light of the sun. Helaena and Luke visibly recoiled at the bare steel, while Jace watched you carefully. “You think this is one of the swords brought over before the Doom? You think a Mormont or a Stokeworth would have a sword like this? Tell me, Lord Hand—can you read the name engraved here?”

“There is no need, my lady, for you to lose your temper—”

“It says Siglitanor. Do you know what it means? Can you even pronounce it?”

“The name has no bearing on its owner. You are fixating on irrelevant matters, my lady. I caution you not to be so irrational. The issue at hand is the inheritance of the sword, not its name.”

“The name bears relevance to the inheritance, Lord Hand,” you ground out. “It means Lightbringer, named after the sword wielded by the Lord of Light, R’hllor.” Alicent shifted visibly at the mention of your heathen god, her brow knotting, and pressure mounted in your throat, your heart. “No Westerosi heirloom bears the name of this sword, nor its craftsmanship—you may check with the maesters yourself. The sword was a gift bestowed upon my father by the Gonfalioniere of Lys. In his absence, it belongs to my mother, and in her absence, it belongs to me.” You laughed. “You wish to gut me of everything my father left to us, with no respect to our history or our rights.”

“Your father misunderstood your rights, as do you. He represented the Iron Throne in every excursion to the Free Cities, so all wealth and treasures he acquired should be returned to the Iron Throne. And let me remind you, young lady—when the law is misunderstood or transgressed, there are consequences for the criminal.”

You stared at him, incredulous—for while the Hightowers have never loved you, they have never openly threatened you.

The words hung heavy in the air, oppressive to all. Aegon was practically withering; Jace, tenser than you'd ever seen. Aemond appeared unbothered, his expression precise in its neutrality, and this cut deeper than any words from Otto Hightower ever could.

No one dared speak until the Queen cleared her throat.

“Father,” Alicent interjected, watching you carefully. “I do not think it wise to act rashly. The lady is our kin, and we should allow her some grace. Perhaps this is best solved through a formal petition. Let us give the girl a chance to grieve, then present her case to the Throne—if she will even want to make one afterward.”

“And who will oversee the petition?” you asked carefully, trying to control your voice.

Alicent delicately replied, “I will see to it that you are given a fair trial.”

“A difficult task,” you parried, “given that the Hand has overseen most petitions in the past half year while the King has been abed with illness.”

The Hand finally showed his displeasure, his tone severe when he said, “The Queen, in her grace, is offering you a means to avoid punishment for the theft of Crown wealth. It would do you well to show some gratitude.”

You tried desperately to suppress the strangled noise in your throat. Someone touched your shoulder. You glanced to your side; Jacaerys was looking at you, his dark eyes as calm as stone and earth, and you breathed deeply, the knot in your chest untangling some.

“Of course,” you finally replied. “Thank you, my Queen, for giving me the chance to defend myself from these accusations. I shall accept your proposal.”

Alicent nodded. “We find ourselves right now in grief and high passions as we mourn the loss of your father, but we will need time and prudence as we settle this dilemma he left.”

You nearly laughed. Grief is your excuse? you wanted to spit, for it was clear to you—and likely most people in the room—what was going on.

Only Prince Daemon had the nerve to voice it.

“Do you need time to settle this dilemma,” he asked, “or time to regroup? Clearly, you thought the girl would yield to your demands today while you blindsided her with grief. It appears you now need a new strategy.”

The Queen’s jaw ticked. “Good-brother, you misunderstand me. Inheritance law is complex and often at odds with compassion. It would be cruel to wrest away her father’s belongings from her”—Alicent glanced at your sword—“but at the same time, the laws of the Realm must be respected.”

“Fuck the law,” Prince Daemon snapped. “My idiot cousin got himself killed at sea and his sword was acquired by force. It belonged to the sellswords for years before I acquired it by way of gift. It now belongs to me”—you gave him a watery, furious look, but it soon dissipated, replaced by surprise—“and it is now my decision that it should belong to my cousin’s daughter.”

You stared at him, uncomprehending. Mollified. Daemon spoke then in Pentoshi Valyrian—not so different from Lysene Valyrian, but inscrutable to speakers of the Dead Valyrian taught in Westeros: “Viserys and I grew up alongside your father. We knew him well. He would have wanted Lightbringer to go to you—not these vultures.”

Daemon switched back into the Common Tongue as he took his leave, pale eyes cold on Otto Hightower.

“I will see you again during my niece’s petition, Lord Hand.”

VIII. KING OF CUPS, REVERSED

You did not go to dinner that night.

After the meeting in the Small Council room, you could not wait to get away from your family—Targaryens, Velaryons, Hightowers, and all. You kept yourself poised as you excused yourself, but you broke into a run as soon as you were out of sight, your father’s sword grasped tightly in your hand.

You knew it was a childish thing to do, to run away to Blackwater Bay and cry your eyes out. It was nearly as childish as the way you had just spiralled and crashed and burned in front of the Hightowers in that room, living up to every judgement placed upon you. A heathen who worshipped the wrong kind of god. A perpetual foreigner. The pathetic daughter of a lost whore and a dead prince—someone of such little social consequence that the Hand saw you as easy prey for your coin.

In the back of your mind, there was a growing list of things you meant to do to fix it all. You needed to ask Prince Daemon what rhetoric Otto Hightower was likely to bring up during the petition, for no one had politically jousted with that man more than he. You needed to steal all the ledgers of your father’s ventures in the Free Cities before Tyland Lannister could think of having them confiscated. Perhaps you should even appeal to Princess Rhaenyra for her aid, since her husband was going to be supporting your petition.

Most importantly, you had to think of how to maintain your standing with Queen Alicent while fighting for your inheritance. It would not do to win your petition now only to be met later with harm.

It was a long, intimidating list. You knew you should go back to the Red Keep and attend to it. But now the sun was getting low, a violent blood orange in a dimming sky, and you were still weeping bitterly on the rocky shore. You thought of all the passing ships you'd watched from this spot, all the persimmons and mangoes you cradled in your hands as you hoped your letters would reach your parents. Telling yourself that one day your father would return, and your mother not too long after.

You didn't even know why you were still in this fucking castle if your parents would never come back.

Prince Aegon found you like this: wailing into your arms, cussing out the Seven, cussing out the Iron Throne, cussing out Otto Hightower, shivering because the light was low and now you were getting cold.

“Hello, dear cousin,” he greeted, slurring. He made his way toward you, stumbling through the rising tide before stepping onto the rock you were seated upon. He reeked so badly of Arbor wine that you stopped crying just to wrinkle your nose.

“Gods,” you said, revolted, as he sat down beside you and threw an arm around your shoulders. The last thing you needed was his grimy hands on your ass, which seemed to be their favourite spot to rest. “Get away from me, Aegon. I'm in no mood to humour you today.”

Aegon was so drunk that he yielded instantly when you pushed him: he yelped and tumbled onto his side, landing in a puddle of seawater and weeds. You would feel bad for him if you, too, weren't covered in the stuff—the tide had grown high and now your feet were soaked in it.

“I came to comfort you, and this is how you thank me?” Aegon whined.

“Since when have I ever wanted your comfort?”

“Since you are now in need of it,” Aegon said. He pointed at you. “You are in a miserable state.”

“Thank you for your astute observation, my prince.”

“Don't be so cold. Let me console you. Or if you won't let me console you, at least join me in my cups”—he held out a wineskin, which you suspected was nearly empty anyway—“and we can toast your father.”

“Keep my father’s name out of your fucking mouth,” you spat. “Is this your way of taunting me, Aegon? Rubbing salt in the wound that your grandsire and mother just left?”

“Gods, no. You think I wanted any of that to happen? You were not the only person who ran away as soon as that meeting ended, cousin.” Aegon uprighted himself, his knees knocking against yours. You did not push him away this time. “My grandsire—he’s not a very kind man, is he? And as for Mother… well, you know how she is. You are not the first person to be on the receiving end of either of their… machinations.”

“Are you trying to console me? Because it feels more like I’m meant to be consoling you.”

“I would not be opposed if you did,” he wheedled.

“Well, I'm not going to. Go away, Aegon.” You squinted at him. “How did you even know where to find me?”

“My dear brother was worried about your absence at dinner, and only grew more fretful when the Strong bastards said they had not seen you either. He was nearly in tears, sniffling pretty like the Maiden, when he begged me to help him find you.”

Despite yourself, you guffawed at the image that Aegon had just conjured up.

“He said you'd either be feeling sorry for yourself in the dragonpit or you'd be feeling sorry for yourself by Blackwater Bay. I did not feel like wading through dragon dung, so I chose to look here while Aemond combs the tunnels.”

“Well, you've found me. Now you may go.”

“How am I to leave such a sorrowful, beautiful maiden alone?”

“Quite easily, actually. I may throw you into the sea if you don't.”

“No matter—I will swim back to you.”

“With the state you're in? Ser, you will drown, and I will be accused of murder.”

Aegon shrugged, opening his wineskin and taking a deep draught. “That's all well and fine. I'll be free then of the Red Keep, and you would walk away scot-free. You would not be found guilty—simply request a trial by combat, and my brother would be your champion. He will surely slay any foe who challenges you.”

You gave him a curious look. “Aemond told you of our private joke?”

“Err, no? I just think it’s quite obvious the man would kill for you.” Aegon gave you a confused look. “My brother makes jokes?”

“Yes,” you replied, but then you thought more about it. “No. It’s more like I make japes, and he smiles stiffly, and at times he humours me.”

“Ah, that sounds more like him.” Aegon took another swig of wine. “He’s always been a mirthless lad. I've no doubt you will be solely responsible for any joy in your union when it is formalised. Speaking of which, why has my mother not yet announced a wedding feast for the two of you? Surely she cannot mean to let you give birth to a bastard. She may not love you, but she would not disgrace you either.”

You put your face into your hands. “I cannot do this today, Aegon. Leave me. You may report back to your brother and let him know that I'm feeling sorry for myself out here.”

“No, my lady, I told you—I cannot simply leave.”

You gritted your teeth. “Why not?”

Aegon flailed wildly, wine swishing in his hand. “What if you walk into the sea while I'm gone? I would never recover from it. No, cousin, I will keep you safe until my brother emerges from the dung pit.”

“How chivalrous of you. I will not be drowning myself any time soon, though—I must first face your grandsire in that petition.” You quieted at the thought. Aegon’s buffoonery had distracted you for a fleeting moment, but now you were thinking once more of all the dread and the grief and the fury. “Seven hells. Give me that.”

Aegon smiled at you as you snatched the wineskin from him.

“See, my lady? There is nothing that a drink cannot fix.”

You snorted. “Will it fix this inheritance business for me?”

“I mean for it to fix mine.” Aegon began to pick the seaweed out from his breeches. “Perhaps if I drink myself blind often enough, my mother will disinherit me. Then Rhaenyra and her bastards can sit themselves on that blasted chair and I'll be able to live in peace.”

You were so wrung out that, for once, you could not find it in yourself to dance around the topic of high treason. “The Hightowers will never let you get away from the Iron Throne,” you said plainly. “They’ll never be secure unless you are suffering in that chair. Or your brother, if I should first drown you.”

“Please, cousin. Don't make me beg.”

A laugh escaped you despite yourself. Aegon did not bother to hold back his own amusement, giggling openly.

“You know,” Aegon said, after his chuckles died down, “it may not be an option for me, but you could do it.”

You raised a brow. “What? Throw myself into the sea?”

“No, no! No drowning on my watch!” Aegon threw a piece of seaweed at you in reprimand, which you dodged. “I mean to say—you can run. Fly away on dragonback. Go to Braavos and get all your coin. Exile yourself in Lys and spend the rest of your life in decadence. God knows”—he groaned, sounding wistful—“it is what I would do.”

You considered his words. You had always stayed here for your father, and for your lack of coin and supporters. But your father was now dead, and you had so much coin that you had no need for supporters. “I suppose I could.”

“You'd need to go now,” Aegon said. “I would not tell a soul. Not even my brother.”

“Why help me?” you asked him, suspicious. The two of you had never been all that friendly. Close, perhaps, in the way that non-stop quarrelling would make two siblings close—but not friendly.

Aegon shrugged, as if unsure himself.

“Perhaps the day will come when I will wish to go to Lys and enjoy all the beautiful women there, far from the throne,” he slurred, “and when I do, I shall call on my dearest cousin to host me.”

“Surely, brother, you would not disgrace your sister-wife like that,” a third voice interjected. You and Aegon nearly jumped, seawater splashing around your feet. When you turned around, you saw Aemond—smelling strongly of brimstone and smoke, but not dung, you were glad to notice. He did not seem nearly so happy, giving you a long, severe look. “You were not at dinner.”

It all came back, then—the green tunic, the place next to his mother, his unreadable expression as he watched your humiliation in that council room. The memory robbed you of all your mirth.

“My apologies, Prince Aemond,” you said bitterly. “I lost my appetite when I learned of my father’s death and your grandsire’s machinations to steal his wealth.”

Aemond did not reply immediately. Aegon loudly cleared his throat, then somehow got onto his feet. He swayed from the wine and stumbled in the darkness of nightfall, but managed to walk away nevertheless.

“Well, now that you have each other’s company,” he announced, “I shall take my leave. Take care not to let our cousin walk into the sea, brother. It would break my heart.”

“You tried to walk into the sea?” Aemond asked sharply, and you sighed, tired.

“No, Aemond. It was only a jape. A bad one.”

“Hm. My brother does have a poor sense of humour.”

Aemond offered you a hand, and you studied it warily. When you did not take it, he finally said, “I did not know what my mother and grandsire planned to do in that meeting. The news of your father’s death was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you.” A pause. “Though I would wager you had warning and counsel from the blacks.”

“Jace warned me because he cares about me. I did not receive help from Rhaenyra's faction—do you really think I would care to involve myself in petty spats over the throne?”

Aemond hummed. “I know my nephew has great love for you, but it was not him to whom I was referring.”

A blinding, hot flash of anger rendered you speechless for a moment—how dare Aemond drag succession politics into this? But the rage quickly passed, giving way to clarity. For it must have been a great sum that your father had in the Iron Bank, if Otto Hightower desired it. And if it was great enough for him to seek, then it was also great enough for Princess Rhaenyra to do the same.

Aemond watched as you pondered this, your eyes dropping to your soaking, seaweed-ridden feet.

“Fine. You're right. But why didn't you come to my side once you realised what was happening?” you asked quietly. “During that meeting, I mean.”

“It would not have helped you.”

Yes, it would have, you wanted to cry, I'd have felt better for it. But Aemond was too smart and too serious to entertain such childish notions: you knew he was speaking in purely strategic terms.

“No,” you admitted, “but it would not have hurt, either.”

“Alicent cares greatly about the appearance of unity among our family. Were I to break it, she would cease to trust me, and it would be that much harder for me to help you.”

“And how would you help me?”

“What would you want to be helped with?”

You looked up at him balefully. The money, the inheritance laws, the petition—there was no way that Aemond could do anything about any of it, not without alienating his mother. You had half a mind to ask him to throw you into the sea after all, but based on his earlier reaction, he would likely lock you up in your room if you made such a jape.

With nothing else in mind, you simply said, “I don't want to give up this sword.”

He arched his brow. “Is that all?”

“Yes. Well—no.” You brought a hand to your temple. “It’s more complicated than that. I do want to give up this sword, eventually. But to someone worthy of it.”

You stared at Lightbringer, trying to imagine it in someone else’s hands. Hands that did not belong to your father, but someone who loved you as much as he.

Laughable, as the Hightowers would never let you marry for love.

“Here is what I think, Aemond,” you started. “If this petition works out in my favour, all of my suitors will suddenly be from houses allied with your mother’s faction. I will be made to marry a lord who is in Otto Hightower’s pocket, and he will inherit my father’s sword—and all of that coin in Braavos, too.”

Aemond considered it. “It is fair speculation. You do know how my grandsire thinks.”

“Well, I was raised by his daughter.” When Aemond did not argue with you, you bleakly asked him, “What should I do, then? When I am married to a man who intends only to steal from me, on behalf of the Hand?”

“You could always pray for your lord husband to fall off his horse. I would make sure to prove your innocence after the tragedy.”

You stared at him, as gobsmacked as Aegon was earlier. “Aemond, did you just tell a joke?”

“Would it bring you any comfort if I said no?”

You made a noise that was something between a laugh and a sob. When Aemond offered you his hand again, you took it—standing with his help, shivering as your body was exposed to the night wind. A cloak smelling of smoke and ash was placed on your shoulders, and you gratefully accepted it.

“You no longer wish to marry,” he guessed, watching you fumble with his mantle.

“I wish to marry someone of my choosing.” You found that no words in the Common Tongue could quite capture your anguish, so you relied on your Valyrian: “I did not mind the idea of being used by your family, so long as I could live safely. But I cannot bear the thought of anyone using what once belonged to my father. It is”—your voice broke, but you did not cry—“all I have left of him and my mother.”

“I understand,” Aemond replied, his Valyrian soft, lacking its usual cunning edge. “Focus on your petition for now. Worry not about your betrothal. I will handle it.”

You closed your eyes. You had no idea what he could do, but you trusted him. Aemond was brutally efficient in matters of court and power; you could rely on him.

“Alright,” you said. “I shall count on you.”

The nighttime breeze swept your body again; you shivered, still wrestling with the cloak. Aemond evidently tired of watching you struggle; he brought up his hands and straightened the mantle out for you.

“Are you really thinking of leaving?” he murmured. You blinked, not understanding. “You and my brother—you spoke of leaving for the Free Cities.”

You gave Aemond a long look. His expression was inscrutable, but certainly not happy. There are few people in this world who would worry about me, he had said not long ago. And you had told him, not long after: Just know that you can always write to me, no matter how far away I am.

If you left for Lys, that would no longer be true. You imagined Aemond alone at court, dealing with whatever designs his mother and grandsire had, with only his drunk brother and strange sister for allies—and you, an entire sea away, missing every letter the sailors were meant to give you.

“I could not,” you confessed. “Even if I tried, I think I would eventually have no choice but to return to you.”

He hummed. “Good. I fear I would not have been as kind as my brother in conspiring for your escape. You might have found yourself in trouble with me.”

“Another jest from you?” you remarked. “What a strange day this has been.”

Aemond’s mouth curled, but he did not reply. He merely fastened his cloak of ash around you until it was tight around your neck. And for a moment, in the strange and unreliable light of the moon, his smile looked almost unsettling.

END PART II

notes: oh god this chapter was so long now that I'm looking at it posted as one piece (versus ao3 where I split it up). you are truly my ride or die if you read all that. but anyway, below are some notes to help clarify parts of this chapter in case you are confused-

clarifying ages:

There's 2-3 year gap between the reader and Aemond/Jace

Jace in the first scene is initially 10, and you are 13 (text refers to you as “nearly a woman” since it was ye olde times, but you were really both kids)

In the present day, the characters are all in their late teens/early 20s.

timeline and other notes:

This chapter (and story overall) diverged slightly from show canon; Corlys Velaryon has not yet gotten injured so the Driftmark succession petition has not happened. This is still the blacks’ return to court for the first time in years though, hence why some of the events played out similarly to that episode.

Jace feels a little more mature in this chapter than he did in the end of S1 (he is closer to how he behaves in S2), and that is because of two things: (1) he is aged up slightly so he is naturally more mature; (2) I thought he was hotter in S2 and wanted to write about that version of him instead lol

[dontaskmemybias]

Needy

Pairing: Non Idol!Lee Felix x afab reader Request: Yes Theme: First Time. Established Relationship. Contains: Oral sex (f and m), Protected sex, cursing. Word Count: 2,514 Note: MINORS DNI!!! This is a work of fiction and does not portray any of the members irl. Sorry this took so long! I had friends in town then it was my birthday and yeah long story short I've been running around like crazy. I hope you enjoy!

_

It had been a month since you and Felix had started dating. Everything was amazing, the cuddles, the brownies he would bake you, and the cute kisses he would place all over your face. Felix always made sure you were comfortable with him, you felt like you could really tell him anything, so you told him everything.

Felix knew you were a virgin when you had started dating and he never teased you or made you feel pressured about it, always the gentleman. You had had some heated make out sessions before always initiated by him, but he never pushed it too far. You realized that if you were going to go past that it would be you who had to initiate it.

After a month of dating and a long time before that as friends you decided you were ready. You wanted to have sex with Felix. You had read your fair share of smut and watched porn and whatnot but you were still nervous and not exactly sure how to start it all, so you decided to take your favorite tropes and try them out.

That night you picked out a movie for the two of you to watch (there were some racy scenes you'd hoped would get him going) then you would invite him to spend the night and wear your most revealing nightgown (you had bought it for this occasion but you planned on saying it was 'the only thing you had clean') and then while cuddling in bed you would 'accidentally' rub against him.

The whole plan was perfect really, that was until your smoking hot boyfriend walked in in a pair of grey sweatpants and a tight fitted tank top, his silver hair messily pulled away from his face in a ponytail. You probably looked like a cartoon with your jaw on the floor and drool coming down your chin. Felix just smiled at you like he always did and came into your apartment. Once he was inside and took his shoes off he came over and gave you a tight hug.

"Hello gorgeous." His deep voice drifted into your ear and you shivered. You hoped he would just think you were cold. But Felix wasn't an idiot, he knew exactly what he was doing. He had found your fanfic account where you had read all your smut. He found the note in your phone with a list of your favorite tropes titled 'plan to lose my v-card' (who makes a note for that?!?) So he knew what you had planned for the night, why else would he come over in boy lingerie (grey sweatpants for heavens sake)

He pulled back and pecked your lips lightly, a tiny almost inaudible whimper left you when he pulled away from you.

"Are you hungry? I brought takeout." He looked back at you, frozen in place. You just smiled and nodded, your arousal gathering in your panties. You almost lost it and told him you were hungry for him but you had made a plan and damn it you were going to follow through.

~✨~

You and Felix had eaten dinner and now it was on to phase one of your plan: The movie. The movie was funny, a classic rom-com, but it did have quite a few steamy scenes that you'd hoped Felix would get worked up over.

What you had failed to think about was the fact that you would also get worked up.

It was the second steamy scene of the movie that really had gotten to you. You and Felix were cuddled up on the couch, your head on his shoulder with his hand on your thigh, drawing patterns mindlessly as you both watched the movie. You had your arms wrapped around Felix's middle and your feet tucked underneath you.

The scene that was unfolding on the screen had your face red and your arousal leaking into your panties. The girl on screen was bent over a desk, being pounded into from behind. The man lifted her by her neck until she was flush with his chest and he started rubbing circles onto her clit. This was your biggest fantasy playing out right in front of you and it took everything in you not to press your thighs together.

You didn't notice but your breathing had become a bit heavier, Felix's hand on your thigh gripped a little bit tighter.

Felix had been stealing glances at you through the whole movie but during this scene he couldn't take his eyes off of you. He saw the blush form on your cheeks, your breathing getting heavy, he knew you were thoroughly enjoying the scene.

It was as if your hands had a mind of their own. You didn't mean to move but before you knew it you had brought your hands down and under Felix's shirt, now softly caressing his bare skin.

"Someone is enjoying the movie I see." You snapped your head to face your boyfriend who was devilishly grinning down at you. It took you a second to realize that you were no longer touching a shirt but bare skin under your hands. Your blush deepened as you jumped back and started stammering out an apology.

"Where do you think you're going little one?" Felix moved so he was now towering over you, his hands placed on either side of your head. "Is someone feeling a bit needy?"

Oh god. Fuck the plan. This new side of Felix was doing something to you and if you wanted him before it was nothing compared to how much you wanted him now.

"Maybe." You said it softly, almost a whisper. He was close enough that he heard you but he wanted to have a little fun.

"Sorry beautiful I didn't quite catch that." He leaned in so he was less than an inch from your face now, you could feel his hot breath on your cheeks when he spoke. "You'll have to speak up princess."

A shiver ran through you as you tried to find your voice.

"Yes." Felix wanted to tease you more, he really did, but he was just as needy as you. He thought maybe you had wanted to wait a bit longer to be intimate with him so he had been holding himself back, but after finding the note? The private fanfic account? Not to mention seeing you so hot and bothered and needy for him? God it made his cock throb.

He crashed his lips onto yours and you let out a shameless moan when his hands began to wander. You were shaking with nerves and excitement. Felix felt and pulled back from you, a soft hand came to cup your cheek.

"You okay? You're shaking, am I moving too fast?" Felix's eyes were filled with worry and your heart filled with love for the freckled boy. You reached up and cupped his cheek.

"No, I'm just excited, and maybe a bit nervous?" He smiled warmly down at you and ran his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

"Don't be nervous baby, I'll go slow and walk you through it. How does that sound?" You smiled and nodded your head. Felix leaned down and kissed your nose before sitting up and pulling you with him. He pulled you into his lap and wrapped his arms around you. Then he stood up and carried you to your bedroom where he laid you down on the bed. "Let me know if you want to stop or need a break okay princess?" You smiled and nodded.

Felix leaned down and kissed your lips, then he moved over to you neck kissing and biting until you were squirming under him. He pulled at the hem of your shirt. "May I take this off?"

"Yes 'Lix please." He slowly pulled your shirt off and stared for a brief moment before he went back to work placing kisses all down your chest. His kisses got lower until he was at the hem of your pants. He looked up at you placing one more kiss before hooking his fingers in your pants. "What about these?" He asked, his breath hot on your skin.

"Please." Your voice was a whisper but he had heard you loud and clear. He took his time pulling your pants down and once they were off he ran his hands up and down your bare thighs.

"You are so fucking beautiful Y/N. You have no idea." Before you could speak Felix lowered himself so he was within inches of your clothed core. He took a deep inhale through his nose. "You smell so fucking good too, can I taste?" He said while playing with the lace on the hem of your underwear.

"Yes 'Lixxie please, take me." He smiled before pulling down your panties, taking less time than he had with your pants. You supposed he was also feeling needy at this point.

Every thought left you when he licked a fat stripe up your bare pussy, humming at the taste of you.

"Fuck princess you taste incredible, better than I had imagined." After that he dove in. He wanted to make your first time memorable and enjoyable so he took his time, noting anything that made you cry out louder and doing it over and over again. Your hand came down to gently tug at his hair, your way of telling him he was doing a good job. Felix ate you out like it was his job, making sure you were enjoying it.

" 'Lix fuck I-I'm gonna cum." You moaned out. His efforts doubled as he sent you headfirst into bliss. Licking and sucking you through your orgasm Felix didn't stop until you pulled his hair a little tighter. He finally detached from you and you pulled him up to slam your lips into his.

"Fuck baby the noises you make, I almost lost it down there." Felix looked almost as fucked out as you with his messy hair from you tugging at it.

" 'Lix I need to feel you, please, I want you so bad." You whined at him. Your begging almost made him lose it but he got his shit together again, this was your first time and he wanted to give you everything an more. You leaned over and pulled a condom out of you nightstand, Felix took it from you and placed it between your teeth.

"Hold that for a second baby." It wasn't until he stood up that you realized he still had all his clothes on. He stripped his shirt off and tossed it on the ground then locked eyes with you as he started undoing his belt buckle.

"I'm going to treat you so well baby, just like my princess deserves." He said while pulling his pants down and kicking them across the room. Now standing before you in just his boxers you could fully see the prominent tent he had been pitching since he first tasted you. Your eyes locked onto the little wet patch of precum that was staining the fabric of his boxers as he slowly started to pull them down.

You had seen dicks before in porn but seeing Felix's cock spring free from his boxers was something else entirely. You felt excited and nervous but mostly you felt happy. Giving yourself to Felix felt right.

Felix came back to the bed and held your chin up so the edge of the condom wrapper stayed in your mouth. He tugged and ripped the package open then slid it onto his length.

"Are you ready princess?"

"More than ready 'Lixxie." He smiled and led you to lay back on the bed. He lined himself up with your entrance with one hand and intertwined your fingers with his on the other.

'Tell me if you need me to stop okay baby?" You nodded your head and he leaned down and pecked your lips.

He slowly pushed into you and you moaned at the sensation. You were so wet from cumming earlier that he slid in easily. You remembered friends telling you that their first times hurt but this didn't hurt that much (you attributed it to your dildo thanking your past self for the purchase)

Felix slowly pushed in until he bottomed out and gave you a minute to adjust. "Fuck princess, so tight, so warm." He all but groaned into your neck.

"You can move now 'Lixxie, please move." You moaned. Felix didn't need to be told twice. He started slowly, still holding your hand, his other wrapped around your waist. He began to pick up speed and your moans got louder. You could feel your high approaching again as he rocked into you and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he continued to make you feel good.

"Are you okay princess?" Felix noticed your tears and slowed down his movements.

"Yes, just f-feels so -fuck-fucking good 'Lixxie please don't s-stop." you cried out. When he was assured that these were good tears he picked up his pace again, slamming his hips into yours. You were gasping, whining, moaning, trying to tell him how good it felt but you couldn't find the words. When his hand moved from your waist to your clit you knew you wouldn't last long.

"FUCK 'LIX cum- I'm cum-" You couldn't finish your sentence because your second orgasm of the night came barreling into you and you let out the loudest moan of the night. Felix fucked you through it and your clenching walls almost sent him over the edge but he kept it together for you. Once your legs stopped spasming his hips started to faulter.

"Princess I'm close where do you want me?" As if that was a question, you had thought about this for days now.

"My mouth 'Lix, wanna taste you."

He groaned and pulled out of you and pulled the condom off. You opened your mouth and he laid the tip of his dick on your tongue. He started jerking himself but to his surprise you swatted his hand away and too his length into your mouth, jerking what you couldn't fit with your hand.

"Fucking hell princess look at you, sucking my dick s-so -fuck- so fucking well. Look so good with my cock in your mouth." You hummed around him and he let out a low moan.

"S-shit princess I'm cumming!" He groaned and then you felt his warm cum coating the inside of your mouth. You sucked a but more until he was done and then pulled off with a pop. Felix looked down at you and you smirked mischievously before opening your mouth and showing him his load. Felix's eyes went wide when a little bit spilled out of your mouth and onto your tits before you closed your mouth, swallowed, and opened it again to show him you had taken it all.

"Jesus Christ baby where did you learn that?" His face was beet red now and you giggled a bit.

"I read about it."

[scarletwinterxx]

your beginning and middle and end - mark lee imagine

hello🥺 sooo this one is a bit longer than my usual posts. think of it as a valentine special. i loved writing this one, i hope you like it too🤍

if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

FEBRUARY 09, 10AM

"That's the fourth date you declined, girl valentines is around the corner" Yun-jin tells you the moment the other guy walked away

"Genuine question, do I need a guy to celebrate it or do I even need to celebrate it?"

"If Valentines has a version of the grinch it would be you"

You laugh at her statement, reading over the small note that was given to you along with a single rose. It was cute, you appreciate the thought but you really didn't want to go out with the dude. You'd rather let them down now than pretend to have fun during a date.

"It's just not my thing" you tell her

"Then what's your thing? Tell me and I will personally look for him"

Looks like luck is on your side because you spot the big clock behind her, your next class about to start.

"Once I know, I'll tell you. I'm gonna be late. Bye" you gather your stuff and rushed out the hall, you can hear her protests making you laugh on your way out.

When you got to your next class, the other students are just arriving. A lot of vacant seats, you choose the one in the middle. You get your notes and laptop out to skim over your notes from the last session.

"Another one?" you hear someone say from behind you making you look up

"Yep, want to read it?" you chuckle, passing the rose over to Mark.

Mark Lee, the boy you sit next to class with. You see him enough around campus to get acquainted. He's friendly, known by many, a poet by heart. And he's also well aware of the failed confessions to you.

The first time you brought a flower to class he didn't say anything, the second time he thought it was from the same person but then the third time it happened right in front of him. He witnessed how you gently turned down the poor lad who was asking you out after handing you a rose.

Mark takes his usual seat beside you before reading the note

"You and Me, on v? huh like Valentines?" he laughs, holding the little card in his hand

"I'd give it a 4 out of 10"

"Ouch, so the lowest one then. I'd say my favorite is still the one about cats" he tells you, passing the rose back to you

Do you like cats? Because I’d like you to take meowt

You remember that one too. You thought it was cringey, but Mark smiled when he read it. You even let him keep the card.

"Do you still have it?" you ask "The card? Oh yea, I drew like little cats all over it. I'm sure it's somewhere in my bag"

"Why? Planning to use it on someone?"

"Yeah right, I think I'd have a bit more game than that" he jokes

"Ha, we'll see about that" you snorted. Missing the way Mark is looking at you with small grin on his face. Trying to be as inconspicuous as he could be.

The two of you might be on good terms but he wouldn't put it past you to reject him too. Since he got to know you, one thing he learned about you is that you're always so sure of yourself. To you, no is a full sentence. You like what you like and say no to what you don't. You're unapologetically you and he likes that.

He's not sure yet whether he likes you or likes you.

"Earth to Mark?" you wave your hand in front of his face, making him break out of his thoughts

"Lost you there, where'd you go" you joke

"Was just thinking about this paper I have due on Tuesday" he says, it's not a total lie. He does have a paper he needs to finish before Valentines day.

"Need help? I have a few works to catch up on too"

"You don't have plans?" he asks, it's like asking if you have a date on Valentines without asking if you have a date on Valentines day.

"Not really no, and if I'm being honest I heard this guy planning to ask about dinner and I'd rather not..."

"Am I... the getaway car?" You chuckle at his question

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but if I could avoid it I would. So library or the cafe near campus?"

He looks at you like he's weighing his options, playfully hitting him on the arm making the guy laugh "Cafe it is, I'll see you there?" he says

"It's a date" you grin at him

FEBRUARY 12, 11AM

"It's not"

"You said she said it was" Jungwoo says, looking at Mark who is currently trying to find something to wear. After that little moment with you, Mark made sure to clear up his schedule for that day. Ofcourse Jungwoo being the nosy bestfriend didn't let it pass without making Mark tell the whole story.

"Also if this wasn't a date, why are you freaking out about what to wear? You're just going to study, are you going to study her?"

Mark throws the hoodie at Jungwoo's face before looking through his closet again, "Maybe it was just a slip of tongue. It's Y/N, she rejects everyone who asks her out" Mark says while his head is buried deep in his closet

Jungwoo rolls his eyes at his bestfriend, Mark swears he doesn't like you like that and yet here he is. He only met you a couple of time, Mark introduced you before when he went to give Mark a book he forgot to bring.

"I can think of something else you want her tongue to slip in" he mumbles, "Shut up, don't talk about her like that" Mark stands up straight, looking at the other guy. Jungwoo holds his hands up, "Sorry"

Mark gives him another glare before getting a hoodie inside his closet, "Whatever, I'll just wear this. Should I bring an extra one just in case?"

"Just in case what? You spill something?" Jungwoo jokes

In case she gets cold, Mark thinks to himself.

"Just cause" Mark grumbles, walking back to his closet to get another hoodie then stuffing it inside his backpack.

"You're going to be late, go have fun at your not a date date"

About an hour after that, Mark is waiting for you at the cafe. He got there first and sent you a quick text. After a few minutes, the door chimed making Mark look up.

And that's when you walk in, a bouquet of blue tulips in your grasp. You look around, quickly spotting Mark. You make your way towards him, Mark stands up to pull the chair out for you. Saying a quick thank you then you set your stuff down.

"Sorry I'm late"

"Nah, I'm just early" he tells you, "You uh the guy caught you?" he jokes, pointing at flowers

"Oh these? No, I got them actually like I bought it this morning. Yun-jin forgot to buy milk so I had to go out this morning then I saw these. Here" then you're handing the flowers over to him

When you notice the confused look on his face, you giggle. This made Mark look more confused at what's happening, "What? No one ever gave you flowers?" you joke

"No, it's suppose to be the other way 'round?" he asks but accepts it nonetheless

You shrug, getting your stuff out

"I don't like flowers, main reason why I always say no to those dudes. I appreciate the effort, I do but it's not my style. But I remember you said these are your favorite during our class introductions, so I got them for you" you smile at him, he smiles back.

"Thanks, no like really thank you" he says, this made you chuckle finding the situation cute.

"Okay, back to business. I do have like three agendas to finish today" you tell him, gesturing at the small stack of papers on the table

"I'll buy you a chocolate cupcake if you finish it all" he offers, your face lighting up at the mention of the sweet treat. Mark also remembers something about you during that class intro.

Actually he remembers everything about you and that day. The professor asked everyone to say their name along with two random facts about themselves.

"Hi everyone my name is Y/N, I love chocolate cupcakes and I can recite the graduation speech from Twilight"

That earned a few laughs from the class, and from him. You really did leave an impression on him. As days, weeks and months passed by the two of you got acquainted.

If someone asks (mainly Jungwoo) Mark when was the exact moment he felt different about you, he can't pinpoint the exact moment. It just sort of happened for him. Maybe from all the small gestures you unknowingly do, or how it's easy to talk to you. You just get him.

"Can you make it two?" tilting your head to the side for effect, making Mark laugh and nod his head "You got it"

A few hours later, and a few cups of coffee the two of you finally finish. Mark actually finished his paper an hour ago but you weren't done with the last module you had to do,

"Are you done? Am I making you wait?" you ask, noticing he stopped doing anything and was just looking at you

"Huh? Oh uh yea, but don't worry about it. I can wait" he tells you with a smile

"You sure? I'm almost done"

"Don't rush it, I'll still buy you the cupcakes" he tells you, you shoot him a smile before going back to work. Meanwhile Mark goes to the front of the store to get you your cupcakes.

You didn't even notice he stood up, focusing on saving the file before sending the final file to your professor.

"And done! Mark?" you look up only to find the seat infront of you empty. You spot him over the counter, choosing to wait and tidy your things in the mean time.

"Hey, you done?" he asks when he got back to your table

"Mhm, finally. Sorry for taking up your whole afternoon"

"No worries, I finished my work too and I enjoyed your company. And as promised, here's your cupcakes" Mark then opens the box, he might as well presented you with a pot of gold with the way you're grinning from ear to ear. Your joy radiating, making him smile too.

"For me?" you asked, he nods his head

"These are the chocolate ones, I got two. The others are their best sellers, then this one I just thought you might like" he points at the cupcake with heart sprinkles on it.

You laugh, getting the box from him "Okay fine, I believe you. You definitely how to make a girl say yes"

He shakes his head, suddenly feeling shy "Believe me I'm not an expert when it comes to girls" he mumbles

"No, but you got this type of vibe about you you know" you tell him, getting one cupcake from the box

"What vibe?"

"You know like someone could've been in love with you for ten years without you knowing, a classic case of unrequited love but not in a mean way you just don't really know. It's the way you see the world, it's always nice, forgiving, full of chances. You see meaning even in little things. You got this boyish charm about you, the kind that girls would pick over their fictional boyfriends. You're better than any guy written by anyone" you tell him not noticing the way he's just staring at you

"I follow you on your socials, it's cute when you take pictures of the moon or the sky. Makes me remember to take a breath and be in the moment every once in a while"

He don't say anything, still processing what you said. He has never heard himself be described that way, atleast not to his face but he doubts anyone can be as eloquent as you.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally finds his voice, you nod at him

"Why do you say no to all the boys who ask you out? besides the cringey one liners and flowers"

You chuckle, "Because I know me. All of them would've just ended one way or another. I know what I want, what I like. I like a guy I can have an actual conversation with from philosophical point of views to something so random. Someone that makes it feel easy to talk and listen to"

"Do you know how hard it is to control my expression when I'm in public? Yun-jin said my face is too judgy" you jokingly add "I'm an open book if you know how to read it exactly, if that makes sense"

"No, I totally get it. You're not complicated or hard to get, they just don't know how to. You deserve more effort than that" he tells you

"See, that's what I'm talking about. If you keep on doing that I'm gonna be the one asking you out" you tease him, the guy across you laughing. Trying to hide his blushing cheeks and fluttering heart.

The two of you talked some more before he offered to walk you home. It's almost sunset when Mark got back to his place,

"And he's back, how was the date?" Jungwoo shouts from somewhere inside. Mark spots him lounging on the couch, taking a seat beside him with the bouquet of flowers on his lap

"You got rejected too?" Jungwoo asks and Mark just shakes head

"Did you forget to give it? Got too shy? I'm pretty sure you're suppose to give it to the girl not take it back home"

"I didn't get it, I mean I got it but I got it from her. She bought me these" Mark clarifies, taking the bouquet to look at it again,

Jungwoo looks back and forth between Mark and the flowers, "Let me get this straight, the girl whose notorious for turning down guys who gives her flowers gave you flowers on your not a date date?"

Mark just stares back at his bestfriend because honestly it doesn't make sense to him too.

"Homegirl got more game than you" Jungwoo says with a chuckle

"She said she remembered I said these were my favorite. I mentioned it once during freshmen orientation week and she remembered"

"Oh my god, he's in love" Jungwoo laughs

"And you know, I gave her cupcakes and she got so happy I actually thought about signing up for baking classes" Mark grumbles, setting the flowers on the coffee table before taking a thrown pillow to bury his face in.

Jungwoo watches his bestfriend realized what he's known for a while now. Mark likes you. He just never said it. It's Mark. He thinks everyone is nice, most time he overlooks the nice gestures of other girls to him thinking it's normal when in reality they were trying to get his attention.

"Oh. This must be serious then. You don't even know how to cook"

"Yeah I know! Like I know I like her, I didn't know I like her." it felt surreal finally admitting it out loud.

"So you do like her? like like her"

"I think?"

"It's a yes or no"

"No, I don't"

"You got him flowers"

Meanwhile back at your dorm, Yun-jin is also interrogating you. You just finished giving her a recap of your day, she was half listening half watching her show when you suddenly mentioned you got flowers for Mark

"Just because I got him flowers don't mean I like him, I just remembered it was his favorite" you shrug, trying to not make a big deal out of it.

"What's my favorite flower?" she asks, you blink back at her coming up with a blank answer

"See! Oh my gosh, my baby girl is growing up" she dramatically hugs you

"Was that weird? That I gave him flowers?"

"No, it's the 21st century. Guys can get flowers too"

"He got me cupcakes too" you mumble, looking at the box on the table.

Yun-jin watches you, smiling to herself. She's with you twenty four seven and she's never seen you like this. There are a few times she's seen you on campus with Mark, you always smile whenever he's around. Choosing not to push further, she gives the topic a rest and changing it to something else

"So what are you doing for valentines? because if you're free I know this dude who's free also-" "Actually Mark and I are hanging out again" you cut her off

"You're spending valentines with Mark?"

"Yea, so uhm actually I'm gonna call it a night. I have classes in the morning, we're meeting again around lunch. Night" then you're making a beeline towards your bedroom.

FEBRUARY 14, 10AM

Come Valentines day. Yun-jin thinks you're out with Mark while the boy is completely unaware he's being mentioned.

Choosing a place you know Yun-jin won't find you, you stayed at the farthest lounge area after class. Most students won't even walk all the way here since it's a long way going back and forth.

Finding a spot to sit on, you spot someone sitting alone on one the benches

"Mark?"

The boy looks up, immediately smiling when he sees it's you

"Hey, you. What are you doing here?" he asks, getting his stuff from the seat beside him to make room for you. Putting your stuff on the table before taking the seat beside him

"I just finished for the day, and currently hiding from Yun-jin"

He chuckles, "Why?"

"She's trying to set me up with a blind date so I pretended I had plans" leaving out the part he was mentioned

"You don't have plans?" he asks, giving himself a pat on the back for not sounding too nervous

You shake your head, "I have something to say though, I might have told her I had plans... with you"

Mark just looks at you, feeling shy under his gaze you look away.

"With me?"

"Yea, sorry. You don't have to stay though if you have plans don't worry about it. Go enjoy your valentines day" you told him a bit too energetic than you intended.

Then he smiles, Mark smiles at you like he's keeping a secret he can't wait to tell.

"What?"

"I don't have plans, I was going to ask if you had plans yesterday but I didn't want to overstep"

"What do you mean? You're just asking" you smile back at him, "Did you think I was going to say no like always? Oh my gosh I swear I'm not as heartless. I wasn't-"

"No no no, of course I didn't think that. I mean I don't think you're heartless" he pauses to collect his thought because right now words are flying out faster than he can think of them.

And if he got one chance at this, he'll make sure to do it right the first time.

Then you start speaking again, surprising Mark once again with your words

"Yun-jin said I smile a lot when I'm with you, now that I think about it I think I do. It's just you're easy to be with, and I feel relaxed like I can talk to you about anything and you listen. It's also so fun to listen to your stories, especially when you get this animated look on your face. And when you laugh before you can even say the joke. Am I rambling, sorry I'm rambling"

He takes your hand, holding it in his. Testing the waters to see how you'll react. When you don't pull away, he gets a card out from his notebook. Then he hands it over to you,

Today we are obliged to be romantic And think of yet another Valentine. We know the rules, and we are both pedantic. Today’s the day we have to be romantic. Our love is old and sure, not new and frantic. You know I’m yours, and I know you are mine. And saying that has made me feel romantic, My dearest love, my darling valentine.

You read the note carefully, a smile slowly forming on your face while Mark watches you. When the thinks you finish it, he speaks up

"I read that, and I thought about you. You're worth more than a one liner, more than a single flower. You deserve poems to be written about you, gardens to walk through with the prettiest flowers"

You playfully hit him, reading the card again before putting it in your bag for safe keeping

"I love it, thank you. Now I feel bad I got you nothing"

"It's okay, I didn't even know I was going to give it to you. I was ready to just hide it in my bag for the rest of time" he admits

"Why? It's so nice though"

"Yea but I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable"

"I appreciate it really. Out of all the notes I received, I'll keep this one"

At that he smiles.

Like how the story began, with one liner notes and a single flower, who knew you'd find a friend and now something more. Mark is someone you didn't expect you'd have something romantic with especially since you're not really looking for it but it makes sense that you'd end up with him. He makes your days brighter, it's like he bring everything that is good into your world.

When you said he's the kind of guy who beats every fictional character, it's true because he gave you something better than a fairytale; a reality worth living in.

And yes spoiler, you do end up with him. The story ends with you and him. Spending all of your valentines together.

end.

[blacklegsanjiii]

Ohhh!!! I hadn’t known about the vivre card.. that’s so good. Them slowly learning emotions is just as interesting.

I can only imagine 124ji get told to be careful around Sanji as early as possible because once they start roughhousing, it’s stuff that can break his bones no sweat, and they kind of need a framework to not crack their brother in half by accident. But they internalize it a little too hard. All they take away is that Sanji is FRAIL in general, and the idea that they are fundamentally different. Not in a negative way, but they start clinging to him and stopping him from doing things because they don’t have a gauge for what’s safe for him, just that they three are a lot tougher than him and thus they extrapolate They should be the ones doing things. When they’re very young it’s not for any particular reason, they haven’t really gotten there in terms of learning empathy. So it’s for some stupid reason, like them having come in a set of four and it being kind of awkward if they lost their third.

Sora and Mihawk have a hell of a time trying to correct that behavior because that wasn’t what they wanted the kids to take from it at all, but at least it’s better than the alternative, and eventually they get it to stop for a while… up until they start learning some emotions and identifying the ones they have, even if they’re muted.

They figure out they love their brother. They love the rest of their family, too, but they’ve never been presented to them as frail the way Sanji was. So they start doing the clinging again because they figured out that with this realization that they love him, the idea of ever losing him or having him be out of commission just becomes unsettling and uncomfortable. And this time Sanji is the one who gets them to stop— he wants to be independent, damnit!

By the time they’re adults it’s mostly gone away, but it’s an old habits die hard thing. There’s all these little movements and gestures they do when Sanji’s around that indicate they want to, but they’re holding themselves back. They get that their brother is now strong, maybe even as strong as them even if he doesn’t have an exoskeleton, and he’s competent and happy and does things on his own no issue, but the instinct remains.

(ALSO SORRY THIS ASK IS SO LONG!!! I’m a writer in my own right, and your stuff inspires me a bunch at times -v-)’’ )

NO PLEASE THAT MEANS SO MUCH DON"T APOLOGIZE!!! I AM SO FUCKING HONORED???

So 124ji, for as long as they can remember being corrected from climbing on Sanji or hitting him or kicking him. Sanji cries when they do it but they don't. They don't get it for the first few explanations that Sanji is softer than them, not as sturdy. So 124ji are confused because why is Sanji so frail? They're all the same! Except Sanji has a picture like Mama and Papa but his isn't colorful. It's pretty though! So they start internalizing Sanji being frail and fragile. So they start not letting Sanji do things. If they hear any chastisements from their parents they don't let Sanji do those things anymore. Cracking eggs with Papa? Nope! Climbing to sit on the back of the chair or whatever? Not allowed! They're a set and you can't break the set!

Sora and Mihawk are staring at them in amusement but also knowing they fucked up with the corrections because they won't let Sanji be independent. The little blond is suddenly at the back of the line the kids travel in. He's not allowed to be in the water because he might drown, despite the fact they can all drown-bath time is such a struggle now. It was only because Sanji had waded a tad to deep on the beach without him or Sora or Reiju and now the three of them are telling Sanji he can't take a bath and Sanji is getting upset and looking at Mihawk with teary eyes. So Mihawk bathes those three, drops them off with Sora and Reiju and then bathes Sanji because lord have mercy he has four boys and Reiju's just as bad.

They do eventually correct the corrections so Sanji can be wild and free and cook. It took a while but they're lovely kids, really. They swear. They have their challenges but it's good. Mihawk never thought he would have a family this big so it's nice and he has Sora, something else he never thought he would be able to say. The fact that some nights Mihawk and Sora are pulled into the library with all the blankets and pillows the kids can find and a fort made big enough for them all.

And when they're older and learning emotions? They learn they love their brother and fall back into old habits. Especially when they learn that Sanji is the only one of them with a soulmate. So they have to protect him if someone out there is going to love their brother as much as they do. They all doubt Sanji's soulmate will BUT the point remains! So they fall back into their old habits, if Sanji gets sick they're the ones taking care of him. Any knicks, or cuts or scrapes or anything they bandage. It's almost like they're developing anxiety over but Sanji keeps insisting he can take care of himself. He starts refusing their help and being coddled by them. So they start letting him and living with that unsettling feeling but as they get older it gets less and less, easier to deal with. Sanji knows they love him, even if he is different.

When Sanji goes to work and then joins the crew and it's nice to breathe and fight and have equal matches to him and Sanji loves his Nakama he does. Eventually though, probably post timeskip. The crew is astonished at Mihawk because he's so fundamentally different with five kids and a soulmark he doesn't hide. 124ji are all over their brother as Reiju watches softly and points it out to their mom. They're being good when Zoro and Sanji fight and Luffy flings himself into the blond. Half steps taken then back tracked, jolts of hands that can't decide where to be. The brothers have worked hard okay? They know he's capable and have read the news.

Then the tips of Sanji's soulmark peak above the collar of his shirt, and Niji, loving Niji, sees it's not just an outline but can't tell if it's greyed out or not demands Sanji to take his shirt off so they can see. They're back to being all over the cook as the crew watches.

[aizawaskittenwhore]

august first—r. braun

summary: you fuck reiner as a birthday gift. that’s pretty much it.

notes/content warnings: rough sex, facefucking, degradation, choking, some angst cause relationships are messy, unprotected p in v sex cause we raw dog over here, armin is a sweetheart and eren needs to go to bed, i think i covered everything but let me know if i missed anythin!

this was meant to be a birthday piece for rei 😔*stares in september * to be completely honest i have zero idea how long this ended up being but it’s been taking up space in my drafts and i kinda freestyled it so enjoy sexies <3

the floor is sticky with liquor, limestone tiles splotched with little islands of red as reiner’s body meets it, it’s surface tacky beneath his flushed skin. his head lolls back against the dial of his dishwasher, seeming to relish in the surrounding moment. the apartment is quiet with the din of murmured voices, gentle rustling of keys , someone slipping on a jacket, a faint “who’s riding with jean?” uttered from one of the many intoxicated partygoers; as for who , he does not know.

all reiner is aware of is the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears, body warm with the coat of whiskey, the glow of his solar return pervading the sallows of his face from the previous year’s torment; as if filling a once-deflated balloon with air yet again.

confetti has woven itself into the carpet, solo cups littering the surrounding dining room, a cake still sits on the table, half-eaten. “happy birthday reiner” it read, for a total of ten minutes. only reiner’s name remains due to your insistence that the birthday boy should get to eat his own name, and in pure self-adoring leo fashion, he co-signed.

and there his name sits, beneath its hard plastic shell as his gifts are sprawled around, some big, some small; though reiner had insisted that presents weren’t necessary by any means, you all came together to at least get him a few things to remember the day by. and what a day it had been. he was grateful. and so, so drunk.

his body suddenly takes a dive to the right—he had failed to realize his passive swaying from side to side and lost his balance—his face finds itself directly in your lap, nose mere inches away from knocking over a rather tall bottle of grey goose lingering not too far from your current position. you’re not much better than he is, face flushed and your smile dazed, as you begin to card your fingers through his hair, seemingly unaffected by his sudden landing.

“hey, we’re gonna head out.” armin says, footsteps lightly sticking with every step he takes further into the kitchen. he grimaces at the noise, but says nothing, in favor of checking on the pair of you. yet before he can utter the words “are you guys alright?” a hefty grip on armin’s wrist from the stockier blond sends armin to his knees, discombobulating the shorter man momentarily before he was met with a fierce hug.

“thank you..for coming.” reiner had been struggling to properly pronounce his syllables since the fourth round of tequila shots with eren, but those four words were the most coherent he’d been all night. the sentiment wasn’t lost on armin, and he returned the embrace, even if his lungs felt the slightest bit compressed the longer they hugged. “n-no problem!” armin pats his back thrice and shifts his gaze to you once reiner pulls away and nestles into your lap yet again. “would you like a ride home? you and sasha live not too far from each other, so it’s on our way.” he offers, so thoughtful as always. you begin to nod your head, thinking of the throbbing sensation that’ll soon swim within your temples, your lack of a change of clothes, along with numerous other things—

“i don’t mind if you stay..” reiner mumbles, a hand swirling patterns into your thigh. “never have, you used to sleep over all the time. i still got your toothbrush, s’ in my bathroom” he’s drunk, there’s no nuance , it sounds so scandalous when he says it like that and yet your heart picks up when he says your toothbrush is still in your space in his bathroom. you contemplate his words, given that it’s two minutes shy of one am (from what you can make out via a blurred glance at the microwave), and it is rather late..

armin surveys the two of you with a knowing glance, choosing to once again say nothing. he’s always been one for reading between the lines, clearly there’s some unspoken tension between you and the birthday boy, a history even. “n-not like that.” you laugh, pulse quickening as you try to divert armin’s attention from reiner’s hand attempting to work its way up your thigh, minuscule movements of his hand feeling like leaps and bounds over your already heated skin. “there was a time where i was going through some shit, so reiner let me hang here for a little while. it’s not nearly as..uh..intimate as it sounds.” your voice is low, your head leaned towards armin.

“i don’t mind sleeping here though. it’s one in the morning, and you’ve already gotta take sasha and eren’s drunk ass home. i’ll be good here.” a smile, and a gentle hand on armin’s shoulder is enough for him to leave you with reiner for the night.

“text me if you need anything, okay?”

mikasa‘s jacket and eren’s vomit crusted dress shirt clink amongst armin’s keys as he makes his way to the door (the shirt is tied in a plastic bag, he’s not a psycho).

‘maybe the mad dog jello shots were a bit much’, you think, saying your goodbyes to everyone as they stumble down the remainder of the driveway, jean corralling each person into their designated cars, and silently regretting his decision to double up with armin tonight to drive. it doesn’t help that he’s shoeless, considering eren yacked all over those too. it’s not funny, but it is, and you laugh as the door clicks behind you.

parties have a very poignant atmosphere.

they fill the space and somehow suck the air out of it once it’s over. but what you feel right now has nothing to do with the party and everything to do with the tension between you and reiner. who seems to have disappeared from his spot on the kitchen floor and made his way to the shower, leaving behind a trail of clothes in his wake. his loft is spacious, open floor plans met with a man’s taste in furniture (which equates to the bare minimum, sadly) and sumptuous windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. it’s one way glass, can’t see in but you can see out, rather convenient considering reiner had a very bad habit of never wanting to wear clothes around the house. case and point, the calvin klein boxers strewn across his floor. ‘jesus, even when he’s drunk he’s a slob.’ you think, grimacing as you reach for them in an attempt to chuck them into the nearby hamper—

“sorry for the mess.” he mutters, stepping out of shower as a plume of steam clings to the nearby mirror. towel hanging from his waist, hair slick with water. the scent of his soap and deodorant envelop you as he walks past, rifling through his dresser in an attempt to find clothes for the both of you. from the quick glance at his figure you’d allowed yourself, you quickly deduce that reiner finally made good on that crossfit membership he’d been blabbing about for the last three months. he was always handsome, always with a body that looked like it was carved from stone but the torso you’re looking at (and shouldn’t be) has gotten a major upgrade. ‘this is a bad idea’ you think to yourself, wondering how you allowed a spur of the moment decision lead you back into a bedroom you swore you’d never step foot in again.

you weren’t lying to armin when you said that the conditions of you staying with reiner weren’t romantic, that part was true; but the last time you were in this house, this room, things weren’t exactly…platonic.

“i found these, pretty sure you forgot em when you were leaving.”

a grey t-shirt and a pair of panties plop onto the bed where you sit, and you cringe upon the realization that you’d even left anything here to begin with. he offers you a pair of his sweatpants to help preserve your dignity, but you decline, knowing there’s no way they’d fit you.

“you remember where the towels are, yeah?”

you nod. third door to the left, past the coffee maker.

“cool. use whatever’s in there, i don’t care. i’ll be in the living room, so if you need somethin’ just yell.”

you give him a thumbs up as you disappear into the bathroom, the humidity mimicking the haziness of your mind as it begins to wander, your hands slippery with soap as you run the cloth over the curve of your hip, the same way he did that night.

“fuckkkk.” the sight before you is delicious, blonde burrowing it’s way between your thighs as reiner tongues your clit; a man starved. lust has taken over the bedroom, coiling around the two of you and winding so tight you feel as though you might burst, but if this is what it feels like to be consumed, you don’t mind one bit. he’s rutting against the bed desperately, your moans sending him into a frenzy; his mouth pools with your essence and he can barely contain himself. he adds his ring and middle finger to the equation, sensing you need more, just the slightest bit extra to bring you to paradise and you keen with pleasure.

“don’t stop..m’ gonna cum..” you’re shaking now, thighs shuddering around his ears and your pulse begins to throb so hard you can feel it in your temples, each wave of dopamine crashing over you, into you; you’ve never gotten head like that before. trust, you’d remember if you had. his tongue wanders in the mess you’ve made between your legs, and his face is no exception. your slick glistens in the cropped cut of his facial hair, and before you can utter a word of embarrassment, his tongue is giving you a taste of what he’d worked so hard to pull from you. the kiss is filthy, lips slotted together with strings of saliva; they break like bubbles when you pull away for air.

“shit!” lost in reverie, you’d failed to notice the increasing temperature of the shower water until it scalds your skin, shocking you back to the present moment. soft linen wraps around your body, soothing the harsh burn, legs still shining with droplets as you towel off, noting that you smell just like reiner does; but you’d rather not ride that train of thought. you make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water, brow raising as you realize his slice of cake is missing.

“the fuck?”

“what’s wrong?” floats from the living room.

“the hell happened to your cake?” you peer around the corner, and find the answer to your question stuffing his face. “nevermind.” you laugh, taking a seat on the couch, a cushion separating the both of you. he gestures with his left hand, offering a fork full; you take it, given that you’re both still not sober and this slice of sponge cake is the closest thing you’ve had to food in the last few hours. buttercream icing coats the roof of your mouth and you moan in sheer joy.

“oh my god.”

“right? shits’ so good” reiner mumbles, already on his last bite. his eyes are closed in bliss and you can’t help but feel jealous, you ache to be the cause of his expression rather than some slice of confectionery. little do you know, when your head turns, his eyes rake up the expanse of your bare thighs, resolve crumbling little by little. you’re beautiful, beyond it. he fights the urge to caress you and settles for a loaded question:

“why’d you say that to armin?”

“say what?” you respond. you’re avoiding his gaze intentionally, you know exactly what he’s asking about, this just isn’t the time.

“that it ‘wasn’t like that’ when i said you could stay the night.” the fork clatters against the cardboard of the cake box, filling the silence for a second, but it does nothing to ease the awkwardness of this interaction. “because it’s the truth? i didn’t start staying here so we could be fuck buddies—“

“—but that’s what happened, right?”

“reiner. don’t start this again.” you warn, tone firm. it’s not that you don’t want to talk about this, it’s been weighing on your heart since the night you left, but what could you say? you were running from the problems in your relationship and escaped into the arms of someone you called a friend, and very quickly that became much more than a friendship. the man your boyfriend couldn’t stand became your shoulder to cry on, and dick to ride. and in the end, everyone got hurt. you included.

“how’s galliard?” his voice seems harmless, but you sense the smugness that lies beneath.

“really? now?”

“it’s just a question.”

a pause.

“i haven’t seen him since..you know. we’ve spoken though. he seems to be doing alright, i think.” you answer. you briefly remember a photo dump he posted coming across your feed, he was in the netherlands with his brother last you heard, but that’s as much as you know. you’ve kept your distance from your ex since the fallout of your breakup, and for good reason. considering the last time you’d spoken, he’d told you that he “hopes it was worth it” and that you were dead to him.

you couldn’t be mad. if the roles were reversed, you’d have probably said the same.

the relationship (despite its relatively short run of five months) was volatile, and galliard has never had a desire to communicate with people in a way that isn’t riddled with hostility and aggression. it was the source of many arguments, and “i’m sorry” voicemails. one night you got sick of it, the pettiness, tit for tat, the pointed indirect insults in front of friends, the building of resentment every day you stayed together; so you left, needing to clear some space in your already heavy heart. a bag hurriedly packed, you’d found yourself at the door of a friend who you knew would have questions, but would never judge.

but friends don’t do the things you have done with one another.

“why did you invite me tonight?” since we’re asking loaded questions.

the text came as a surprise, a simple invitation and an address linked in a text message: ‘hey. my friends are throwing me a birthday party tonight. my house. i was wondering if you wanted to come. it’s cool if not, here’s my address tho in case you forgot it’

“i wanted to see you.”

“bullshit.” you scoff.

“why would i lie? you know how i feel about you.”

a pause.

“prove it.” the reposado speaks for you now, and you’re feeling dangerously curious to see just how far reiner will go. intoxication makes for a great truth serum, you’ve learned. he balks at your challenge, pupils shattering and reforming all at once as he attempts to snap himself out of whatever daydream he’s conjured. it has to be, there’s no way you’re sat so prettily on his couch making “fuck me” eyes, with a sliver of your panties visible beneath that thin fucking shirt. it’s a dream. has to be.

a chuckle. “you’re fuckin with me, right?” reiner’s fidgeting slightly, trying not to draw your attention to his increasing arousal.

“not even a little bit.” you’re so close he can feel your breath ghosting along his lips, a hair away from unleashing the pent up sexual tension between the both of you, but you don’t move any further. “i feel kinda bad..you invited me to your party, and i didn’t even get you a gift.” you pout.

“you can make it up to me.”

he’s finally gotten the courage to make the first move, securing both hands around your waist and tugging you into his lap. your clit pulses almost rhythmically when your lips meet, and the noises he’s making aren’t helping. “take these off.” he groans, plucking the waistband of your panties. you oblige his request, but the cool air still makes you shiver when your back hits the couch, legs spread. his eyes rake up your body, once, twice, before his middle and ring fingers take their place spreading your lips; they trace circles around your clit once they’ve spread enough of your juices around to slicken things up, but he’s just getting started. all the little gasps and cracks in your voice drive him insane, and while reiner loves to tease, he couldn’t wait any longer to taste you. locking himself between your thighs, his arms securing your legs around his head, he makes sure to hold on to your hips when he begins to suck on your clit. there’s no running for you, not when you’ve been dangling this pussy in front of him all evening. his tongue is fluid, slippery when it strokes your sensitive nub from every direction, he’s everywhere and somehow you still want more. “feels so good..don’t stop—” you beg, hips bucking into his face. he loves seeing you so fucked out, so desperate to cum all over his tongue, it only encourages him more as his fingers curl against that spot that makes your vision dip, and you gush all over his lips and jaw. your face burns with arousal and mild embarrassment, but he couldn’t be more pleased.

“can’t believe you let me eat this pussy ..and you made me watch you cum all over my face…such a slut.” he mumbles, his tongue still running laps around your clit. still throbbing, still sensitive. your body shivers and shakes with the continuous sensation, but reiner couldn’t care less. he licks and sucks with reckless abandon for a minute or two longer, before finally detaching himself from you, and giving your body reprieve. you struggle to catch your breath, your attention now drawn to the tented fabric below reiner’s torso. knowing it’s a shitty thing to think of in the current moment, you can’t help but lament at just how much thicker he is than your ex.

then again, reiner braun has never been, especially physically, average.

you splay your hands across his length as he pulls you in, neurons firing when you taste yourself on his tongue. he groans into your mouth, his eyes fluttering when you’re stroking and twisting your hand like that—

a brief disconnection of your lips forces his eyes open, but it’s worth it when he gets to sear the mental image of you spitting into his dick into his eyelids for eternity. your hand strokes the hottest noises out of him, the schlick-schlick of your motions only getting faster when filth begins to pour from his lips.

“mhm. just like that—fuck, i missed my nasty girl.”

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before. and that’s saying a lot, genuinely. your tongue winds around his tip, settling against the underside of his shaft as you descend; the remainder of his dick is in your right hand as you work him over. your efforts matter little though, as reiner has other plans for your tight, tight throat. his hand settles at the base of your neck, winding his fingers at the root of your hair, and grips. rocking you backwards and forwards, he bullies his cock into your throat, and he nearly cums when he watches your eyes well up with tears; at first you panic at the activation of your gag reflex, but your throat slowly relaxes once you realize resistance is futile.

“take it…ah, shit—just like that mama, feels so fuckin good..such a good girl when im fuckin your face” he praises through gritted teeth, pumping himself with your throat a few more times before stopping, and changing your position so that the two of you were in missionary. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you soaked whenever he’d handle you so roughly, the way your eyes would glaze over and your body would become completely pliant for him and him only. for him to be such a typically serious and quiet man, reiner was so mean, so cocky when he fucked; even teasing you for the way you whine when he puts the tip in: “what’s the matter? can’t take the real thing? i know it’s—”

he retreats, and slams back in, taking a ruthless pace. “a lot bigger than those little boys you whore around with.” he finishes with a whisper, folding your knees into your tits as he throws your legs over his shoulders. “m’ n-not a whore..” you whine, voice cracking.

“no? you haven’t seen me in three whole months, you come over for a few hours and the first thing you let me do was stretch out this tight little cunt.” he taunts, a thumb circling your clit. “y-yeah..m-missed you..missed this dick—“ you babble, eyes rolling.

“i know baby, i know, let me in, let daddy make you feel good.”

“j-just like that, fuck fuck fuck” you feel like you’re on the verge of collapse, his cock is pummeling it’s way into your stomach, his sweat is glistening in the glow of his lights and it’s taking everything in you not to beg this man to cum in you here and now. “only whores know how to take dick and still be able to beg for more.” he taunts, his little hair trick from before making an encore appearance as he forces you to watch yourself be debauched, a thick white ring forming at the base of his length like a badge of honor. he was fucking into you so fast and so deep it made you dizzy, but you were too far gone. “love when you fuck me like this’, love when you slut me out” you mumble, teetering on the edge of cumming, you’re so close you can taste it—

“fuck, you’re so fuckin’ nasty, such a good girl for me, always lettin’ me get my way.” reiner moans, a hand wrapped around your throat and a good squeeze has your vision exploding, you melt and your body goes limp, senses still firing off as he coats your insides with sticky white seed.

the aftercare is, to be real, half assed. you’re both exhausted, but reiner still makes sure you’re wiped down with a hot towel, and carries you to bed upon your insistence that you’d, quote, “love to enjoy the sleep part of being fucked to sleep”. you doze off quickly, and reiner follows suit shortly after; the both of you failing to hear reiner’s phone emit a soft ding!

eren 2:23am

you owe me that 20 dollars

your apple watch is still synced to my phone from leg day man…not judging tho. get in there soldier 🫡

[lilys0evil0twin]

.... Y/n is quite pleased with this new boyfriend of hers. He's overall sweet and kind unlike the other jerks she dated~ Now she wanted to know how he is in bed So invited him over to her house,saying she has a fun game and wanted him to play with her~ Heracles being the sweet innocent himbo he is,agreed. He probably didn't expected to be pushed onto the bed by his gf, who is wearing a sexy lingerie that made him overheat minutes ago. Y/n sitting on him just simply smirked and say:"Oh darling I'll make sure to love you fully tonight, let me give you a taste of pleasure~"

-Anon

Who's ready to destroy the innocence of this gentle mountain of a football player?! Enjoy!

Uhh please don't get confused at my constant switching of his name... I don't know myself

Warnings: smut, nothing much just Hercule losing his v-card.... Hard

Word count: 4198

School, the hell on Earth. The stress of constant exams, the lack of sleep and as Y/n says; being surrounded by morons. Every teacher thought their subject is the most important in students' life, girls fought for every cute guy, spreading lies and secrets around the school and all the guys wanted in return of playing hard to get, was to fuck and move on.

Y/n was tired of it. This highschool stereotype. This teen stereotype. So, out of boredom, she decided to claim males reputation. She became a fuck boy. Well not eternally, but you know what, why not give those bastards a taste of their own medicine. Through out the years her reputation grew, she played the popular boys, the cute chicks. Everyone were gossiping about her but she knew it all about the others. The high-class girls started to fear her, for obvious reasons. You know the song "Take your man" by Mahogany Lox?

"I can take your mans, if I want to

But lucky for you, I don't want to"

And to the male party? The ones brave enough approach her, the ones with death wish will try and flirt, the others just admired from afar....

.....

"...Heracles.."

"Heracles...?"

"HERACLES!"

The sudden loud call of his name strattled the mountain of a teen. Currently in the middle of lunch break, Heracles was sitting at his usual table with his close friends; Castor, Jack and two years younger Göll, who was more like his little sister really. Now with his attention finally focused, Heracles turned towards his friend. "What are you doing, your food's getting cold" the teen with a bob cut asked picking on his rice. With a small, confused 'hm?' Heracles looked down towards his plate "Wha- Oh, ya! Sorry I kinda got lost in thoughts" the ginger smiled, putting a mouthful of already cold marinated chicken with vegetables in his mouth. A small laugh could be heard over the voices in the cafeteria, opposite from the ginger football player.

"Come on Hercules, go talk to her~" their senior Jack laughed, seeing his friend's face go totally red. "T-Talk to who?!" whispering a chocked yell, the football player's tough facade flew out of the window. Jack only raised an eyebrow "You know who, Y/n L/n of course! The Miss unapproachable? The, sorry for the expression, Fuck girl of the school?" Heracles only mumbled something shyly, staring holes into his food. Göll giggled beside him, leaning to catch his eyes. "Don't be scared she'll definitely like you!" she said with so much enthusiasm, it was a wander how it fit into her small form.

"I'm not scared! Why would I be? Wha? Wh-what are you even implying??!"

"Oh please, you're kind, funny and handsome! A total gentleman!" Göll clapped her hands, frowning her eyebrows in determination. Hercules only blushed, buds of sweat forming on his forehead and turned towards Y/n's table over his shoulder. "Oh look now's your chance! She's talking with my sis!!" Göll pointed towards her, jumping in excitement. But Hercules hasn't moved, quickly turning to his plate head falling between his stuff shouldes. Castor leaned closer to Hercules smiling gently. "Look you should talk to her, that way it won't weight you anymore" Jack leaned back sipping his tea as Hercules took a breath.

"Aaaand you can't be a virgin forever~"

"JACK!"

Hercules could hear his friends bicker and laugh as he neared hit target. Just as he was in sight field Brunhilde smile at him in greeting. "Oh, hey Heracles" Brun's voice made Y/n turn and see who was the unlucky soul that decided to interfere in their conversation. Her e/c eyes met with sharp baby blue ones of a surprisingly tall guy. Unimpressed she raised a brow waiting for him to voice his request. The boy cleared his throat, lightly preparing himself. "I apologize for disturbance ladies, but uh," he took a pause, eyes flicking between the two girls "m-may I talk to Brunhilde for a minute please?"

Brun slowly turner her eyes away, looking towards the table Hercules left moments ago, only to meet with the excited shines of her younger sister. The girl was squeezing her tumbs so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her overjoyed form was moving around in her seat, quite opposite to the boys sitting at the same table. Both looking they're way in interested, Jack's heterochromatic eyes slightly squinting in mischief, small smirk hiding under his slowly growing mustache. Obviously getting the hint Brun smiled turning her attention back to Hercules' nervous form. Resting her cheek against her hand, she asked "Oh is it about your game today?" the glit in her eyes showed Hercules she wants him to follow her lead, so despite knowing what she's implying, he obeyed.

"Ah, um yeh.. yes" he nodded nonchalantly. Brunhilde smiled sweetly "Yes, I'll come watch" she turned to her companion "Wanna come with me?" Y/n only hummed, playing with her food. "Ya, why not. I have nothing better to do anyway" she sighed and returned to her food, not really glancing at Hercules. His eyes twinkled as his lips twitched upwards slightly. After a short moment of silence, it started to feel a little awkward.

"So um, I'll see you both there then" he smiled sheepishly turning away to leave before the lunch break finished. But before he left he heard Brun "We'll cheer for you!" Heracles only chuckled, feeling a little embarrassed.

.....

Y/n kinda wanted to check out the football game today so she'd visit anyway. But why not play hard to get? Now she was sitting beside Brunhilde on stands, watching the game unfold. It was interesting. Well not the game itself, but rather the players. I mean who wouldn't like tall, sweaty men ramming and wrestling with each other while the prettiest girls in the shortest skirts cheering them on.

Y/n was intrigued, here and there she caught the Hercules boy looking their way. Of course she couldn't tell whether he was looking at Brun or her. Brun was the friend of his after all.

Brunhilde on the other hand didn't miss those small smirks of his everytime Y/n cursed their team for losing the ball. Brun was determined, she knew this plan would work. Despite not taking part in this whole Heracless-crush-thing, those quiet desperate signals from Göll were enough to decide she'll take the matter in her own hands.

As the game ended Brun excused herself and quickly left, leaving Y/n at the stands near the entrance to the changing rooms. With a little compliance, Y/n agreed to wait for her friend.

Leaning on the wall she boredly swiped through her phone. With an irritated groan she checked the time. 'God where the hell is she?' pushing herself off the wall, about to leave not wanting to waste anymore time. Well she tried to leave, if it wasn't for the soft wall that someone placed right before her. Grunting courses under her breath, Y/n looked up meeting baby blue irises.

"Oh excuse me miss, are you alright?" Heracles stood before her, sweaty and breathing slightly unevenly. Y/n took a step back and . She must've admit, he looked quite tasty in that football uniform of his. It clung nicely to his chest and shoulders. He was tall with wide shoulders and slim waist. Long ginger hair and some kind on make-up on his face. But as her eyes slid down his abdomen, the same markings peaked from under his shirt. They were even on the same side, but other boys from their team weren't painted like that, maybe it is a tattoo?

"Uhm, m-miss?" his voice was what chaught her attention and she quickly looked to his face. Not that she was hiding that she was literally feeding on his appearance. And that pink tint on his cheeks was kinda cute. "You're surprisingly polite for a guy your age" she grumbled, crossing her arms over het chest "I like it, give me your phone" she said extending her hand. Heracles wanted to say something when Y/n mentioned his politeness, but that was quickly shut down after she asked for his phone. Honestly, his whole brain shut down. So he just stood there, like a statue.

"Hello?" Y/n raised an eyebrow "Are you still there?" Heracles only blinked. "Y-Yah uh... I-It's in my back, i-in the locker" pointing a finger behind Y/n. She turned seeing the entrance to the showers. He even pointed to the wrong direction, damn he's so cute. "Well" she faced him again "then go get it, hop hop! I don't have all day!" She clapped her hands, making him nod and particularly ran to find his bag.

After a minute, Heracles was back. Panting and fluffed up, his clothes wrinkly and hair flying all over the place. Showing his phone into Y/n's face. Y/n only chuckled at his cuteness. He was so desperate and desperately trying to hide it. So cute. She tapped in her contacts, putting a heart behind her name. Then she did the same with his contacts in her phone. Putting him under the name 'Gladiator<3'. After she departed with a wave telling Heracles to text her when he gets home. Leaving this poor boy to freeze where he was, gripping his phone a little too hard, blushing so much that if you looked close enough, you'd see steam coming from his ears.

.....

After some shy messages here and there, those two started texting each other regularly. Becoming good friends in no time. Heracles' personality was probably the main indicator, he was sweet, kind and just so easy to talk to. Good mornings and good nights were a must. Telling each other what they were doing each day, how they were etc.

Until Hercules sent this one message that changed everything.....

Gladiator<3

Hey Herc

Whatcha doin~?

Hey

Nothing much

Just thinking

Thinking?

Abt wha?

You

Y/n really didn't know if it was intentional or if he just sent it and later the meaning hit him like a train, and to be honest Heracles didn't either.

Needless to say he was frightened shitless the next day at school. He even considered not showing up, I mean..... His stomach really felt weird, like he'll throw up if he sees y/n in the hallway.

Thankfully he was able to avoid her the majority of the day, but unfortunately for him Jack took things into his own hands.

Y/n felt bad, like really bad. This guy was the only one that she felt bad for after leaving on "seen". The feeling got even worse during the day, Heracles didn't even text her good morning for God's sake!

By the time lunch arrived, Y/n was on nettles. She hoped she'll see Heracles at their table and maybe would be able to talk it out, but once there only Jack was there to meet her. Reading news on his phone, such a weird fella.

"Hi Jack" Y/n slumped into the chair beside him with a sigh. Jack only hummed at her presence, too deep in the thing he was reading. They never talked much, but we're never in uncomfortable silence, so Y/n never pressured him.

Jack put down his phone taking a sip from his tea. "He's at the gym" Y/n looked up not really getting what he was saying. "Hercules, he's in the gym. He's probably juicing his brain for ideas." Jack specified, looking Y/n into her eyes. She only stared back, not moving a muscle.

"Well? Just go" Y/n stood up and left knocking few students out of her way, leaving only her lunch to keep the company to Jack. Who just continued to drink his tea with a smile.

.....

Pacing back and forth the whole gym Hercules already lost count of how many times he circled the room. What the hell was wrong with him? How could he text her that?? Of course she left him on "seen", what was she supposed to text to that. He wouldn't be surprised if she never texted him again, if never even wanted to see him. But.... He wanted to see her...

God he's so fucking scared. What should he do?

Pulling on his ponytail Heracles groaned, head falling backwards, his eyes closed. How could Y/n call him a gladiator when he's such a coward. Heracles had his back turned to the door when they were banged open by someone. He looked over his shoulder to see who was so impatient, only to freeze in his spot.

"Y/n?"

Stunned by her sudden appearance, Heracles never experienced first hand the "speak of the devil". The poor boy was even more surprised when Y/n walked to him and hugged him. "What the fuck are you doing, huh? Ignoring me like this?" her voice was mumbled due to her face being pressed into his chest. Heracles calmed down a little and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her back. After a moment of silence Y/n spoke again, now more clearly. "I'm sorry, for not texting you back."

"I meant it"

"What?"

Hercules took a breath, straightening his back. Gathering up courage to look down at Y/n. "I like you"

"You're such a dork" Y/n laughed hitting the stressed out boy playfully.

Yep, they started dating. The play girl Y/n L/n was now in a relationship.

Those two love birds started spending more and more time together, even going as far as to have sleepovers. Y/n didn't believe Hercules was real at some moments tho, he was like from a romantic novel. Taking her on dates, bringing her flowers, listening to her ranting, even gossiping with her.

It was like a dream, Y/n may have really fallen in love. Only one last thing to do to make sure she's really about to invest into this relationship to work. She wanted him to fuck her. I mean... Can you blame her? Every time she saw him laying on the couch in his worn out tank top and sweatpants.

As time went on, Y/n was only hornier and hornier. Plus it was frustrating that even tho she did catch Hercules staring, he never crossed any lines. He only followed her lead. So why not use it to her advantage?

One evening Y/n called upon the girls meeting. She with Brunhilde and her sisters sat in a circle in her room. The problem at hand? How to seduce Y/n's boyfriend Hercules. The girls exchanged ideas:

Hrist was for Y/n to greet him wrapped up like a present, holding a paper with "For Hercules" on it. And if it didn't work then to just grab him and fuck him senseless.

Thrud was for a simple "Netflix and chill", maybe make some snacks to enjoy and just be a lil touchy and he'll surely follow.

Randgriz was too shy to say anything and the other girls just listened excitedly. Except for Alvitr that was sulking, because no one acknowledged her idea with sexy lingerie. Göll with Hlökk nearly passed out three times if it wasn't for Göndul.

And so the plan was made, with the finalizing help of Brun of course. Now it only needs to be put into action.

.....

The plan was simple, text Hercules asking him to stay at Y/n's house. This weekend was perfect because her parents went on some trip and won't be back till the next weekend.

Hercules agreed to stay of course and Y/n got to work. The first day was their usual. They lazied around the whole day and went to town in the evening. The next day however, Y/n sent Hercules shopping while she got ready.

Putting on her favorite red lingerie, ready to confront her boyfriend whenever he comes back.

.....

"H-hey" Y/n pushed Hercules on the bed. He was quick to sit up when she lowered herself before his legs, comfortably kneeling down. "W-what are y-..?" "Don't worry love, just relax and enjoy~" Y/n says seductively pulling his knees apart. With a lovestruck sigh, resting her cheek on his thigh. Her steady breaths brushed past the space of his pants, getting tighter and tighter with each exhale. Slowly unzipping his pants while maintaining eye contact with the blushing boy. First to look away was Hercules, his blush getting darker and spreading all the way from his ears to his chest. Heart drumming in his ears, banging against his ribs so hard he'd think they'll break. He didn't know where to look, it was getting so hot, where should he put his hands, what should he do?! Just as Hercules started to panic a gasp filled the room, his body shaking, mind going blank.

'Y/n! She-She's !! -' taking in a shaky breath

'She's!!'

Y/n only chuckled seeing his flustered state. She licked the under side of his manhood, following the giant vein from it's base to the head. Giving it a kiss with little kitten licks along his slit. Inching her hand towards his base, fingers slowly rubbing in circular motion. The precum rolled from his tip only to be gently licked off, twitching every time she did so. "Y-Y/n.." her e/c eyes peaked from below her long lashes with a seductive look, fire dancing behind her pupils. He couldn't look her in the eye, it was too much. Cowering his blushing face with the back of his hand, he looked away, eyebrows frowned.

"S-Stop.."

"Oh sorry for teasing you love, but you're just so cute~"

Being called cute now? Hercules pressed his lips together, only to open them in a moment letting out a relieved sigh. The warmth and wetness of Y/n's mouth enwrapped his cock. Sighing and moaning softly, Hercules closed his eyes. His tip hit the back of Y/n's throat. Hercules expected a gag from how hard the impact felt, but nothing. Only the small exhale as her nose buried in the short ginger hair, filling her lungs with his musk. This went on for some time, Hercules's moans and grunts sounded over the muffled sounds from the street.

"Y-Y/n"

"Let it out" Y/n said as her deep throat session ended, going back to licks and kisses. Stroking his length at fast pease, her mouth opened over his swollen red tip. The atlete let out a sudden loud groan reaching his big hand for her petite shoulders. "W-wait! Y/n!" She only chuckled moving her hand faster, forcing him over the edge. His hot cum shoot into her opened waiting mouth. Pulling away and sitting on his lap, Y/n swallowed the sticky, slightly salty substance, her e/c gaze meeting his blue one.

"Why did you? ... Doesn't it taste bad?" if his blush could get any darker, it did. Heracles' squinting, teary eyes barely saw his girlfriend. Y/n shaked her head, her h/c locks swinging from side to side "No, you're sweet" she reached for her face, swiping some escapee cum from the corner of her plump lips "Like a candy cane! Here!" and stuffed her seed covered finger into his mouth. His baby blue eyes widened as his shoulders shifted in surprise. Just as he wanted to protest, Y/n pulled her hand away, replacing her finger with her lips. In hopes to calm him down a little, she deepened the kiss, rubbing her tongue against his. Thankfully it did help, seeing as Hercules relaxed his shoulders, his hands unconsciously moving to rest on her hips.

Parting from the kiss to get some air, a small string of saliva hinting on the so recent kiss. Hercules, now completely relaxed, sighed resting his forehead against hers. "That ... That was weird" y/n chuckled again kneading his biceps gently. "Hmm, you'll probably like my juice more.... But I'm a little pent up so maybe later" she said as she moved from his lap. Y/n pulled up the skirt of her lingerie and pulled down her lace panties. Hercules turned his gaze to the side, being the gentleman he is. ...And not really mentally ready for what's to come.

Y/n grabbed his surprisingly still hard dick and aligned the tip with her soaking entrance as she straddled him again. "Sh-Shouldn't we use the protection?" Y/n's eyebrows flew up, her eyes meeting his in surprised gaze. Then smiling brightly hugging his neck and kissed his cheeks and lips repeatedly "That's why I love you! You're not like all the others!" Y/n hopped down and grabbed one, out of many, condoms from the drawer near the bed. Ripping the cover and slowly wrapping the condom on Hercules's manhood. Once finished she hopped on his lap once again and slowly sheathing him inside. Hercules let out a surprised hiss, eyebrows knitting together his blue eyes now tightly shut. Y/n moved her hips from side to side slightly to adjust to his length faster.

"AH, w-wai-- !!" Hercules grabbed her by her hips, stopping her movement. "Y-You're too tight!" He sighed out, resting his forehead on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her, his thighs shaking. Y/n waited for her lover to calm down again, gently rubbing his wide shoulders till she felt him move his hips upwards slightly. She pulled his face from her neck, moving his head till their eyes met. With that her lower body moved, slowly at first spreading her love juice around the thin wrap hugging Hercules's length. Hercules's hands holding Y/n's hips slid down to her ass, lifting her body effortlessly, opposite way to his thrusts. Gaining speed with every thrust, the room was filled with their mixed breathless moans and groans.

A small drop of sweat slid down his neck all the way to the pecks on his stomach. Y/n followed the drop with her eyes, feeding on the movement of his muscles with every labored breath. She was fascinated in Hercules' improvisation skills, maybe he was really just shy. Y/n moved her hands from his shoulders. One entangling with his low ponytail, slowly pulling on the band to free his ginger hair, and eventually resting her palm on the back of his neck. The other slid down his heaving chest, shifting the direction as soon as she reatched his bellybutton. Her hand gently held his on one of her butt cheeks.

"A-Are you ok?" Heracles asked breathlessly. It was hard to concentrate on more stimulants at once but her holding his hand may have meant he was doing something wrong. He needed to check. Y/n only chuckled giving him a kiss on his neck. "No, just hold on now baby" it took a second for Heracles to hear the meaning of her words. But by the time he could ask what she meant his hands released her bottom and his back hit the mattress. Her small delicate palms holding his down beside his head. With wide eyes he looked up, meeting her e/c irises. The smirk on her face was devilish. Her eyes nearly glowing in the dark.

"Hold on ok, big boy" with that she bounced on his lap with such speed and force Hercules though he'd pass out. Despite being much stronger, Hercules felt weak, literally under the command of his girlfriend. The coil in his stomach snapped before he could even register it's approach. With a quick movement of his hands he grabbed Y/n's arms and turned them both around. Now with him on top, Heracles stopped, emptying himself in the condom, hiding his head in her neck. He gasped for oxygen, tired and drained but still held himself up, not to crush Y/n with his weight. "Y-You did not.... D-did you?" he asked quietly, Y/n chuckled patting his back. "It's okey, it's your first time after all" she said with a gentle smile, Hercules moved from her neck looking at her face then down between her legs, where his cock still rested in her warmth. Blush returning to his ears he slowly pulled out, making sure to catch everything before spilling. He pondered for a second deciding what to do with it till Y/n smiled again and gently took the full condom from his hands and tied it shut, throwing it out into the bin next to get bed. Heracles' blush was constantly present as he turned Y/n to face him. He kissed her gently and lovingly. With their lips still touching he said "But I want you to feel good too"

His fingers moved between her legs. Y/n laughed and kissed just below his lips, "I love you so much" Hercules smiled "And I you" they both chuckled as Y/n palmed his hand against her womanhood, guiding his fingers.

"My lovely gladiator"

[cherubispunk]

UP IN YOUR ARMS (CHAPTER ONE) -Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: The Canary Club. Illicit. Underground. Dangerous too. But nowhere near as dangerous the affair you and Joel start there.

a note from Lucy: chapter one! I'm digging my own grave here. thats all im saying. i promise it is focused on joel and the reader later in the chapter. im just setting the scene for differnt relationships in the series.

playlist

wc: 6969 (haha lol) Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his 40s), smut. p in v sex, oral - f receiving, oral through panties, choking, groping, sexism, mentions of racism, touch starved joel, me being back on my bullshit, drinking, ,smoking, throwing fists because men are stoopid and cant talk things out, cheating on the readers part, but joel knows this and still fucks her like the horny bastad he is. *sigh*, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, ww2 references, an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged. 6969 words of unedited bullshit because im piss drunk and cant for the life of me edit.

series m.list | m.list

The jazz band was one of the finest groups in the city. ‘Only the finest for The Canary Club’, as Johnny had put it. 

Johnny Boy Finnick. 

Now he was a man. Played sports in college, muscular, strong arms that pinned you to the wall or mattress or table. Hands that shuffled playing cards with ease and had you screaming far after the night was over. Deep blue eyes and blonde hair that never fell out of place from its slicked back style. Not even after he had crushed someone's jaw under the weight of his pummeling, bloodlusting fist.  

Johnny made a name for himself bootlegging liquor, too young to fight in the first world war. Took over as The Boss of Boston. It’s how he got his name. Johnny Boy. Fresh faced but the heart of a ragged old man. Lost it all after the second world war, gained it back not long after. A killer with a bone deep yearning for blood, money, violence, and you. 

He sat in his pressed suit, legs parted as he leaned over to display his full flush to the table, flashing a killer smile when he collected the money off his right hand man and three more of his boys. You smiled from the bar, beads of your dress twinkling in the low light of the speakeasy, ready to waltz over with another old fashioned and drape yourself in his lap.

“Thanks, Henry.” You smiled at your oldest friend, taking the drink he had placed down in front of you on the bar. Henry was your age, 25. A boy from Hartford, Connecticut, grew up in Kansas, then moved here looking for work in a big city. Honest, hardworking. Sweeter than cherry pie. And his little brother Sam was just the cutest pip you'd ever seen. 

“No problem, Doll.” He teased, which deserved a roll of the eyes from you. 

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”

“This would make it…” he glanced up for a second, as if calculating within his mind, “one too many times to count.”

“Funny.” You gave him a quick bitter smile. All in good fun, clearly, for he took no offence. He just shot you a smile, running a clean rag over the bartop, collecting two glasses and wiping the rings of condensation they left upon maplewood. 

“Your man looks thirsty. Might wanna take him his drink now. Before he gets the wrong idea about me talking to ya.” You sighed, craning your head slightly to look back at Johnny who scanned the place with a scowl. It made your skin crawl the thought of his temper snapping again. Despite it, you left Henry with a playful wink his way before swanning back over, placing Johnny’s drink in front of him and a vermillon kiss to his cheek. 

Johnny sneered at the affection, wiping your lipstick stain from his cheek. All the confidence you had fell to the floor and shattered miserably. Liquid courage sloshed on the cured wood floor.

“Fuck’s sake, Doll. What you do that for?” He demanded of you, the disgust in his cruel cerulean eyes sending a chilling, agonising jolt down your spine. 

“Sorry, Johnny.” You shied away, folded your hands together, eyes on the floor.

“Ain't you gotta powder your nose or something? Go on. Piss off.” 

He was right. You’d be on soon. Drenched in the spotlight. Under the scrutinising, side cramping glare of everyone's eye. You could do with the quiet. So you shuffled off to your dressing room without a word more, holding back tears with your breath. 

In the mirror, you mourned the girl you were. Mourned the life you had before it all turned upside down. Mourned the man you fell in love with. And the monster you had no choice but to stay with. 

—

Joel was fuming. If you touched his skin you'd reel back with a scorched yelp because his blood ran hot, fast and thick under his flesh. Trust Tommy to catch himself in the web of underground crime. Always a joiner. Always a deserter too when things got heated. And who was left to untangle him from its intricate, venom snared weave? Joel ‘Gubbins’ Miller. He might as well have ‘mother to my brother’ branded on his forehead. Because that's what he was now. 

The war ended four years ago and ever since Tommy had been searching for his purpose. Preached about it round the dinner table in their grimy, mildew inhabited apartment like a preacher would his sermon. And every time it set Joel’s teeth on edge. Because he knew what came after the downfall. The pickup. 

Now, however, Joel was determined to nip this lunacy in the bud. Tear it up from the soil by the new roots. 

The Canary Club was one of the few remaining speakeasies around in Boston. To a cop it was practically a ghost of an establishment. Might as well not be there. But to a man like Joel, whose brother never stopped babbling on about the next best thing he had cooking for himself, it was as easy as pie.  

A shroud of cloud hung just above Boston’s looming buildings, teaming with the early moon to create a murky gloom over the dim city’s sin. It seemed to fill the hollow, smoggy air as they cast dark, taut shadows over the slick, grimy roads. The sky threatened rain for the third day in a row. A place that reeked of underground crime, drug rings and watered down, once bootlegged alcohol, laced with what one can only assume to be illegal too. All of that was washed down with the constant sour smell of new rain upon dirty tarmac. A city plagued and tarnished by its own rejects.The promise of work bought them in. But the lifestyle spat them back out. Chewed up and ruined by their own humanising hope.

He and his brother came in search of work. They were getting nowhere down south in Texas. On the dole and barely able to afford a loaf of bread between the two of them. Even their own mother hardly recognised her boys after the war. Said they were empty shells of men. Husks of the boys she raised. Killers. 

The woman was a pacifist at heart. And it was a trait that Joel not only saw as weak, but typical of women. Or that's what his father had socialised him into thinking. He didn't know where his father’s ideals ended and his started. As the days went by he saw more of the violence his father harboured in himself. Grimaced at the lug in the looking glass. 

Joel was no pacifist. But he didn't storm through the doors either. No gun was in hand ready to send people screaming bloody murder. That was stupid. A mistake that he knew could wind him up on the concrete in the flooded gulley with a bullet in his head where blood and water could finally mix. Instead he stole in quietly in the ambience of playing cards and a Jazz band, ordered himself a drink, and sat at the far corner of the bar where it was dimly lit. Just enough for him to see his drink and the room, but his face still remained shadowed. 

While he sipped in ponder, he took the chance to people watch. Scan the patrons for any uncanny resemblance of dear Tommy. But nothing. He seemed distracted by the careful and steady hand that polished glass after glass, though each of them were spotless before touching the rag. 

A pointless task. Some may say sisyphean. But the boy doing so knew when eyes were on him. It was a very rare occurrence if not related to his race. People of any darker colour were ogled often in these parts despite it being more accepted within the north of America. There was still divide and segregation. However, this new patron wasn't looking for Henry’s skin colour, rather contemplating how on earth a boy such as him had ended up in such a place. What connection he had to the gang. Was he like Tommy? Roped in at the side of the side of the road and choking on his remaining pride. Or in a sticky financial situation? All these questions seemed to circle like the rag in the crystal glass Henry held. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Joel asked him with an ex-smoker's voice, brow dark in the shadow. The boy looked up, eyes youthful, but they'd seen things no man should have to. 

“Henry.” He said after a beat, quick to refill Joel’s glass when it was empty besides a drop circled thin and amber in the bottom. “Yours?” Joel lifted his head, taking a sip before placing his glass back on the bartop in furrowed brow contemplation. 

“Joel.” He leaned forward on his forearms, haunched over the bar, before looking around again. “Whatcha doin’ here, Henry?” 

Henry laughed slightly, looking down at his feet before back in Joel's eyes. And what he was met with was the hollow ache of a man scarred by war. Henry’s face fell flat. 

“Working.” 

“No…I mean in Boston.”

Henry cleared his throat at the sudden, and even brash way Joel approached his question. So much that it took him a second to frown and then reply. 

“Came from Kansas. Hard for a black kid to find honest work there. Especially with a family to look out for.” His words were solemn and reflected a truth Joel knew all too well growing up down south. Even if he never lived it in his own white skin.

“You look a little young to have a kid.” 

“I don’t. I got a brother.” Joel nodded as he listened, waiting for him to go on. Which he did after a beat of silence. “Bright kid. Bright future too. He’s deaf though. Got a lot stacked against him in this world. Mom can't bring in enough to fund education for ‘im. So I stepped up.”

“No Daddy?” Joel asked and Henry shook his head. “How’d you end up here then?”

“A girl.” The look Joel gave Henry was sceptical. But the young boy was soon to put a stop to it all. “Not a girlfriend. Just a girl. We grew up in the same building. She moved up north for a life and I followed a few months later. She met a guy. A wealthy guy. And she wrote to me often of how swell Boston had been for her.”

Joel wasn't the questioning type. Neither one to beat around the bush. But Henry intrigued him. Reminded him a lot of Sarah. The challenge she had faced with the colour of her skin that he, as a white man, would never understand. He felt a guilt about it every day that flared up in the dark of night before his eyes closed for restless and futile sleep. “And this guy?”

“Him.” Henry nodded subtly over to the table of men playing cards. Poker. A game Joel knew well in the frontline and in Egypt where he fought. Him and a few others often huddled together in their own game. Nothing but the last pair of intact socks to bet on, or a single cigarette to get them through the night. Joel quit smoking the moment he got back. Knew it was something that made him unpredictable and jittery in the best of situations. “Johnny Boy Finnick. A big name in these parts.” 

Joel followed Henry’s gaze, but his attention was snagged by the unmistakable head of dark curled hair facing away from him. He knew his brother anywhere and his blood began to boil as he threw back his second drink and slammed the empty glass on the bartop. 

“Hey, man-” Henry tried, shoulders straining as he stood to attention. Joel didn't pay him any mind. Merely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before his bar stool sharied upon the varnished wood floor. He cared not for the noise. Only the feeling he would get once his closed fist met the bone on the bridge of Tommy’s nose. 

Trumpets flailed to a stop and drums failed mid blow. The room fell silent after a chorus of gasps. 

He loved his brother. Deeply. So much it caused a chasm of a rib cracking hole in his chest every time Tommy slipped up. But he saw red now it all caught up behind his lids that blinked once. That split second of not seeing and before he had a chance to second guess, he was gripping the back of tommy;s collar and wrenching him up to his feet to deliver a shiner to the face. 

Tommy staggered back, and everyone at his table stood up with the intention to harm. Yet no one but the brawling brothers fought. As he gained his footing again, he also gained his senses, recognising Joel anywhere. 

“Joel, what the fu-” He was hardly able to finish before another shooting pain split his bottom lip open and Tommy’s mouth was filled with the taste of his own bitter blood. Blood he and Joel shared and were now shedding in a futile fight of nothing but testosterone. That was enough to send the same foul blow to his kin. Joel winced, knowing the crescent of a bruise that would bloom on his cheekbone overnight. One of Tommy’s many rings sliced his skin. He felt warmth in crimson dribble from a fresh flesh wound. 

“Hey!” One loud and bellowing voice that had the power to command a whole unit of men boomed out before neither Joel or Tommy had the chance to throw another fist. It was for the better. Any more and Joel’s knuckles would have bruised purple. A colour of shame. 

It was Johnny. And his face was stoic as he stared each brother down with a burning gaze that had even Joel’s hairs stood on end at the nape of his neck. Like an army stood to attention before the first charge. Except he didn't move. Joel knew now where he stood in the food chain of this speakeasy. And it was right at the very bottom. “You!” He pointed at Tommy. Go clean yourself up.” And Tommy went as pale as a funeral sheet before nodding meekly. His face melted from shock to shame in the blink of Joel’s very eye before he grumbled something under his breath and passed Joel with a sharp clip to his shoulder. 

It's his turn now. 

At this point you'd come out to see what the commotion was for. The walls, while thick upstairs in the printer's press, were thin in the basement. And you;d heard silence and the spit of a man as his blood splattered with spit on the floor in the doorway. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doin throwin’ fists in my god damned club for?!” He roared. And Joel had to take the duration of both inhale and exhale to get his lips and tongue to work. But the scowl on his face said it all. “Huh?!” Jonny’s nostrils flared like a spanish thoroughbred bulls’. 

“That’s my brother you got workin’ for ya. I ain't havin’ him in some shady drug ring you got goin in. I aint!” 

Jonnly was no stupid man. Hr was smart. Quick minded and knew a man with balls. But Joel also knew very little. So this one time, he took the approach of calmness, and used his usual lying tongue for truth. Any other time it would she forked like Lucifer's serpent form. But now he was a man of coolness. “Right.” Johnny nodded at him, his tone was one that could soothe a ravenous bear. But with an edge as sharp as a knife. So sharp it could slice skin in one swift swoop. “Sit down.” He commanded calmly. “Let’s get you a drink.” 

With a wave of his hand a cha was pulled out. Two heavy handed brutes shoving Joel down into a chair, an old fashioned presented to him by Henry in front of him on the maplewood table. Then Johnny addressed the room gently. Set its patrons at ease. The music played its jazzy, jolly tune once more. People spoke again.And Johnny took his seat opposite Joel. 

“Look here…” The gangster waited for Joel to give him his name. Which he did. “Joel, I appreciate a strong swing as much as the next guy. But I don't appreciate it in my establishment.” Joel nodded in understanding. His temper ashamed him. How it ran hot under his skin. Fizzled white when provoked until he saw red in rage and swung. Never blindly though. He wasn't a loose cannon like the  broken soldier stereotype enforced. Just a fractured man. 

“You’re a soldier aint ya?” “Was.” Joel said gruffly. Curtly and he brewed a stare across from Johnny.

“Oh, nah.” Johnny shook his head, swirling his drink in the crystal glass, “Once a brother in arms, always a brother in arms. The war sticks with ya. You’re a soldier.” “Fine. Yeah, I'm a soldier.” 

“I know the war. I served like you. Left a boy and came back a shell of a man. Now look at me.” Joel took a moment to calculate his motive here. Johnny’s arms stretched wide with a smirk of pure pride as he gestured to the heart of his Boston crime empire. “I got money. I got birds.” He held up his glass to Joel, “I got liquor.” then leaned forward and spoke in a grave tone, "What you got?” 

Joel swallowed harshly, unable to answer because he had nothing in reality. 

“You got a job?” He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “No.”

“Figured. Hard finding work when all the women are competent enough to do it themselves. Fight for your country. End up on the streets. You don't die a hero like you thought you would. No one knows your name.” He scoffed, holding fingers up in air quotes around competent. It left a bitter taste of disgust in Joel’s mouth as the father of a daughter. Curled the edges of his tongue distastefully. Made him kiss his teeth to hold back the insult. “Well, people know my name.” Johnny paused again, the air grew thick between them and smouldered on their shoulders. He was squinting at Joel opposite him, sizing him up. Joel was rugged. A strong build and most likely a strong character too. Something Johnny could always do with having in abundance. And so when the devil's own smirk curled at his lip, Joel felt a question brewing at the very tip of his tongue. One that would change his life for better or worse. Regardless of it he declined or accepted. “And they could know yours too.”

Joel didn't want to admit it for the sake of his crumbling pride, but the man had it all. Even a good five years his junior, the man made a living for himself. Picked himself up from the dirt and used bloodshed and bodies for the foundations. 

“I could use a guy like you–”

“No.” Joel put his offer down flat before it had the chance to meet the air. 

“Hear me out.” He said calmly, and held up a hand, “A roof over your head. A steady income. A little extra dough in ya pocket?” Johnny rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the older man's face. An action to which Joel’s nostrils flared. It was embarrassing to even mull over. “Come on,” Johnny smirked. “Give it a go.” 

The southerner’s lips pursed, as if he was thinking it over. Which he was. But to what lengths would he go? Sure, Joel was conditioned in a short few months to kill. He was good at it. Mowed down men on the frontline like clockwork. And his trigger finger twitched at the thought of holding that power once more. But that didn't mean he was a man without morals. The men’s blood he;d coat his hands in had families. They were someone's son. Probably someone's husband or father. Joel knew the hollow ache loss left. The imprint of a shadow it left. The chasm ripped in your chest. Loss felt like an agonising, deep, helpless pit. But here was Johnny, throwing him a rope 

“You know, you’re right. This ain't the time to talk this over.” Johnny held his hands up and leaned back in his seat before they clapped back in his lap. Now you were at Johnny’s side once more. But the figure of Joel in his chair had something jumping in your bones. Tongue curling to taste his very words.  “Dollface here will patch you up.” 

You raised a brow, giving the two of them a dirty look. “Excuse me? Do I look like a nurse?” You shut up when Johnny glared. Swallowed your pride, and sighed inwardly. You both hated and loved the power he held over you. As much as you despised it at times, Johnny had your being wrapped around his finger like a puppeteer holds his strings. And tightly. You felt his tug at the strain in your limbs. 

“And you come back here tomorrow. We’ll talk in my office over a drink and a cigar. A good fucking drink.” 

—

Joel swallowed harshly when he saw you. Eyes, wide and decorated by dark mascara lashes, white liner on lower waterlines, face of a doll like Johnny’s nickname for you suggested. The red lipstick you had re-applied moments prior was glossy, inviting him to stumble over velvet words he would hear you speak. Lean closer so the blood red could graze the shell of his ear while you would whisper a dirty joke at him. 

He followed as you led him down a corridor off to the other side of the bar. Your dress seemed fit for hypnotising him into your bidding. Surely you were a siren who climbed the strats of a pier of the east coast and arrived here. Something about the beauty you wielded was not the everyday sort. It was the type you see women bend over backwards to achieve even a glimmer of for their man who came back after work. He could see himself now. Loosening his tie, hanging up his coat and hat. Leaving his briefcase and sanity at the door to see you in a pinafore and pin curls. Pretty gingham dress. He’d sit at the table and either be presented by you or a meal for his satiation. He’d prefer to devour the sweetness between your legs. 

Your hand in front of his face had his attention now. Fingers snapping. Nails manicured and painted the same shade as your lipstick. 

“Hey, you listening?” You asked, face set into displeasure. Joel straightened as he cleared his throat.

“What?” His tone was gruff and he mirrored your expression to you. His southern accent catching you off guard, but is intriguing. 

“I said sit down.” 

Joel looked over at the chair set at a vanity mirror you gestured to with an extended arm. The second time he had been asked to be seated. The second time he obeyed. 

You took your time to wet a washcloth in the small basin in the corner with warm water. Took the bottle of whiskey you stashed last week from the bottom of a rickety chest of drawers. Joel watched you in the mirror, eyes narrowed a fraction to make sure you were of no threat to him. He knew he could take you easily. In more ways than one. The power imbalance had his length twitching in his trousers. 

Your hands weren't gentle as you sat on the vanity between his legs. You took his stubbled chin in your grasp and jerked his head up into the light, tilting it to take a closer look at the gash. 

“Stay still.” You said curtly, holding the rag to the opening of the bottle and wetting it. You then pressed it over the pad of your finger. The initial touch made his teeth bare at you and a hiss to escape his mouth. His large wrist enclosing around yours to make you stop. “I said,” And you yanked your wrist from his hold, “stay still.” 

He did as he was told again. Silence setting his between the odd hiss from him and twitch of muscle under weathered skin. The crows feet at the side of his eyes were old. He clearly had lost his smile to something in the past. But you didn't ask, only wondered as you wiped the dried blood clean from his wound. “Fuckin grown man and you cant take a little sting of a cut.” You mumbled under your breath to yourself in amusement. Followed by a small huff of dry laugh.

“Maybe if you weren't digging your fingers into a fresh bruise I wouldn’t be wincin’.” You shot him a look and let go.

“All done.” And you held up your hands for good measure. 

“What are you doing here anyway?” You asked, tossing the rag aside and crossing your arms. He reached for the whiskey and took a large gulp, pursing his lips at the slow burn in the back of his throat. 

“None of your business.” 

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name.” He stated lowly. He was right. But you found a sick satisfaction in having any man you liked bend to your will. Answer any question you so pleased to hear the answer to. 

His bones groaned as he stood up from the chair. Your coat draped over the back of it fell to the floor and you swiftly got up to swipe it from the floor and hand it on the hook on the back of the door before pressing your back to it and facing him. Blocking his exit.  “Move.”

“Tell me your name.” You crossed your arms, jutting your chin up at him. 

“Don’t make me move you, princess.”

“Tell me your name.” 

Joel bit his tongue, the vein in his neck starting to pulse visibly under his skin that once again went hot. 

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I’m nosy.” You smiled, sarcastic and saccharine. “And i want to know the name i’ll be moaning tonight as i touch myself under the covers.” 

“Fuckin-” His jaw ticked, nostrils flared in his disdain. You kept your smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a small guttural noise from the back of his throat. A headache was starting to coil behind the strain of his eyes. “Joel.” And he looked back up at you. It still wasn't enough “Miller.” Your smile was genuine this time, just as sweet. You uncrossed your arms, standing up straight from the door to hold out your hand and give him your name in return. He rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle and swerving you. He pulled the door but you used your body weight to slam it shut with your back again. A loud slam and a creak of protest from its hinges.

“Where are you from, Joel?” 

“Is this a game to you, girl?” Joel growled. 

“Yes.” The smile you had was sly. Foxy. A  single finger ran down his chest and dared to slip just under his shirt’s collar. “I like games.”

“You don't wanna do that.” He warned, dark eyes burning you up inside from your very core. It was the look of a man’s lust that had been left untouched, unloved for quite some time now. It strained at his morality. But who were you to give up the warning and keen hand of a man who so desperately needed a release to the coiling tension of his shoulders. You saw it. Felt it in the rhythmic yet chaotic hammer of his heart against his ribs. As if it were trying with all its might not to break his own bones clean in two and lurch from its enclosure of flesh and bone. 

“And why not?” This was a devils game of chess. Careful calculated words from loose tongues and taking each other's moves in as you exhaled a counter. And oy had him three moves from checkmate. His king weak in defence, your advances stronger  by each word that fell into his eras from your red painted, enticing lips. He could feel his limbs being string up for you to pull at like a puppeteer in an advanced level of her craft. But he was no kind man. His words were even less forgiving than his disposition. 

“Because I aint a kind man. Haven't been for a long while. And I know types of things a man like me would wanna do to a pretty girl like you.” 

“I doubt it would be anything new.” You cooed, watching your finger as it traced a line lower over his buttons,  stopping at the top of his belt buckle and just shy of teasing at the growing bulge in his trousers. 

The tension between you was thicker than molasses. And it seeped through the cracks of his better judgement to the part of him that hungered for touch. That was ravenous for a single one of your fingers. 

“I don't think Johnny would like that.” 

“And I didnt like the way he spoke to me earlier.” You pouted. The way a child would when dined a sweet treat before dinnertime. 

“That aint a good reason to start an affair with me. Because when i get my grubby hands on ya there ain't no going back, doll.” 

His words were enticing you more. To have a man obsessing over your body. Your curves. Your voice singing his name as he fucked you dirtier than anyone into anything. Joel was that man now. He knew it in the very marrow of your bones that you were trouble. His new little minx. So it was no surprise when his lips crushed yours under the full weight of his sexual frustration. 

It was needy. Heated. A clashing of tongues and teeth as he pressed you with his entire simmering being into the wood of the door. His bulge grinding desperately into your thich that parted his legs. 

His tongue swiped your lower lip before drawing it back between his teeth for him to suckle on until it tingled deliciously. He was jealous with his touches. Groping your hips as the sating of your dress that crumpled to the floor. It revealed sweet sweet skin. Skin Joel wasted no time in delving in for the first damning lick. A pleasure to every sense. Sight, taste, touch, smell, sound. 

Heavy breaths were exhaled into the dewy skin of your clavicle, tongue languidly sliding over the high points of your collarbones and enclosing in a sharp suck over the skin just above your right breast. It sent a chorus of heavenly sinful, light and airy monas from your mouth and floated into his ears. His lips were chapped and weathered in contrast to the silk smooth of your skin. It was delightful. 

He went lower, got to his knees as he drank up the sense of a woman's skin for the first time in years. This was the taste of true damnation. He was past the opening of hell's gates and somehow found heaven in the parting of your thighs down the newly trodden path of your navel. 

He pressed his open mouth to your clothed cunt, tasted the seeping slick you gave him on his tongue and gluttonously inhaled your musk right at the apex of your thighs. Your fingers tangled into the curls of his messy, wind wrecked hair. Keening your hips up to press into the curve of his aquiline nose, and riding the burning in the pit of your belly starting to grow. Your head fell back against the door. Your mouth unhinged and letting out moan after sigh after mewl of his name. His face buried between the meat of your thighs as his hands gripped your asscheeks and spread them so he could push his face deeper between your folds. Your underwear drenched and ruined from your wetness and his spit while he tongued your hole through the flimsy lace. 

You pulled him back, smirked at the wreck he was with his lips sticky and shiny in the light of your dressing room. To then pull him up to your lips so you could curl your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself on him. It’s where the taste belonged. Among notes of whiskey and chewing tobacco and drugstore gum. 

His large hands pawed at your hips once more, listing you so your legs could wrap obediently round his waist. That's how it worked now. He wanted, you gave. And willingly like the sounds that fell into his motu like sweet, freshly harvested honey. Ut had the feel of money. Powerful and green like spring leaves. But with the warning of rotting when summer meets its tragic and fatal end. It was like trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb. Near impossible. The last sip of a drink that would ensure drunken and slurred movements. It took even the nest of a man his entirety to deny you, But deep down, Joel was a weak man. Strong in body, maybe mind too. But weak in soul. And he gave in with the cashing of your back against the vanity mirror. 

He had his faults. He knew that. And you did too. It had you wondering how a man like Joel loves. Did he change for his chosen lover? Or was he just as rough a callus as he was with everyone else. Would he destroy and ache and leave you wondering when your body would be at his whim next and how he would bend it to his will. Or would he let you lean into his embrace as he kissed down the column of your throat to the holy entitled epiphany between your thighs. The glisten of your hot cunt aching to be touched by anything. His everything. 

So you reached for his belt. So you undid it along with his buttons to touch his heated skin, To feel the blood flow beneath as the strain of each of his muscles. You ran a hand across his chest and he let his head fall back as a woman touched him for the first time as a man of war. A veteran.

He felt like he had been cast in gold by the sun for the first time in his life. Shed his skin for a new layer reserved just for you. As if he was thanking whatever resided up there for you. He was no believer in god, but, Jesus Christ, he was starting to believe in some form of higher power. You were proof that there was a blessing for him to steal away from the world. It was in your sound. Your taste. Your touch. It beckoned him the way your finger did, curling into the collar of his shirt to clash your lips with his and let. He had no autonomy over the moan that fell into his mouth where it festered at the back of his throat and was swallowed with a desperate and heady inhale. 

You trod roads into his skin with your touch. Ones he knew he would follow later that night in an erotomaniac’s pleasure. And you finally pulled his length free from his trousers. Your underwear was soon to follow and your slick aided the way he managed to sink so smoothly into your sopping heat. A squeeze he would commit to memory and savour like the taste of fresh and ripe fruit. Because you were. Fresh and youthful in age. Ready to be devoured to the core as a gleaning red apple would be. The very same one that even took in the garden of eden. Temptation. Fruit flesh to signify sin. 

He took his first bite out of you with a satisfying crunch. And keep devouring until there was nothing left but the remnants of your birth, ready to be resurrected, grown again in the form of a new tree. 

He stilled once he bottomed out, letting himself bask in the moment. The first time he was nestled deeply in the walls of your cunt. He heard your quiet whimpers for him to move. Felt the way your pert nipples brushed his sweat slicked skin. It was a ghost of a memory the last time he felt this. The heat of someone in the throes of intimacy. And it was all over him. It was the very air he wes starved of. The past was all paled in comparison because of the way your hips bucked pathetically to feel his thrust inside you. To get him going. No one had needed him this rawly, this undignifying before. 

A single hand clamped over your mouth, stilling your movements. He felt the tickle of your exhale against the pinky finger. 

“Stay still…” He commended with a swallowed down groan when you clenched around him, ironically repeating your words from earlier.

You looked at him. The glazed over, far away look in his eyes. His voice low and laden in a gravelly tone that came from the very back of his throat. You pulled him forward to lick it out again with your tongue when his hand fell to your throat. It gave a warning squeeze. And you once again canted your hips in protest. 

This time he moved. And it was like poetry as it hit that toe curling spot inside you. Made your eyes close in blissful ignorance of what this would do to you. YOu slick drooling from your cunt onto his shaft until it shined at his very base and dripped down his heavy balls. 

His hand squeezed your throat tighter. Had you yelling for him in a suppressed squeal. His other hand clamped around your mouth for you to moan into. Your words of praise lost on his ears, listened to by his palm instead. Every devil was fuelling this act of infidelity. This act of carnal sin you both needed. Ut unwound your bones, but had the coil in your belly cramping with each swift buck of his hips. 

You met his swift thrusts in a desperate attempt to be of use to him. Finding it hard to breathe, yet alone Your cunt spasmed delectably. Searching for a new feeling. A feeling primal and dirty as the streets of Boston. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your legs trembled while he went on, giving you something you would remember from this day forward, A sentence of being binded to him.

You were in the arms of the devil himself. St his ,ercy. Nsd nothing felt more thrilling than the pleasure that rolled at a landslide's power and pace down your spine into your core. 

Another squeeze round your throat. Another unhinged moan into his hand. He snarled, baring his teeth at you before pressing his face into the crook of your neck and biting down. Your eyes closed and painted a picture of stars. You were close to seeing angels by now and the deep ache of pleasure grappled your flesh and had goosebumps flicking up to attention over your flesh.

His chest heaved with each curl of his hips. Your exhales heavier by the second while you moaned his name like a mantra to his hand. His teeth imprinted on your back like a randhishing. A mark of the sin that was witnessed by the two of you that day. Your voice was shrill. A repeated ‘Joel! Joel! Joel!’

“Fuck, yeah, sing f’me doll. Sing f’me. Let em know who’s doin’ this to you.” He panted in vain. “Tell me.” “Feels so good–”

“Again.” He demanded. 

“Feels so good! Too good!” 

And it was. He had you burning white hot at the end of an illicit teather. You gripped his back with talons of hellbirds. Clawing at his shirt clad back. The wings of hi shoulderbales. The snake length of his spine. 

“That’s it. Tell ‘em. Tell me! Tell me in making you feel fuckin’ good.” 

“You are. Harder Joel.” His pace was like poetry. Ripped you in tow and had you displayed to him. One knee was hooked over his hunched shoulder, spine curled as his forehead pressed to yours. `The new angle had you singing like a songbird. High and melodic in tune.  Your kitten heel slipping off and clattering to the floor without a second thought. The head of his cock nipped your cervix. The lewd wet sounds of your pussy smothering him in your slick and your shared moans filled the room. Everything of you was his now. You couldn't even think of giving this up to Johnny. Yes, he fucked you dirty. But Joel fucked you like it was his sole purppose of living. Like it was what gave him life. 

You fell. You fell as soon as you hit your climax with a mewling moan that ended Joel right there and then. Coming together with heavy breaths and shaking, trembling chests. His release inside of you, strings of his come smearing you in him. Marking you for later. Well and truly ruined for any other warm body that dared to slip into your sheets. 

But falling was not the problem. Only when you hit the ground is what causes all the grief. And the look you shared once the gold haze of afterglow faded was what confirmed this. 

What have you done? How would you live without this?

[mixed-theater-faisty-tings]

I Dare You

Pairing: Jeremiah x Reader

Warnings: explicit, smut, 18+, unprotected sex, angst.

Authors Note: This is my first request written for @jeremiahxaesthetic !!! I know it took me so long to get the request up there were technical difficulties. But, I hope you enjoy the story. Anyone can find my request post below and on my blog. You can also find my Masterlist.

Requests

Masterlist

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Eli Pov

Huddled around the living room of the Fisher's summer house was not where I expected this night to go. Taylor came into town to play with Belly in the "Play it Forward" volleyball tournament and somehow managed to convince Jere and Conrad to stay home with us. Steven would've but he had to make an appearance with Shayla. "I'm gonna go get drinks and snacks Connie come help me yeah?", Jere gets up taking his brother with him. "So Eli you and Jeremy aren't like a thing right?", Taylor whispers to me. "Umm no we're just best friends kinda grew up in Boston together just never had the chance to make it out here till now.", my body subtly tenses up.

"Okay cool cause honestly, he is so fine I may just make a move on him while i'm here.", the confidence in her voice is deafening even at an indoor level of 3. "Go for it. He's a single guy who can date anyone he wants.", I want to vomit as the words leave my mouth. "Taylor you already went after Conrad don't you think it's a bit weird to go after his brother now?", Belly jumps in. "Do you want to have that conversation Cinderbelly?", a vicious tone decorated her words, and eyes glare in her best friends direction. "That was last summer and the boys and I are fine. Conrad is just a dick.", Belly rolls her eyes.

"I'm gonna leave you guys to umm..yeah.". Rushing out of the room I end up bumping in my curly-haired best friend in the kitchen. "Hey Eli everything okay?", his hands were resting on my arms sending bolt of electricity through me. "Just coming to see if you needed any help.", instinctively I pull away propping myself against the wall to keep my cool. "No I think we are all good. I even got you your favorite chips, Ruffles.", he boasts in a sing-song voice. "Well don't you just know me so well.", my words offer a pat on the back before we head back to the living room.

"Taylor, are you excited for the game tomorrow? I know Bells has been bouncing off the walls all summer.", Jeremiah asks plopping next to her but, across from me. My stomach churns at the sight, I have no reason to be jealous this is a normal sight for me to see quite literally. Parties, at school, even when we just go to the mall they drawn to him like moths to light not that I blame them. Jeremiah Fisher is the light at the end of the tunnel, always has been. Taylors body leans against his both laughing at some inside joke that came u in the last 10 seconds.

"Eli, why don't you pick the game we play?", Conrad playfully pushes my arm. "Um I don't know what games do you guys have here?", I ask. "Truth or dare!" Belly yells, everyone agrees stuffing snacks into their mouths. "Sounds like fun.", I manage the words but, not sure if I actually mean them. "Jeremy, truth or dare.", shocker Taylor starts us off. "Truth.", his eyes lock on mine for a second though it feels longer. We've been friends for so long he knows when i'm upset by the slightest turn off my lip. I can feel him checking up on me in this small stare. Once he is reassured he turns back to Taylor.

"Boring but, whatever. Is it true that you lost your v-card when you were 14?", Taylor smirks in his direction. It bugs me how intrusive she can be but, she ain't my best friend. "Umm actually no. I'm still a virgin.", Jeremiah explains. I can see the heat rise to his cheeks, the hint of embarrassment becoming apparent in his features. Conrad clearing his throat brings us all back from our dazes, "Belly truth or dare?". "I'm feeling dangerous hint me with a dare.", her smile brightens the room, everyone soon forgetting about the last 2 minutes.

From across the way I shoot him a reassuring smile, and nod of comfort a thing usually reserved for when we have the classes and need vote of confidence back home. His wide-tooth smile tells me he got the message, my body feeling like it's floating. "I dare you to drink pickle juice straight out of the jar and not tell the moms.", Conrads throws his challenge in Belly's direction earning a laugh from the rest of us. "So mature Conrad.", Taylor cackles at his childishness. "Easy.", Belly's confidence oozes out of her tone as she strides to the kitchen grabbing the huge jar of pickles.

After a struggle..or two Jere helps her get the lid off. She brings the jar to her lips and drinks the juice until Conrad stops her though it wasn't before he finished laughing his ass off. Our laughs all mix in the air the game continuing and everyone getting a stupid truth or childish dare, the more the game went on the closer I noticed Belly's best friend got closer to Jere till she was practically in his lap.

"Eh sorry guys. I hate to ruin the fun but, I think i'm gonna head out to the dock and get some fresh air.", the words leave my lips and my feet carry me to my destination, everyone's eyes following my every move. I can hear a few whispers closing the door behind me, rather than allowing that to stick I listen to the sound of Cousins. This is my first time here, for years Jeremiah has begged me to come and meet everyone, experience the summers he has loved his entire life but I never could make it because parents wouldn't let me or they planned some stupid family vacation that wouldn't come to par with The Fisher's summer house.

The salt-water air filled my nostrils with a feeling of warmth and comfort, soft hums of the water soothe my body. Susannah loves to take photos and sends any and every picture she gets of Jere and I to me, sometimes she will sneak in just him alone to make my day..damn her mother's intuition either that or my feelings are just stupidly obvious to everyone except the person that matters. The moment of each picture replays in my mind from the time we were baking a cake for Susannahs birthday and Jere let the batter go everywhere when we tried to mix it, to our most recent junior prom photo.

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~Flash Back~

"Come on E you have to go it's the law.", he argued. "There's no law saying I have to go to prom. Besides, I'd rather just have a movie night we can get munchies and just chill.", I whine. "But it's PROM! As in once in a lifetime high school experience, you're only a junior one time this is our time!", his blue-eyes sparkled when he talked about this one night that seemed to mean the world to him..how could I ignore that?

"Okay, fine but I refuse to third wheel with you and your date.", my tone a bit colder than I intended. "Technically, you're the second wheel.", he bumps his shoulder into mine. "Wait huh?", the confusion prominent though my heart was secretly doing flips i'm surprised it didn't give out. "Oh I didn't mention that part? Well, you agreeing to go to prom isn't just agreeing to go to some school function it's also saying you'll go with me? You're my best friend there's no one else I'd rather enjoy the night with. Plus if i'm your date one you are practically guaranteed a good time and two it may just be the one thing you need to get you more involved in school functions.", he winks in my direction causing my knees to go weak.

"One seems like a pity date and two why do I need to be involved again?", I attempt to argue rather than show his effect on me. "We're gonna be seniors next year and I wanna experience it all with you. We've been friends since we were six, gone through elementary school together were we always went to the dances together even if I had to bribe you with a snow one afterwards. Middle school where puberty was awkward for us both, which we made a pact to never speak of so I shall move on. Lastly, first day of freshmen year we vowed to do this whole thing together same as always. The future is coming and it is sometimes really scary to me to think about not seeing you everyday or having you around all the time.", his words are laced with sorrow towards the end, our usual happy go lucky Jere now petrified of what's coming.

"You are so lucky I love you Fisher. Of course i'll go with you. Here's what I propose you give me the best night of my life and I'll personally ensure you the best senior year ever.", I stick out my pinky as means of demonstrating the seriousness of my proposition. "You drive a hard bargain ma'am but, I shall agree.", his smile is back and wide. With our pinkies intertwined we kiss the index finger knuckle of our own hand solidifying this promise.

~End flashback~

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"Hey stranger why'd you run off?", a familiar voice jolts me out of my thoughts, the promise echoing in my ears. "Oh hey J. Just needed some air.", I force a smile. "Game got boring after you left. Besides, you seemed down had to make sure my favorite girl was okay.", he playfully bumps my side. "I'm okay.". "That's a lie come on tell me.".

"Shouldn't you get back to Taylor.", I spit a bit more aggressively than anticipated. "Ah there it is.", he pokes at me. "Taylor is just being Taylor she flirts with everyone. I'm not into her like that.", he adds. "It wouldn't matter if you were. She's everyone's type.", masking the sadness in my words was harder than I thought. "Not mine.", I can feel his hand moving closer to mine resting on the dock.

"What's your point Jere?", the harshness in my voice seems to set him off. "Could you quit with the self-loathing my god can't you see how much I care about you?". "I know how much you care. You've spent our entire friendship proving it to me.", my words a bit calmer. "But clearly you don't know me.", disappointment crystal clear in his words. The air felt dense, an uncomfortable feeling for us. I can tell there is something on his mind but am terrified of what it could be.

"Just say it Jere. Whatever is on your mind please just say it.", the tears well in my eyes but, I do my best to hide them. "Eli, I've known you since elementary school god I even remember the moment like it was yesterday. It was snack time after recess and Gina had stolen your Scooby-Snacks, you tried to get them back but she stuck her tongue out at you and ran away tossing the empty bag onto the floor next to you. So I gave you my Goldfish now while they aren't as good as the Scoobs I figured you needed the snack more than I did.", a smile creeps onto my face.

"You told me your mom packed you two snacks that day however, Conrad debunked that lie later on. I was crying because I only got Scoobies once a week and that was my last bag until my mom got paid...leave it to Jeremiah Fisher to be my knight in shining armor.".

"That day I knew that no matter what it took I needed you to be in my life. Soon enough we were best friends doing anything and everything together everyday of my life I prayed to god to let me keep you and vowed to care for you.", his words were genuine laced with a sentiment I rarely hear.

We've always told each other everything, and sure we have plenty of deep-conversations but, never like this...it's slightly terrifying. "You've done that. You're there for me, and push me to do all the things i'm afraid of. Never allowing me to miss out on life, taking me out to dances or pep rallies or even just to a random bowling night hell you drag me to parties I wouldn't be caught dead at. I spent so much of my childhood reading to escape the real world but with you J I love the real world.", it takes a beat before I realize we are face to face.

"I love you Eli, always have.", his blue eyes soften the slightest glimpse of a sparkle present most likely a reflection of the moon. "I love you too Jere. You know that.",  an earnestness in my voice catches him off-guard. "As more than my best friend.", he tacks on with a hint of nervousness. "Way more than that.". “Truth or dare.”, he asked confusing the hell out of me. “Huh?”. “Truth or dare.”, he reiterates.

“Dare”, my voice is above a whisper.

“I dare you to kiss me.”, his light blue eyes are searching mine for some type of sign.

A wave of confidence washed over me and the next few moments were slightly out of character but, I didn't care. My hands grabbed ahold of his button up and smashed my lips against his. It takes him a second to register my movements before he returns my actions, his strong hands keeping me as close as possible pulling away only for the quickest of air our lips still brushing against the others.

"I've wanted to do that for such a long time.", he is breathless while keeping our foreheads together. "Believe me so have I.", I giggle. "So what does all this mean?". Way to be a buzzkill Jere I think in my head.

"I want you Jeremiah now and always in every way possible.", the words floated into the air as if to sink into his head. The look in his eyes getting brighter by the second. Without another word or even simple thought we are making our way back to the house. "Hey guys! We're gonna go meet Shayla and Steven at the party its wild ya'll wanna come?", Conrad bombards us when we make it into the backyard.

We collectively hide the last few moments by answering quickly.."No, it's okay probably gonna head to bed.". We have been together too long and frankly that may have been to quick of an answer. "Okay weirdos.", Taylor snickers. "I swear they are like Siamese twins.", Conrad jokes before walking away with the two girls trailing behind. Walking into the house the blonde boy breaks the silence, "Can I be honest about something?".

"Always.", by gently intertwining our fingers it provides him some comfort so he can continue his thought . "I begged my mom to let you stay in my room. I kinda promised her that I would sleep on the floor or that we could even try to get two beds in there. You didn't know Belly and I wanted you to be comfortable.", a hint of pink hits his cheeks, the similar heat rising in my face. "I appreciate that. Staying with Belly isn't too bad but, I also wouldn't have minded staying in your room.", I lead us up towards his living quarters.

"Where are we going?", he raises his eyebrows. "To be together. Something that should've happened a while ago.", I smile softly. The butterflies in my stomach are sent into a frenzy, initiating anything is completely out of character for me but, I'd be lying if I didn't say there was a bit of a rush that excited the hell out of me.

"Eli are you feeling okay?", he asks me when we make it to his room. "Do you want this? Us?", I propose the question dangling above us. "More than anything I thought we made that one clear.", the warmth of his hands cups my cheeks allowing me to lean into the touch. "Then prove it.", my eyes were fixated on his, a mix of lust and love beginning to form. "Are you sure?", he was searching for any sign of hesitation in my features and when he was sure there was none I found myself pinned to the wall.

"Once we do this there's no going back?", his voice was raspy and almost breathless the feeling of his hands digging into my skin sure not to hurt me. Rather than provide an answer I press my lips against his with a sense of hunger neither of us knew was possible from me. "Mmm, please I need words. Verbal consent.", though he was in a trance the fact he was still asking sent shivers down my spine in the best way possible.

"Yes Jere. Please I want you.", my eyes meet his pleading for his touch. He presses his lips against the skin of my neck, allowing his hands to travel around my body. A sense of urgency and hunger began to rise between us as soft moans escape my lips. My fingers tug at the hem of shirt removing it, the tips of his fingers dancing along my hips.

After gathering some momentum I manage to move us over the bed, my body landing ontop of the soft duvet his long, muscled body hovering over me leaving love bites along my neck. "Mmm", a few hums leave my now swollen lips while my fingers tangle themselves in Jere's hair. I have wanted this moment for so long I'm not sure I'm even that nervous I trust this boy more than anything, he would never hurt me or do anything I didn't want to. Every time he kisses or even grazes my body it's as if I'm on fire, a feeling that I never want to lose.

"A penny for your thoughts my love.", a look of curiosity decorated his features, a glimmer of concern taking presence in his ocean-blue eyes. "I just..I've thought about this moment for god knows how long and I'm glad it's you here with me now.". "Me too. God I love you so much.", he pecks my lips softly. "I love you more.", I whisper. HIs fingers begin to fumble with the button of my shorts intent on removing the denim from my skin.

In the midst of him removing my bottoms I catch a glimpse of the bulge fighting his swim shorts. "So I wanna know something?", he inquires drawing his hands up and down my side. "What would that be?", I bite my bottom lip.

"What happens when I kiss you here?", a soft kiss is planted on neck under my ear; I moan.

"Or here?", the collar bone causes me to shudder slightly.

"Here?", his lips trial down my chest, the heat between my legs rising.

"Best for last.", as soon a kiss lands on my thighs I'm afraid I could come undone just from this.

"Quit teasing.", I manage doing everything I can to keep my legs apart. "Needy are we?", his smirk is devilish. He runs his thumb over my mound, my backing arching off the bed. The motion continues while my thighs become decorated with hickeys...how the hell can I hide those in the summer? "Fuck Jere.", I can't help but whimper in pleasure begging for more. Within mere seconds his tongue and fingers join together causing immense pleasure pushing towards an edge I have never accomplished myself.

Every pump of his fingers collided with the lap of his tongue, my hands were tangled in his blonde locks pulling him closer if that were possible. I began to grind against his mouth the heat rising in my belly reaching my peak. Vibrations of his mouth against me was the last thing to push me over the edge. "Fuck!", my body releases covering his face in my juices. "You taste amazing baby.", he coos wiping his lips with a near by towel. A rush of pink hits my cheeks and I wanna hideaway which is odd to say when I'm physically and emotionally nude in this current moment.

"You're so beautiful Eli.", his eyes trail along my body as if he would be tested on every curve, dip and beauty mark that covered me. Without another word I connect our lips in a loving, passionate kiss. With enough strength I manage to flip us over, leaving me on top and taking him by surprise. I like this new found confidence I have.....

My kiss leaves his lips and works their way down his chest, the soft hums from him filling my ears with bliss. "Baby I need you.", he manages breathlessly, as I remove his swimming trucks..my eyes widen at his size less with fear and more with surprise while precum drips down him slightly. The tip of my thumb runs over it earning a moan from Jeremiah, fueling my confidence. My arms carry me over his body, his tip rubbing against my entrance soliciting a shudder from us both.

I slide onto him slowly wincing at the initial feeling that was soon overcome with pleasure when I began to rock my hips. "Oh god just like that.", his voice sounds dazed, while his hands grip my hips guiding my movements. My lips dance around his neck, as my hips make circular motions our moans mixing together praying no one has returned home early. He gathers his strength and flips us over taking over the motions thrusting at a good rhythm, the moment full of exploration and passion.

“I’m close Jere.”, I finally manage. The skin on my body is covered in hickeys, sweat glistening on us both. “Me too baby.”, he groans. The build up began in my stomach and grew more as my climax approached soon to take us both over. His body collapsed on top of me as we rode out our highs him still resting inside of me. “We didn’t use protection.”,I breathlessly say. “I’ll get a pill for you.”, he says planting a kiss on my head.

“That was..woah.”. “You’re telling me.”. We both laugh and clean ourselves up a soreness beginning to take presence between my legs. “I really hope Belly and Taylor don’t ask me to play volleyball tomorrow.”, I giggle. “Sounds like you’re coming down a cold to me which means cuddles and movies all day just you and me.”. He chuckles tossing me his hoodie.

“I dare you to try that.”. I pull the fabric over my body. “And I dare you to be mine.”, his muscled arms pull me to his body. “I’ve always been yours Jeremiah Fisher.”. My lips collide with his once more.

@jeremiah-fisher @jeremiahxaesthetic

[winchestergirl2]

March Reading Recs

To show some love and appreciation to all the amazing writers here on tumblr, here are all the fantastic fics I've read this month. 💖

Many of these fics and blogs are 18+ only, and NSFW please heed the author's individual fic warnings and requests regarding no minors. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

2023 Reading Recs | 2024 Reading Recs

Supernatural

Sam Winchester

You're On Your Own Kid Part 2 @my-proof-is-you

Authors Summary: You’re used to being on your own. You’d been on your own as long as you could remember. Could Sam show you that it isn’t the only way to live?

Don't Worry About Me @my-proof-is-you

Authors Summary: Anon Request: hi! could you do a sam imagine where he’s been really stressed with work/researching for a big hunt, y/n can’t sleep and sees him still awake and tries to make him feel better? maybe some hidden feelings for both of them?? just really fluffy cute stuff please!! thank you! i love your work!

Requited Love @uhohnotthisagain

Authors Summary: Sam discovers his love for you in a not so clean dream, he doesn't realise his actions following the realisation would effect you so much.

10 Inch Hero

Boaz Priestly

The Miracle Man @zepskies

Authors Summary: The first time you met Priestly was both the worst and best night of your life. He gave you a Miracle.

Centerfold Dance Party @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms

The Boys

Soldier Boy

The Bet @quin-ns

Authors Summary: butcher leaves you to keep an eye on soldier boy and things become interesting when a deck of cards gets involved

Let's Dance @impala-dreamer

Authors Summary ~If there's one thing she knows, it's that she fucking hates Soldier Boy. If there's one thing he knows, it's that he can change her mind.~

I'm A Ruin Part I | Part II | Part III | @anundyingfidelity

Authors Summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Billy Butcher

And So It Goes (Masterlist) @zepskies

Authors Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — and helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Big Sky

Beau Arlen

Take Me Home Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | @zepskies

Authors Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from. 

Jurisdiction @waynes-multiverse

I need your hand but I don't want to burn it Part 1 @thebiggerbear

Authors Summary: You receive a phone call letting you know a family member has passed. The news rocks your world, especially when you find yourself flying back home for the services, returning to a place you'd rather forget. As your best friend, Beau is trying to be there for you but you're determined to go it alone. But since you've known him, when has Beau Arlen ever not had your back?

[papaziggy-devblog]

Here is the boy with the bald brother

Well, when my brother was 16 and I was 13, we made a really idiotic bet, you know, monkeys men, one in the middle of puberty and the other just started dating girls. We had agreed that if he lost his v card with his current one at that time, I was going to get a tattoo of the first stupid thing he did and then... Leave him bald if not

You already know the result, I left it unknown, I waited for his great milestone in life, in front of our family, his friends and the new one he was dating.

End 🤙

Heuheuheuhuheuheheuheuheuehueheuheueue

At least his birthday was rememberable ( ovo)