#i rewatched the finale again for the first time and it BROKE ME AGAIN

[captainsophiestark]

Picture Perfect

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict's childhood best friend, who he's recently started courting, notices he's been a bit off lately and decides to see if there's anything she can do to help.

Word Count: 3,045

Category: Fluff, a little bit of Angst

A/N: It's been a minute since I rewatched season 2, so I may have the timing wrong a bit. For the purposes of this fic, though, Benedict finds out that Anthony paid to make sure he got into art school at the same time that they're all at the Bridgerton's country estate.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Something was wrong with my best friend.

I could tell from the minute I saw him, as his mind was clearly somewhere else. He also gave his brother Anthony a colder shoulder than usual, which I knew Anthony likely deserved, but that Benedict rarely gave him. It must've been something pretty bad.

A few years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to drag Benedict somewhere and get some answers out of him, followed by doing whatever I could to cheer him up. But unfortunately for the both of us, despite having grown up together, now that we were both adults in society and he had recently started courting me, we were no longer technically allowed to be alone together. Things were usually a bit looser when it was just the Bridgertons and I, but while I'd joined them for a trip to their country estate, another family had joined us as well, tying my hands more than usual.

Still, I managed to corner him slightly away from the rest of the group after dinner that night, when I'd first noticed something off. He'd been on his way upstairs, rather than joining the rest of us in the parlor after dinner, and I managed to get in front of him quickly enough to make him stop in the hallway.

"Benedict," I said, trying to keep my voice low. He let out a long, deep sigh, but didn't move to step past me, instead fixing me with a tired stare. I frowned. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's... nothing."

I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow.

"Benedict Bridgerton, I have known you since the age of five. There is no chance of that terrible lie convincing me of anything, besides perhaps that I made the right decision about checking on you."

He sighed again, this time even heavier, and when he met my gaze again it was with an empty smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You remeber I shared my excitement with you about being accepted into art school?"

"Of course! Don't tell me something went wrong..."

He shook his head. "The opposite. Apparently my dear brother took it upon himself to make sure I got in, offering a bribe to secure my acceptance. Yet again, I fail to step out of my family's shadow and generate an accomplishment of my own, without their name and money securing it for me."

I frowned and reached out to touch his arm, but Eloise's voice from the other room promising to find where I'd wandered off to broke the moment. Benedict mustered that hollow smile again, then finally stepped around me.

"I'll be fine, I promise. Don't worry about me. Just go enjoy the rest of your evening."

I frowned after him, but he didn't look back as he climbed the stairs and disappeared onto the second floor. I briefly debated following him, but Eloise's hand on my elbow broke me from that thought.

"Y/N, what on earth are you doing out here? You're missing Kate and Anthony sparring over something trivial again."

I forced a smile onto my face that was hopefully more convincing than Benedict's and turned to face Eloise.

"Well, that's certainly something I don't want to miss. Let's go."

Eloise still looked like she had questions, but I didn't give her room to ask them as I joined the rest of our group in the parlor. Benedict stayed on my mind for the rest of the night, although I tried to hide my worry. Hopefully he'd been right about himself, and would be feeling better in the morning.

*****************

Benedict clearly wasn't feeling better in the morning. I was witnessing the man I loved having an existential crisis, and by the afternoon, I decided I couldn't sit by an watch anymore, society and the Ton and the gossips be damned.

I spent the next hour gathering and setting up the things I'd need, then went to find Benedict. He wasn't anywhere to be seen in the house, so I asked Eloise, who directed me to his bedroom.

I'd been in his bedroom before, of course, since we'd practically grown up together. But now that we'd started on the path to being something else to each other, with my heart registsering significantly more romantic feelings for the man Benedict had become, I found myself slightly nerovous as I stood outside his door. Still, I forced myself to ignore the nerves as best I could. Benedict was hurting, so everything else had to be put on hold while I helped him.

I knocked on his door, pretending my faster-than-normal heartbeat didn't exist as I waited for a response. That became much harder to accomplish when Benedict opened the door, his shirt far more open than normal and without anything over it, hair looking a rumpled mess. My heart did backflips, despite me mentally telling it to calm down.

"Y/N! I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. I must look a mess-"

"No, not at all!" I said much too quickly. "You look, uh... very nice."

The familiar lopsided smile I loved so much appeared on Benedict's face as he leaned on the doorframe before me. He raised an eyebrow, the familiar spark of mischief that I loved so dearly igniting in his eyes, and for the first time in more than a day, he looked to be slightly back to himself.

"Well, I'm very glad to hear you think so. What brings you to my door, then?"

"You haven't seemed to be doing very well since you got the news about Anthony. And don't try to deny it, I know you too well. So, I thought I'd come find you and try to help cheer you up."

Benedict's eyebrow rose again as he crossed his arms.

"And what exactly did you have in mind?"

"I'll show you. But we're going to have to be a bit sneaky about leaving."

Benedict's mood lifted the moment he found out we were going to sneak out of the house together. We'd been regular trouble makers as children, sneaking out for adventures at least once a week, but since we'd both grown up that had basically come to a stop. Now, as I took his hand and dragged him along behind me and we ran through the countryside and left Bridgerton House in our wake, I couldn't stop a wild laugh from bubbling out of my chest. I'd missed this much more than I'd wanted to admit.

"Where are we going?" Benedict called, his own voice breathy and laced with laughter as we ran. I just shot him a grin back over my shoulder.

"You'll see!"

He huffed, but didn't protest as he followed after me. Finally, after winding through the woods and climbing a rather steep hill, we reached the spot I'd spent so long making nice this morning.

This hilltop looked out over the countryside stretching beautifully below us, even better now as the sun had started to get a bit lower in the sky. Waiting for us was a picnic blanket spread out in the grass with all of our favorite foods, wine, and an easel with art supplies set up right next to it. I dropped Benedict's hand as we came to a stop, instead turning to face him with a grin.

"Well? What do you think?"

He stared at everything I'd laid out, mouth open slightly in shock. His brow furrowed when he saw the canvas, and he turned back to me.

"What is all this?"

"It's a picnic, for the two of us," I said. "To watch the scenery and the sunset together without the pressures of society or being a Bridgerton to bring us down. The easel is optional–we can pack it away right now if you want to. But you told me you think Anthony's the reason you got into art school, and I don't agree. I've seen your work, and I know just how good it is. You got in on merit, Benedict. But I know I can't just say that and have you believe it, so I brought some supplies here so you can prove it, if you want to. Paint this moment for the two of us, and I'll swear on our relationship and everything I hold dear to be honest about what I think. Completely, totally, brutally honest."

Benedict's eyebrow quirked again.

"Well, I don't know if brutal is completely necessary..."

"I mean it, Ben. I hate to see you like this, doubting yourself. So if there's something I can do to counter Anthony's idiotic meddling, I'd like to."

"And what if..." He cleared his throat, emotion swirling in his gorgeous brown eyes as he met my gaze. "What if the truth would only serve to enforce what I know? That Anthony's meddling and money is the only reason I've gotten where I am."

I shook my head. "That won't happen-"

"Y/N." I stopped, biting my lip and forcing myself to meet Ben's stare again. He took a few steps forward until we were right in front of each other, then took my hands gently in his own. "What if it does?"

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. "Then I will keep my word and tell you so. One way or another, I will tell you the truth, even if it may not be what I want to tell you. I swear it, Ben."

He nodded slowly, eyes scanning my face. We stayed like that for a few long moments, and briefly, I thought Benedict might make a move to do something I never though he'd do with the Ton hovering over both our shoulders whenever we were together. But then he sighed, a smile returning to his face as he stepped away.

"Alright then. I believe you, and I value your opinion. And since you went to all the trouble to drag these supplies up here in the first place... I may as well get started."

I beamed at him. "I'll pour us some wine."

"Please."

When Benedict first sat down at his canvas, he kept fidgeting nervously, his hands hovering and twitching over various paints and brushes as he second-guessed his decisions. But slowly, as I kept up a stream of conversataion, supplying him with food and drink for fuel as he needed it, I noticed him beginning to relax.

"This is nice," I mused, leaning back on the picnic blanket and looking out at the scenery as Benedict worked. The sun had gotten much lower in the sky than when we'd left, which Benedict had grumbled about as it impacted his painting. Still, the golden light, soft breeze, and warm, fresh air felt like heaven to me.

"I agree," he said, not taking his eyes away from his easel. "I missed running off on adventures with you at the drop of a hat."

"So did I. But, hopefully... we may be able to get back to that again sometime soon."

Benedict looked over at me from his easel, a rougish grin on his face.

"If I didn't know better, Lady Y/L/N, I would think you were boardering on making me a marriage proposal."

I faced forward and closed my eyes under the guise of feeling the sun, trying to ignore my heart pumping frantically in my chest.

"Well. Fortunately for us both, you do know better. And it's not as if you're some strange man I met at court. You're... Ben. My best friend."

"I never said I wouldn't like it, did I? It would be an honor to be proposed to by you."

I cracked one eye open, turning my head to face Benedict with a grin. He wasn't looking at me, his stare focused on his canvas, his face completely serious. My heart stopped threatening to explode out of my chest, and instead settled into the unique, glowing warmth of love I felt whenever Benedict and I were together.

"I love you, Ben," I said, my voice soft and quiet. He stopped his work completely to turn and look at me, a soft smile on his face.

"I love you too. Very, very much." We held each others' stares for a moment, soaking in the comfort and joy of being together, and then Benedict's smile turned into a more edged grin. "It's a good thing we feel so strongly, since we may just be forced into an earlier marriage than planned to avoid a scandal after disappearing for an entire afternoon and evening together."

I huffed and waved him off. "Fortunately, I predict your brother will be accidentally helping us and making up for causing this crisis of confidence in the first place. He and Miss Kate Sharma are so ridiculous and dramatic together, I highly doubt anyone will notice we're gone."

Benedict chuckled, turning back to his work to scan it one last time before finally setting down his paintbrush. He took a deep breath, then stood and offered a hand to me.

"I've finished," he announced as I took his hand. He pulled my to my feet, but instead of looking at the painting, my eyes stayed fixed on him. We were almost chest to chest, and I could tell from his furrowed brows and darting eyes just how nervous he was about my verdict. "Remember, you promised me honesty."

"And honesty you will get."

Finally, I turned from Benedict to the canvas he'd been working on all afternoon. I'd resisted peeking before now at his request, so I wouldn't have any bias from watching his process. Fortunately, just as I'd predicted, his work was magnificent.

"Benedict..." I breathed as I took in the soft lines and vibrant colors before me. It perfectly captured how I felt looking out at the valley before us; it captured the gorgeous scenery, yes, but it also infused everything with a bit of magic that I only felt in this space with him. "This is absolutely incredible."

Benedict came around to stand next to me, arms crossed. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him shaking his head.

"Now please don't forget, you promised me honesty."

"I am being honest! Benedict, this is fantastic. The way you capture the myriad of different shades of the light shining across the valley, the seamless lines giving the world a slightly hazy, dreamlike look, and the way you've left the paint a bit messier with the clouds, to make it look like they're moving? It's all perfect, Ben. And masterful. It's a picture of the valley, yes, but it looks like it's alive. And you somehow managed to capture what it feels like to be here in the moment together, the sun on our faces, with each other even when we're not supposed to be, in a truly special way. You're an incredibly talented artist, and I'd be saying that even if you were a complete stranger that I didn't particularly like."

He snorted, then after a second, wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me to his chest. I leaned into him immediately, sighing a bit as he leaned his head against mine.

"I have a hard time believing you'd say all that to a stranger you didn't like."

I rolled my eyes and elbowed him in the stomach, and he laughed without letting me go. A smile spread on my own face despite myself.

"Alright, maybe I wouldn't say all that to a stranger I didn't like. But I'd say it about their work when they couldn't hear me, probably to you. My point stands, Ben. You are a very skilled and talented artist. Anthony isn't the reason you got into that school. You are."

His chest rose and fell with a long, deep breath, and then finally, I felt him nod.

"Thank you. I can't promise it will always be easy for me to always believe it, but... I'll try to remember your words, and not my brother's, from now on."

"Good. And if you feel down again, you can always come to me. I'll always be there for you, Benedict, whenever you need me."

"And I you, my love," he said, moving down to whisper the words in my ear as he wrapped his other arm around my waist, too. He kissed my cheek, and I leaned back into his chest for a moment before turning around in his arms to face him.

The beautiful, kind smile I'd fallen in love with stared back at me, along with his warm brown eyes. I smiled too, then finally stopped ignoring my racing heart and decided to continue the theme of ignoring the Ton and what they might say.

I leaned into Benedict, closing the distance between us with a glance at his lips before meeting his eyes again. Both of his eyebrows shot up, but he didn't pull away.

"Y/N... if anyone found out..."

I smiled. "They won't. Besides, they'd just make us follow through on something we're already planning, anyway."

Benedict huffed a laugh, his eyelids fluttering a bit as he looked at me like he couldn't believe I was real. Then, his arms tightened around my waist, and he leaned in even closer. I closed my eyes, feeling Benedict stop just a hair's breadth away from my lips.

"Are you sure-"

I closed the distance myself before he could continue. Benedict smiled into the kiss a moment later, pulling me closer to him, the two of us locked in each others' embrace as the sun set in the hills behind us. Truly, I didn't think anyone would be able to find out about how we'd spent our afternoon, but I also truly didn't care. I loved Benedict, and even though it was technically early in our courtship, I'd known him for most of my life. I knew we were meant to spend our lives together, and I knew he felt the same way as I did. Sooner or later, we'd make it official with an engagement and marriage, and be able to disappear together whenever we wanted without the Ton batting an eyelash. But, in the meantime, I didn't mind sneaking away for private moments like this one bit. No matter what had led to it in the first place.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

[kingpippthe2nd]

It took me until this week to realise how much season two has changed my perspective on... well almost everything Good Omens.

I finally rewatched season 1 for the first time since Neil broke my stupid little heart. Honestly, I had convinced myself that I was over the heartbreak.

Do I torture myself on this website on a regular basis? Yes. Do I refuse to read fics without a "hurt/comfort" tag? Yes. But I was fine. I was healing. I was good. I was over it.

Did episode 3 hit differently after everything I'd been through after S2? A bit. But nothing I didn't expect.

And then there was S1E6. The Ritz. Nightingales. And I just wasn't ready. I had heard that song a thousand times throughout the last few weeks. But context does seem to matter. Because here I was, three notes in, sobbing mercilessly.

This scene used to be a safe space for me. A warm little patch of sunshine to curl up in, when I felt down. It was hot cocoa on a rainy autumn day. It projected to so much love and comfort. And now it's all twisted.

The contrast to S2E6 couldn't be sharper. Oh, what a beautiful web of similarities Neil has woven for us. Here are our two favourite idiots, smiling at each other, so in love, not a care in the world, because the world is safe and they are toasting it. Yet I know, what the future holds for them. I know, how incapable of truely communicating they are. I know, how they will break each others hearts, paving each others way to hell with all the best intentions.

You have to hand to Neil. He really knows how to tell a good story.

I haven't dared to listen to " A Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square" in the last week. It will take me a good long while to work up the courage again.

I don't even know, how to end this mess of a post. I just hope, Neil will bring the song back in season 3 and make it be all fluffy and comfortable and lovely again.

To the world, my friends.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Hold On To Me

Pairing: mob!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: home intrusion, hostage situation, noncon, Stockholm Syndrome, smut.

Words: 3.9k

Summary: Swallowing a lump in your throat, you grow silent, anxiously watching the guy smile at you. He's that type every girl would be eyeing in the club, looking for an excuse to talk to him, to attract his attention, and then, very likely, to get him into bed. Steve seems popular, the I-will-eat-your-heart-like-cereals type, but you can say he isn't. Something in his eyes betrays his nature.

P.S. I rewatched The Hostage again (when I did it for the first time, this was the result), and here we are.

____________

Staring at a little black Ikea table as if your life depends on it, you sit, your body aching from being in one position for too long, but you can't move. He's watching you. It seems he doesn't even blink, his eyes on you since the moment he pushed you into your room and locked the door behind him. He's so close you can hear him breathing.

You know this look. You're not that young and innocent to be unable to recognize interest in man's eyes. It both scares and - unfortunately - makes you a little flushed, and you berate yourself for the latter because this isn't the right way to react to a man who broke into your house and took your family hostage. God knows what's happening to your stepfather right now: the man wouldn't be able to protect himself even if he was inside a tank, and his enemy attacked him with a plastic knife. You're as much worried about your little brother. He was always a bit of a brat, but the second you realized he was in danger, you felt so overprotective over him you covered his body with yours like you were a shield.

Your brother is in his room now, being watched by the youngest guy in the gang, the one who looked the most reluctant when their leader decided to take hostages. Your brother must be safe. The other kid won't hurt him, you don't think.

You, on the other hand, are stuck with Steve. From the moment you saw him move and heard him talk, you realized he was running the show behind the curtains. He's dangerous. The third guy, the one who claims to be the leader, is impulsive, angry, shouting and kicking things, sweating like a sinner in church because of the police cars surrounding the house, but Steve is calm and collected. He smiles with his perfectly white teeth and talks to the boys as if he's relaxing in a bar after work, not in the middle of armed robbery.

He's really, really pretty. Steve has perfectly blond hair and proper facial features like a slightly chiseled jaw, full lips, and that sort of blue eyes that make girls swoon over him the moment they see him. He's perfectly tall, well-built, with wide shoulders and strong, muscular arms and legs: he look like he belongs in those Armani commercials or, perhaps, on the catwalk, but not with the kind of guys your mother warned you about. How did he end up on the darkside? What made him so good at using a gun? He didn't fire it even once yet, but you see it from the way he handles it he knows too well what to do with it. It makes you anxious, thinking that he might point his gun at you and then pull the trigger.

Except he won't. Or, it's rather unlikely. Not when he looks at you like this, always moving so close to you he steals a touch whenever he can as if he is unable to help himself. Besides, Steve is kind to you: he gave you water when you asked and loosened the rope tied too tightly around your wrists; he brought you a pillow so you could rest against it, not the cold wall, and shushed you gently when you cried, saying he wouldn't let anything happen to you or your little brother. You don't know how much of his promises are true, but you think him unlikely to harm a child. He doesn't seem the type.

Your poor little boy. He's only a kid, all alone in his room, forced to face one of his kidnappers as he waits for the police to finally make a move. Since you don't hear him crying - your room is just below his - you think he does his absolute best to hold on, to keep calm and not irritate his unwilling jailer even though he's frightened to death. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in this mess. If only they agreed to let him go... Not that anyone would listen to your pleas, though. He's a valuable hostage, just like you. As long as the gang has you, police won't make a move, you're pretty sure.

But maybe you can still help your brother. Ease his worry a little, give him a bit of hope. That is, if you play your cards right and press the right buttons of your handsome, terrifying warden.

"May I bring some food to my brother, please?" You whisper, gathering all your courage to turn your head to face Steve, look him straight in the eyes. "He must be so hungry."

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you grow silent, anxiously watching the guy smile at you. He's that type every girl would be eyeing in the club, looking for an excuse to talk to him, to attract his attention, and then, very likely, to get him into bed. Steve seems popular, the I-will-eat-your-heart-like-cereals type, but you can say he isn't. Something in his eyes betrays his nature.

He's not a guy winning girls over with his looks. Steve is a deviant, an outcast. His face can't buy him what he wants, and that's why he's here, in your house, holding your family hostage.

Maybe, just maybe, you can use it to your advantage.

"Can you do me a favor, please?" Your whisper is barely audible. "Can you take me to my brother so I could feed him? If you want, you can tie my legs so I won't run."

Not that you would, anyway. You know perfectly well you can't outrun this guy even if your life depends on it, literally. Overpowering him is even more unlikely unless his muscles are just cotton stuffed in his clothes, which is a ridiculous suggestion.

His eyes light up at the word favor. "Happy to oblige," he muses, and your heart starts beating wildly before he continues, "but how will you return my favor?"

You are puzzled. You haven't thought this far. Dumbly, you thought he'd just say yes. It's a small favor, really. He knew you wouldn't give him any trouble, so it was just quickly checking up on your scared to death brother. Why would he want something from you in return when you couldn't as much as move without his permission?

But of course, he would.

"Anything," you blurt out hurriedly as if the words burn your tongue before you realize what you are actually saying.

Steve laughs with delight, his features softening.

"You should work on your negotiation skills," he declares with a wide smile as you tremble, understanding what you just offered. "You shouldn't give up your everything because people will take anything there is to take. Choose just one thing at a time, and choose carefully."

Suddenly, he gets close, and you immediately avert your eyes to the floor, unable to keep his gaze, trembling.

He nuzzles your cheek affectionately as his knife works through the rope around your wrists, and you pray he isn't going to stab you because you really know nothing and all judgements you made of him might be false. "But I'll be nice and choose just one thing for you. You'll feed your brother, and then I'll feed you, alright?"

You blink, your eyes on your warden again. Feed you? He wants to give you food?

Okay, it sounds strange. But who cares when you can finally see your brother? You'd say yes even if he proposed something improper because what else can you do? Steve has a gun, and even without it, you feel like he's a very dangerous person to oppose to.

So you say yes, and he takes your hand in his - so you won't be nervous, he says, but you know he wants to remind you who's in control - and then you two march to the kitchen in awkward silence where you grab whatever you can find. A cheeseburger from that little family café your family goes to every weekend, a pack of yogurt, a toast, a bottle of water... Steve even helps you to carry it all.

When he opens the door to your brother's room, you forget how to breathe for a second. The little boy is safe, sitting on his bed with his hands already untied, his eyes red from all the crying, and you rush to him, forgetting there's another man in the room. Or, well, a boy, because he's surely younger than you, perhaps still at school. His eyes are suspiciously red, too, as if he's scared and doesn't want anything but leave this place for good. For a moment you think it'd be better if he was guarding you, too, because then, perhaps, he'd agree to let you go if you helped him run away from the house without police catching him, and then things would be so much easier.

But the boy leaves in a hurry when Steve enters, and you remember who's a true ringleader. You can never escape on your own.

Your brother cries when you hug him, his little hands wrapped around you as he sniffle, and you rock back and forth to calm him down, whispering words of comfort, like everything's going to be alright even if you don't know where your stepdad is and what Steve is going to do to you if police doesn't do what he demands them to. You tell your brother he needs to eat because it's dinner time, and he nods, suddenly a well-behaved boy he'd never been, and takes a cheeseburger. You don't leave until he eats everything even if it's probably too much for a kid his size, but he says nothing, and you want him to be completely full: who knows when he'll eat again.

Then you give him a hug. It'll be fine, you say, and he does his best not to cry. Just do what they say, be a good boy, and everything's gonna be alright.

Steve smiles at the child when your brother doesn't want to let you go. "Listen to your sister," he says in a tone as if he's playing the role of a big brother, "and things will be fine. She'll be safe, too."

You don't think you'll be safe, not with someone like Steve, but perhaps your brother will be because his jailer is a kind kid, and he isn't cut out for violence. It's enough for you, even if your hair stands on end when Steve gently nudges you into your room, locking the door behind himself again. Once you two are completely alone, you start to panic, your breathing growing uneven, your hands shaking. What will he do to you? Will he rape you? Torture you? Kill you? If you could think rationally, you'd realize at least the last two are unlikely to happen, but you're a hostage, and he has the power to do any of these things. Even if you're unbound, you're helpless against him, a man so big and strong he'd overpower you in a matter of seconds.

So you don't try anything. You go sit down on the floor near your bed with a pillow resting between your back and the wall and then stretch out your arms for Steve to bind them again. He doesn't.

"You've been a good girl so far," he muses, sitting down in front of you, and then you see a couple of fruits in his hands that you somehow missed completely. "Now, let me feed you."

You still when he takes out his knife and peels a big red apple in a single strip before cutting it into even pieces. When he brings one close to you, you try to take it from his hands, but he tuts, tilting his head. "Open your mouth," he says simply instead, and your face grows hot.

Of course, there was a catch. There always is with guys like him.

But you say nothing and do as he says, and then he carefully pushes a piece of apple into your mouth. It's delicious, juicy, just your favorite sort of apples. You try to concentrate on the taste, not Steve's delighted expression when he watches you eat. Soon, he pushes one more piece past your lips, and then one more, and one more until there's nothing left of the apple. He's nowhere near finished, of course, because then starts to peel an orange. It's messier than the apple, but Steve doesn't seem to mind when he brings a slice close to your lips and lets you swallow it. His smile grows wider the closer you are to finishing the orange.

When you're finally done, your mouth full of acidic flavor, he suddenly clicks his tongue.

"My hand is all dirty from orange's juice," he says, eyeing you when you finally register what it is he asks you to do.

You bite down on your lips, eyes round as he brings his hand to your mouth.

"Lick it," he whispers so close to your face you can feel his breath on your skin.

You want to say no, to tell him he's out of his mind, but you don't. He's been kind to you so far, and it'd be stupid to provoke him. Even if he won't stop at this... maybe he'll stay kind, anyway. It's better than having him put a gun against your forehead for refusing to do what he says.

You open your mouth, taking his fingers in one at a time. They taste almost the same as the orange, sticky with juice, and you do your best to lick them clean, making shameless little noises when you suck at them. Steve doesn't seem to mind. On the contrary, he looks at you with a delightful expression on his face, like he's happy you're so good at whatever he asks you to do. He slips finger after finger inside your warm, wet mouth, playing with your tongue, smearing juice and saliva against it as he laughs with joy.

When you're done, he kisses you, sharing the sour taste of the fruit.

You knew it would come to this. It's no surprise, really, with the way he looks at you. But you still tremble and wish for all of it to end when Steve licks your tongue, sucking it into his mouth.

"Open your legs, baby," he commands in a sweet voice, and you shudder but do as he says anyway, and his lips part in a smile. "Yeah, like that."

His hand is already between your thighs, cupping your pussy through the clothes, and you freeze, blood pounding in your ears. It feels surreal, being in this situation, in the hands of someone who might make you cum or shoot you in the head instead. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, but your body is petrified, limbs turning to stone, your tongue heavy when you whisper. "Please, don't hurt me."

It's a plea, a cry, and tears slip down your cheeks as you look him in the face, his eyes dark and perceptive. Then, all of a sudden, he softens. "You're safe with me," he promises, his breath warming your face as his hand lands on your head, stroking you gently like a little girl, and you feel like you're going to cry from the intimacy of his touch. "You'll always be safe with me."

His other hand is already in your jeans, caressing you through the silk fabric of your panties, but as he pats your head, taking your hair away from your face, you lean into him, seeking any comfort he's willing to give. Steve purrs, landing a kiss to your brow, his fingers slowly spreading your gentle folds as you shudder. "Good girl."

You let out a shaky sigh as he circles your clit: surprisingly, he doesn't start pumping his fingers in and out like most guys do, too eager to have their dick inside. No, Steve just draws more sighs from you, makes you meek and pliant and wet as his fingers work your clit just the right way, and you squirm into the fabric of his t-shirt as he caresses the back of your head, pressing you into his chest.

It almost doesn't feel like he's forcing himself on you. It feels like... like he comforts you. As if he wants you to feel good, to be fine with him doing it to you.

"I'm... I'm-"

Your knees tremble as you sense the orgasm coming too soon, snuggling against your captor as his hand closes against your shoulders, his fingers working your clit even faster, circling, pinching, pressing on it like a button, making you squeeze your eyes shut. The coil tightens in your belly and, then, then... you become undone. Disintegrate in Steve's hands when he praises you tenderly for being good to him, kisses your cheeks wet from tears, and craddle you to his chest like a baby. He's painfully hard, you can feel it through his jeans when you lean onto him, but Steve doesn't seem in a hurry for his own release. He waits till your orgasm makes you all too soft and takes your face in his hand, giving you a deep kiss, his tongue coiling around yours.

You barely recognize when he lifts you up, feeling too comfortable and warm, pressed to him like that, but then you feel cool bedsheets behind your back, and then you're scared again.

Steve coes tenderly, giving you a peck on the lips, "Do you want to ride me, baby? Or do you want me to take you on your back, like a princess?"

The way he phrases it makes warmth creep into your cheeks, and you avert your eyes, mumbling, "On my back, please."

It doesn't even register that he forces himself on you right this minute. It feels like... something else. Something not so scary, not so violent. Something... tender.

"Like a princess, then," your captor smiles, hands trailing your jeans as he carefully slides them down, taking them away, living you half naked. "Alright. You'll be my princess."

Your face feels disturbingly hot when he says it, his hands on you as he tugs the fabric of your blouse up, lowering his head to drop a few kisses to your tummy, murmuring something you don't quite catch, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, you are completely naked in front of him, and you'd feel ashamed if he wouldn't caress your head again like you're a little girl, eager for his praise.

He gives you a kiss before inching away, taking his t-shirt off ever so slowly to give you a good look at his undoubtedly perfect body. But you don't look at his muscled arms or wide chest. Your eyes are trailing his scars, so many scars of different shapes and sizes that cover his skin. Many of them are long, undoubtedly deep, as if someone... as if someone stabbed Steve with a knife.

Your eyes water. Even if it's you who's a victim, a hostage, you feel a sharp sense of guilt as if it were you who hurt him.

He blinkes, a little surprised, perhaps, but you can see there's someone else in his eyes. Something like shame. Like self-loathing.

"A princess' knight is supposed to have a few scars here and there, right?" He gives a quiet laugh, getting down again to cage you with his body, but he freezes when your warm hand lands on a long, ugly line on his side, between the ribs. It is long healed, but the touch makes him stop, nonetheless.

You look him into the eyes, and your face is tight with worry. "I'm sorry," you whisper like it's your fault, your palm warming his skin, and Steve becomes alive again under your touch, his lips partying in a smile once more.

His hand caresses your nipple, pinching it between two fingers as he draws a breath from you, watching you intently, his hard, leaking cock heavy on your tummy. Then, suddenly remembering something, he bends over to grab something from his jeans, and you realize he's putting on a condom. You sigh in relief, and he catches that.

"Anything for a princess," he grins, sliding his hand over your thigh, and you still beneath him when he positions himself at your entrance.

You're scared. That moment you're back into your room, with a man who can shoot you hovering above you like a monster eager to eat you alive, and you forget how to breathe. You're not a princess in the care of your faithful knight. You're a hostage, and your captor can do anything he wants with you.

Steve feels the change in you in a moment, and he stops, his hand back to the top of your head. Even though you can feel how painfully hard he is, he waits, caressing you like a little girl, smiling to you, tenderly brushing your hair away from your face, repeating you'll always be safe with him. And then you're a princess again, and he's your knight.

He pushes into you, and you bit down on your lip, trying to relax: he's not monstrous, but Steve is still a bit too big for you to take him comfortably. Thankfully, he doesn't split you on his cock, giving you time to adjust, and with every moment the subtle pain grows weaker before it finally lets go, and you nudge your warden gently, your hands gripping his shoulder and your face in the crook of his neck. It doesn't hurt anymore. It almost feels good to be so full of him, to know what it's like to have him inside of you.

Steve says it's hard not to cum when you clamp down on him so much, gripping him like a vice. Pleasure softens his features, and you brush a strand of blond hair away from his face before you even register what you do. He does, though, and he likes it. He finally starts to move.

Sweat drips down your bodies when Steve keeps slamming inside of you, making all sorts of soft noises while you pant and choke beneath him, snuggling against his form, your legs wrapped around him tightly. His cock is pressing against every right spot of yours, making you forget who he is and what he does to you. You're his princess, his good girl, he repeats over and over again, and you feel safe in his embrace, inhaling his scent, taking his cock till its head presses into your cervix, leaving a pleasant ache and making you whine. It feels good to be in his care when he rolls to the side and presses your head to his chest, his other hand lifting your leg to reach a different angle, and you kiss his jaw, his neck, making it even harder to hold on, he says.

When he cums, you're already far too gone. The pleasure is too intense, and for a couple of minutes you say nothing to each other, panting, his hands still on the back of your head as he caresses you absent-mindedly, your bed a mess of damp and crinkled sheets. You wish to stop thinking. To forget everything. Just being here, being safe, is enough for now.

Until he speaks again.

"You'll come with me," he whispers feverishly, his hot palm on your cheek, almost burning you. "I'll take you away, and we'll go on a big adventure together, princess. With dragons, swords, and gold."

You're quiet against him, staring into his chest as he caresses your head.

You're not a princess. You're a prey.

___________

Tags: ​@finleyjayne @helenaeisenhower @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @rosalynshields @lookiamtrying @soleil-dor @cosicas-cuquis @buckybarnesplumwhore @lux-ravenwolf @stupendouslovegardener @what-is-your-wish @eralen @magnificantmermaid @typewritersworld @stcrrjoon @sweetxime @imrandomstuffsblog @gachawipes133

[johnnysuhbmarine]

Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Chapter Sixteen: smol bear - six images, 1.9k words - heads up, this has about the same vibe as last chapter

As soon as you opened the door to Haechan, you were ready to fall into his embrace, already having worn yourself out from crying prior to his arrival.

However, what you’re met with is a pint of Ben & Jerry’s The Tonight Dough extended out for you to take, and you flick your gaze up to Haechan in question. “You had enough time to run to the store in the past five minutes?” You ask with a laugh of disbelief, wiping away at the stray tears running down your face, his presence alone enough to start calming you down a bit.

Haechan uses his hand that's not holding the ice cream to scratch at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “No, I just- I keep a pint of it in my freezer in case you’re ever over and...want some, and I figured you’d probably uh- want some now.”

That was all it took before sobs immediately wrack your body again and Haechan just sighs, moving slightly to place down the pint of ice cream before coming back to wrap you in a bear hug. You can hardly think to be embarrassed about your tears staining his shirt, but you knew he would have been adamant that it didn’t matter in the slightest.

Slowly, he brings a hand up to run over the back of your head and through your hair. “What’s that silly brain of yours up to?” He whispers, and you shake your head against his chest.

“Currently? Telling me that I don’t deserve you,” you answer, rendering Haechan still for a moment.

“I can assure you, that’s a lie,” he responds seriously. You let out a heavy sigh against his body before speaking again, trying to ignore how your voice was cracking.

“I don’t like myself very much right now,” you sniffle in his hold, and Haechan is baffled that you couldn’t hear his heart breaking in his chest, though he figures he should be grateful for that. He takes care in maneuvering the two of you so that he could rest his forehead against yours for a moment, his thumb now gliding softly across your cheek.

“Don’t worry. I like you enough for the both of us tonight,” he says gently, and your grip around him tightens as you hide your head back in his chest to try and stifle more sobs. He runs a hand up and down your back in the meantime. “Thank you for texting me,” he continues, and you shake your head against his chest.

“I needed you,” you manage to say through a whimper, forcing Haechan to take a deep breath before tears could end up sliding down his face, as well.

“I’m always gonna be here,” he responds, and you knew he meant it with every fiber of his being - you could feel it.

When the two of you finally broke from the hug, Haechan immediately turned your attention to various board games and movies. Eventually, this led to the two of you laying down on top of your, much more comfortable, couch; with you almost entirely on top of Haechan as his arms wrapped around you loosely.

You were half-way through his comfort movie (the two of you already rewatched The Aristocats while playing board games) when he softly spoke up for the first time since it started.

“You can talk to me about it, you know? I told you your heavy feelings aren’t gonna scare me away, and just taking your mind off of it isn’t going to work forever.” His head is still turned to face the TV as he spoke, and you know it’s an attempt to make it feel more casual - less threatening of a topic.

You hold your breath for a moment before letting out a light sigh, giving in. “You’re not gonna get it, though. I feel like no one gets it. Sure, meeting you guys has been the biggest blessing and my mental health is honestly miles ahead of where it was…though that’s probably hard to believe given the situation. But- you guys always want to hang out with me, and my SM friends did, too, but I don’t get it. Half the time I just want to lay in bed and do nothing, and it’s like you guys know that and purposely don’t let me. I don’t know why you guys don’t let me. I don’t want to eat or see the sunlight all the time. I'm doing better but sometimes I just want to be here, and everyone acts as though it's the end of the world.”

Haechan takes a sharp inhale as his hands cease rubbing circles across your back and you’re terrified you messed up telling him all of that, figuring it paints you as ungrateful for your friends - a classification that he himself fell under, and now you’re worried you upset him. Though, moving your head up to look at him, you catch as he licks his lips in contemplation before pulling his gaze away from the TV and towards you, raising his eyebrows as he asks a question. “Do you step on flowers when you see them blooming?”

You look at him quizzically as you respond with a faint, confused ‘no.’ Haechan lets the softest of smiles cross his face as he shakes his head to emphasize your negative response, continuing to his point as he does so.

“We all try our best to take care of beautiful things, y/n. And even if you don’t see how your actions, or lack thereof, equate to you not taking care of yourself, think about the five year old who tramples over flowers without realizing any harm was done…but the rest of us know. The rest of us grieve. So, we’re all just trying our best to take care of you - before your mental health starts affecting your physical health and you have to stay in bed all day. I mean, I take you out to lunch all the time and I know you don’t want to eat, I know. But what you don’t know is that you eat a little bit more off your plate every single time. So, I never stop inviting you out, cause when I take care of you, you take care of yourself, too. The same thing when Jeno and Jaemin go exploring with you. It’s a huge part of why you’re miles ahead of where you were mentally. You’ve gotten stronger, you just don’t know it. So yeah, we like hanging out with you all the time - cause every time we do, we see you healing, and it gives us the chance to take care of you and fill all the gaps in between.”

If the two of you were breathing once he got done talking, you wouldn’t have been able to tell. The only sound breaking the silence was from the movie. You and Haechan seemed instead to be frozen in time. You watch as he takes a moment to study your figure, opening and closing his mouth a few times, apparently not satisfied with leaving off how he did.

He dodges eye contact now as he begins his next spiel, but his words come out slower, even more decided, than they previously were. “And if it’s the ‘beautiful’ part you’re having a hard time wrapping your head around…well, I’d tell you to think of art museums. Not everyone gets it, but there’s a reason for every piece that’s on display. Someone’s found it beautiful…even those weird modern art pieces that no one seems to get because they’re just red squares half the time. But you? If you feel like a red square painted on a canvas, just know that I get it - it was never even a question. I know you’re beautiful,” he says, moving a hand to gently tuck a piece of hair behind your ear so he could make unobstructed eye contact with you.

You don’t say anything back in reply. You can’t. Instead, you lay your head back on his chest to face the TV, squeezing your eyes shut, though it doesn’t do anything to stop the small shakes of your body with each soft sob that picked back up at his words. Haechan never said anything else, just holding you tightly to him as he resumed tracing shapes over your back until you fell asleep in his arms.

When you woke up the next morning in bed, what you weren’t expecting was to walk out to the living area and see Haechan standing in the kitchen.

At the sound of your footsteps, he turns to face you with a smile. “Hey, do you want coffee?” He asks casually, as if it were his own place and you were the guest.

You can’t stop the small laugh from leaving your system. “What are you doing here?” You ask playfully, and Haechan just shrugs as if nothing were off.

“Well, you fell asleep on me last night, so I carried you to bed and tucked you in and all that cause I figured your bed is more comfortable, but I didn’t want to just- leave you…in case you woke back up and needed me. So, I slept on the couch; unless you think that's weird!! In which case, I went home last night after getting you to bed, then came back here about ten minutes ago to make you coffee...and your friendly poltergeist roommate let me in.” He states plainly, and a fond smile paints its way across your lips as you stare at his figure, currently turned away from you as he resumed his task of making coffee.

“Thank you,” you reply seriously, and Haechan figures it was for the best that he wasn’t facing you anymore because just your 'thanks' had sent blush across his cheeks.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he answers, finally turning towards you again once the warmth in his cheeks dies down. “Do you wanna hang out today, too? Or are you about to kick me out of your kitchen?” He asks with a bashful smile and embarrassed laugh.

You shake your head and let your eyes roll playfully. “Well, you’re already here…we might as well hang out.”

Haechan lets a grin cross his face but he shakes his head at you. “Oh, no, I’m getting you out of here today; making you take a break from the confines of this place," he states with a lilt of seriousness.

You let out a sigh, though you knew arguing would be futile. “Well, I’m sorry to report that it’s a little early for lunch,” you joke, and Haechan rolls his eyes before answering with a cup of coffee extended out for you to take.

“I didn’t ask to go out for lunch, I asked to hang out. I’m ready for whatever it is you want to do, just let me know,” he says firmly, clinking your coffee mugs together in a mock 'cheers' before taking a sip through the stupid grin he currently bore on his face.

You roll your eyes in an attempt to negate the smile on your own lips. “Let me go get ready,” you say, but before you can take two steps back toward your bedroom, Haechan catches your wrist in his hand, forcing you to turn his way again in an instant.

“We have all day. Just stand in this kitchen and drink coffee with me for a bit first,” he pleads softly. That was all it took for you to move the mug up to your lips, laughing at the man in front of you who was now incredibly too invested in whether or not you liked your coffee.

[previous] -> [masterlist] -> [next]

a/n: sorry about this being posted slightly off schedule hours-wise…I was busy being thankful for my family (and I still don’t trust scheduled posts) but I’m also very thankful for all of you! I hope you enjoy this chapter and the holiday season :))

a/n (x2): you guys would not BELIEVE how long it takes for them to get together after this...

Taglist: @fullsunstrawberry @choizzn @raevyng @dudekiss3r @yewshi @artsenthusiastk77 @injunnie-lemon @markeroolee @chan-yeoldelling @sunflowerhae @mystverse @urlovelily @luvandletter @jeonghansshitester @dinonuguaegi @untilthesunrises @clean-soap @andassortedkpop @dlin3 @roseangelxfuma @gomdoleemyson @simmsunshine @swanyvess @awktwurtle @t-102 @kukkurookkoo @haefelt

@hahaechans @ypoom151999 @goldenclosethobi

[benedictscanvas]

could you possibly do a benedict bridgerton friends to lovers fic with maybe some jealousy thrown in there? i adore your writing 🫶🏻

this request could not have come at a better time! i finally started my bridgerton rewatch recently and i can feel myself sparking with ideas yet again :) || 2k words, tw benedict is PINING & this is much more suggestive than my usual content, so 18+ please!

can't bear it - benedict bridgerton x reader

He looked bored. It was the first thing you noticed upon entering the ballroom and, in truth, it was often the first thing you noticed upon entering any ballroom. Over your years of friendship, it seemed you had a highly trained eye to seek him out amongst any crowd.

Just as your eyes strayed to him, as if he had similar training, his found you. What had been a dull stare at the ground to avoid any accidental eye contact with the Mamas scattered about the room quickly became a bright and excitable gaze locked to yours and you returned his slow-spreading smile with a rather unladylike grin.

"Hi," he mouthed, a grin of his own now twisting his features. You shook your head at him fondly, biting the inside of your cheek in a foolish attempt to stop your grin from growing any wider.

You were lucky to have a sister with whom your mother was preoccupied. It made it easy to hurry along the sides of the ballroom, exchanging nods with those you passed without stopping to greet them properly, to end up next to Benedict in record time.

You stood side by side, your usual routine, the backs of your hands inches apart but both facing outwards, as if surveying the rest of the room. Each one of your senses was entirely tuned into him as soon as you entered his presence, but it would not look as such to any onlookers.

"You'll start more rumours if you keep trying to communicate across such wide distances, Lord Bridgerton," you began, eyes fixed on the twirling couples so you didn't sneak a glance in his direction, "I thought we were attempting to rid ourselves of the clamours for our engagement."

"They can hardly read into a mere greeting," he responded easily, the words a mere murmur from the corner of his mouth, "I am a gentleman, as you know, and it would be impolite to simply ignore you."

"It would. You couldn't ignore me if you tried, anyway," you mused, "You'd get ever so bored."

"Always so self-important."

His mutter makes you bite back a smirk. Perhaps facing away from each other did nothing to hide your obvious conversation after all. Violet would be sure to notice, you knew, and may once again force Benedict into explaining the lack of proposal between the two of you.

In recent weeks, however, you had been struggling to explain it to yourself. Benedict was so dear to you, so utterly different to the men that regularly bored you, that once you had struck up such unlikely friendship, it seemed you valued it far too much to take it any further.

That, and there had never been any indication that Benedict himself saw marital potential within you. He was by no means a shy man. If he wanted you, you were quite sure he would have swept you off your feet by now.

And what a sweeping it would be, in those strong arms barely concealed by the crisp white shirt, billowing fabric...

"Good evening, Miss Y/L/N," a voice broke you from your spell, and your gaze accidentally drifted to Benedict in surprise before landing on the man interrupting you, "I believe I was promised a dance last we met, and I have heard you are a lady of your word."

You had to fight to keep yourself from frowning as you wracked your brains for his name. Unfortunately, you came up entirely empty and had no choice but to respond vaguely.

"I certainly would not like to gain a reputation for breaking promises," you smiled as taught, taking in handsome features and arms that didn't fill in a shirt nearly as well as Benedict's. You shook that thought from your head as you placed your hand in the unnamed stranger's own, "It would be an honour."

There was a splutter to your left, no doubt Benedict struggling to conceal his amusement at the sudden change in your tone. You allowed the man to lead you to the dance floor, turning subtly to send Benedict a wry smile but finding him staring right through you, expression anything but amused.

It wiped the smile clean off your own face.

His face was thunder throughout your dance, you noticed, however much you tried to focus on the pleasantly mundane conversation provided by your new partner. He really was quite good looking, if only you could appreciate it, but you were entirely preoccupied by Benedict's new foul mood and what could have caused it.

As the dance ended, you bowed politely to your captor, which was the only word that came to mind for him, and hurried in the direction of your favourite friend only to find him gone. This time you did frown, despite your mother's warnings of wrinkles, and picked up your skirt lightly as you slipped out of the ballroom.

Searching side room after side room proved useful. You soon found what could be described as a studio, with large windows to let the light in but currently only cast moonlight across the canvases spread around the room. The moon also lit up half of Benedict, who was stood at the window, staring out into the gardens.

"Be prepared to hide under that desk if anyone should come knocking," you said, startling him as you clicked the door shut behind you, "I shan't let you compromise my honour just because I have to chase after you when you're having a tantrum."

He glowered at you at the mention of a tantrum, the kind of look he usually levelled his brothers with rather than you. It was new territory and you found yourself quickly floundering.

"I did not bid you to follow me."

"And yet here I am," you reminded, taking a tentative step, "So why don't you put a stop to this strange mood and tell me what's wrong?"

"I'd rather not," he said curtly, his voice a little wrong as he turned to face you at last. Were those tears? "Please return to the festivities and I will join you momentarily."

You'd never seen Benedict cry before. In fact, you weren't sure you'd ever seen a man cry in your life, and the sight was terrifying. You wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in a long overdue embrace, but you kept yourself stock still in the middle of the room.

"Benedict..." you began, not sure where you were going despite the plea in your voice, "Please. I have never seen you like this."

He laughs, but its harsh.

"You must not be very observant then, Y/N."

"I beg your pardon?"

"In fact, you must be positively blind. Maddeningly so. How do you ever get anything done?"

You could feel tears of your own welling up in your eyes and blinked them away furiously. It was a great effort to keep your voice level when you spoke.

"I have known you to be many things, Bridgerton, but you are not cruel. I am sure I have done nothing to deserve such vehement insult, so-"

"I quite disagree," he interrupted, face fierce as he stalked over to you until he was right in front of you. Your chest heaved as you looked up at him, eyes wide, and felt the rise of his chest almost against your own, "You are observant, Y/N, and far from blind. It is your cruelty at fault here, not mine. It is yours."

He hissed the last word, pointing a finger at you so close to your chest that your head was spinning. His closeness was intoxicating, his scent crowding you out of enough oxygen and his words were making you lightheaded with panic.

"You're not making any sense," you murmured. His fingertips ghosted across the fabric of your dress near your hips, barely there, and nowhere near the skin underneath.

"You must see it," he mutters back, all gritted teeth and barely concealed restraint, "You must see that I worship you. That I always have."

Your inhale sounded more like a gasp. He shook his head above you, moving closer until his chin was pressed hard into your temple and you keened into the touch.

"I know you do not feel the same. And you are not obligated to, I swear it. But taunting me as you do. Playing with me only to dance with another..." he trails off, breath shuddering, and you can hear those tears in his voice again, "I can't bear it. Please, Y/N, I cannot bear it."

Neither can you.

You reach up and take his face in both hands, finding chiseled cheekbones and jawline, thumbs either side of his lips as you pull him until you can look up into his face again. Your gaze flickers across his face, and you wipe the tears from his face with shaking fingers.

"You're blind, Benedict," you say, leaning up on your tiptoes until your lips brush his, soft, like the ghost of his fingertips against fabric. You know what you want him to do and you need him to do it first, need him to take your lead and run away with it.

When he fists his hands in your dress at your hips and drags you into him, your prayers are answered.

He opens your mouth to his, still gentle but insistent, demanding more, more, more of you. You'd give him everything, right here, mainly because you know he'd never take it. He seems more than content with the here and now as it is, especially when your hands slip into his hair and he lets out a low grumble of a moan that you feel everywhere.

He's trying to pull you closer still when you break for air, gasping it in as the two of you pant into each other's mouths. He runs a hand down your hair, your neck, your arm, until he intertwines his fingers with yours, chases your lips for a peck, then another, then another. You meet him with a lazy grin.

"I dance with the Lords of the ton every ball," you breathe out, "I'd have noticed if you reacted like this every time."

Benedict was grinning too. He looked far more like himself when he did.

"They are usually old, ugly fools," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the thought, "I always hate them having their hands all over you, but watching a young charming bastard who may just have a chance with you hold you as I have always dreamed of doing? It was enough."

"He never had a chance, my Lord," you assured, tracing his hairline, his earlobe just to see him shiver, "You are, as already accused, blissfully blind. Blind as a bat, I should think."

"Recent developments would suggest that to be true," he mused, glowing in a way he wouldn't usually when wrong. Then, all too quickly, his face briefly fell, "I truly apologise for all that I said to you, Y/N. There is no excuse, it was cruel."

"Hm," you agreed, "It was. Although, I can think of a multitude of ways you can make it up to me. Would you care to hear them?"

His eyes lit up at the realisation of your teasing. It was familiar, exactly what had drawn you both to each other time and time again. It was likely what would keep you together for eternity.

"I would like nothing more."

"How about I sit right up here..." you began lowly, moving to take a seat on the desk, "-you sit yourself underneath this desk, and we can have a conversation about compromising my honour."

You grinned at him wolfishly. It looked almost as if his eyes rolled back into his head already, but it wasn't long until he was kneeling in front of you, hands on the hem of your dress.

"And what would you know about compromising your honour, Miss Y/L/N?"

You ran a hand through his hair and used it to roughly yank him forward, until his nose was pressed to the fabric of your dress, exactly where you wanted him. It was easy to see it now, as he stared up at you in total awe: the way he worshipped you.

"Let's find out, shall we?"

if you’d like to request something, please do so here! i’d love to hear from you, sunflower <3

[antiquarianfics]

Therapy

Sometimes all a person needs is a little reassurance they’re not a bad person.

A/N: I’m rewatching TFATWS and the therapy scene broke me tbh. Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader Warnings: None. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to repost or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, or reblog.

—

“And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me!”

Bucky’s words make you tense, and you feel your heart clench. Your eyes shoot from Bucky, to Sam, to Raynor. Neither Sam nor Raynor seem as affected by Bucky’s words as you. You suppose, however, his therapist would only see Bucky’s confession as a breakthrough, and his friend, in his anger, would only see it as selfish.

Bucky seems to realize he admitted something not only to the room, but to himself. It was clearly not his plan to share such a thought, and it was clearly a thought he didn’t want to admit to himself.

—

Later, when Sam, Bucky, and yourself are sitting on a plane, headed to meet with Zemo (against your protests), you finally bring up the impromptu therapy session with Bucky.

“Sweetheart?” You say, pulling Bucky’s attention from a random spot on the wall he’s staring at to you.

The hardened expression on Bucky’s face melts away as he looks at you.

“Doll?” He responds, mimicking your same questioning tone.

You bite your lip anxiously before leaning forward and planting a kiss on his lips. The kiss takes him slightly off guard, but he happily returns it. The kiss takes you slightly off guard, too, because you kissed him to buy yourself some time to figure out what you want to say. After a second, you pull away, anxiously biting your lip again.

“What was that for?” Bucky asks, a goofy smile gracing his lips.

“Uh…” you trail off. “A distraction?”

“A distraction?”

“Uh, yeah. I needed to distract you while I figured out what to say.”

He shoots you a questioning look, but you continue before he can say anything.

“What you said earlier, to Sam,” you start, voice unsure.

Bucky sighs and leans back in his seat, closing his eyes.

“Y/N,” he says, a pleading tone lacing each syllable of your name. He doesn’t want to talk about this.

“Bucky,” you argue, “I just… I just want you to be okay. Do you really think that? That Steve was wrong about you?” The thought upsets you, and you can tell he knows it.

“Wasn’t he?”

“No.”

“Doll.”

“James.”

He meets your eyes and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Steve trusted Sam with his shield—with his legacy. Steve was a better person than all of us. If… if he was wrong about Sam, then he was wrong about me.”

“First of all, Steve was just a man. He wasn’t a god, and we need to stop talking about him like he was. He was a really good man, yes, but just a man. His opinion on any one person or any one situation is not inherently the right one. Second of all, that’s a logical fallacy and you know it. Steve gave Sam the shield because he believed he would do with it what was right. Sam did exactly what he thought was right. You have to stop blaming him for that. Third of all, Steve wasn’t wrong about you. If he was, Buck, you’d be in prison, but he wasn’t and you’re not. You’re here, with me, with Sam, and you’re trying to make the world a better place.”

Bucky stares at you. You’re so adamant, and it scares him. He knows you’re right, but even if you weren’t, he thinks he’d believe you simply because you’re so sure of yourself. He swallows.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

You sigh in relief that he’s at least agreeing with you.

“Y/N?” He asks. You hum in response.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

[wellofdean]

Thinking about @luckshiptoshore and her liveblog of watching Supernatural and how much I love following it and how great it is to watch someone just fucking ENJOY the show...

And then, there were a couple of people in my Discord who love the fic, but have never watched the show, and folks in there were trying to convince them that it was worth watching (duh!) and that knowing the show by heart makes the fic so much better and like yes, again... DUH! And then I was suddenly overcome with such a feeling of ENVY for all the people who still have the chance to watch Supernatural for the first time already knowing what happens in the end.

I mean, I watched 14 years of it in real time (after downloading and bingeing season 1) and at least I was clever enough not to be in the fandom trenches that whole time, and just enjoyed it for what it was, but the end broke my brain, and changed the whole show for me.

Because, like, here's what happens in Supernatural by the end: Dean and Cas are in love. It was not subtle. Dean can't say it because he never has a single moment of not being up to his pretty, pretty eyeballs in dealing with the ongoing and constantly multiplying trauma of being the man his father raised him to be, and god's specialest boy to boot, but in the end, Cas finally does just fucking say it. Not only that, he waits until he can use it to save Dean, and show him once and for all in an incontrovertible, undeniable way exactly how deeply and truly loved and SEEN he is.

When you watch it knowing that, knowing that the the whole story is going to end in that stupid bunker dungeon with Cas telling Dean who he is and dying to save him, the whole thing just HITS DIFFERENT, because the Dean of season one with his outcast liminality and pretty, pretty lips is the poor, lonely, weird boy who will one day be loved like that by Castiel, an angel of the lord -- an impossible Eldritch being who learned what love and selfhood are from closely observing Dean.

The consensus amongst most Supernatural fans is that it is trashy and bad and that its all evil queerbaiting, but I would contend that it's actually deeply entertaining, culturally rich and interesting (yes, even its flaws and missteps), often impressively well-written and acted, never puts on any airs about being prestige television or high art, but still manages to be ultimately epic and somehow sublime, and that it's a queer story, about queer love saving the universe, and it is so, so worth watching.

Like, my brainworms are not 'they strung me along all that time and then never let them make out', by brainworms are 'they told us so many times and in so many big and small ways, and now I need to watch every bit of it again and again and again so I can finally REVEL IN IT (and, friends, that is the Supernatural rewatch journey: realising it was ALWAYS THERE). My brainworms aren't 'but does Dean reciprocate??' they are: 'of course he loves Cas, and of course Cas knows that Dean loves him, and the one thing Cas can't have? That's just his chance at happiness and a soft epilogue with and for Dean, because Cas, impossible, cosmic, Eldritch being Cas, traded his chance at happiness for his family's lives and sacrificed himself for love of his son and Dean, because that is what you do when you love someone, and what he has watched Dean never stop doing for even a minute of his beleaguered life.'

And then, Dean dies (yes, it's stupid), and he cannot just go to heaven, drink a beer and hang out, he needs to climb into his magic soul vehicle, hit the axis mundi and tear the universe up looking for his angel and his happy ending in The Winchesters? Fuck me.

And like, it's the most romantic, and devastating story I have ever been told? And I love it so much?

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Right! Here we go. Ghosts Finale Positivity Post as I rewatch.

- Robin being an excited little kid for Christmas is the cutest thing, even if it's Halloween.

- Alison's face when she's showing the ghosts Mia before she has to put the mask on. Also the fact one of her first priorities after giving birth was for Mike to call them and reassure her they're OK.

- "Since Alison come, it been my favorite time of year." I love you Robin, I love you, I love you.

- Nana Fanny is surprisingly sweet? I never imagined her being that maternal before, she never spoke of her children.

- "Robin want more." 🥺 HE IS SO BABY.

- "Think of the child, Alison!" Thomas just kills it with that line. 😂

- Julian caring about putting Robin in the Christmas mood. Chess Husbands are the Joey and Chandler of this show for me.

- Mike was fully about to reveal the truth to Betty but his wife said Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss. It's just so on point for them.

- "She doesn't want to see Fanny on camera." Has someone compiled all these jokes yet?

- Alison's little thumbs up to Julian, they are just chaos buddies.

- Mike being a terrible liar is hilarious.

- Mike warning the ghosts to leave! Like he has no real connection to these guys except through Alison but doesn't want any of them in danger. 🥺

- "Betty's bought the pastor!" "Pasta? That not very Christmassy." Robin I swear to god.

- That close in shot of Julian is the funniest scene in the episode. Also Robin "I think we should go-" chess husbands stick together.

- Kitty remembering Humphrey! She's always seemed to be the one who is most concerned for him. <3

- This. Just this.

- Thomas, normally the most self-obsessed git, being the one to jump into the line of fire to rescue Humphrey is also <3 <3

- This expression on Alison broke my heart and had me going "babygirl oh babygirl!" at my TV.

- But then.... 😁🥰😁

- CHESS HUSBANDS SHOULDER TOUCH

- As chaotic as the scene is, Kitty wanting to sing Mia a lullaby is cute and shows she's trying to move past her jealousy...I think.

- Fanny calling Alison her daughter. I'm not OK.

- This had me howling. 😂

- Mike saying "thanks guys." There's as many Mike / ghosts moments as Alison ones here.

- Julian being so happy Robin feels Christmassy!

- This could be an oil painting. My girl. 😭

- Best use of a song and lyrics timed with what's happening.

- THE PORTRAITS! Such a tiny detail but tells you Alison had her input into how the hotel was set up. She made it for her and Mike but she left it for THEM!

- The last we hear from Alison is her laughter. All these years. All these years and they are loving and LAUGHING together.

- Plague Ghosts always had to be the ones to bow us out. Again, while she wasn't super close to them, I like to think Alison suggested the pit as a good place for the spa, for them. 🥰

.....Okay that was a little better on second viewing ngl.

(For anyone wondering why I don't mention any of the PatCap moments, sorry I'm just not a big fan of baby scenes and babytalk etc.)

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Still Love Me?

This will fill the "I want you to leave marks." space on my @jacklesversebingo card. The prompt will be bolded.

Summary: Y/N wants to help Dean deal with the mark - in whatever way he needs.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Pretty much all just very filthy smut. MOC!Dean. He is harsh, and fairly brutal. Hard, rough, brutal, unprotected P in V sex. Pain/pleasure dynamics (all consensual). Spanking (brief). Tit slapping. Throat fucking. Hard, rough fingering. Spitting. Spit as lube. Brief anal fingering. Name calling. Face slapping (just once) Choking. Oral (f. receiving.) Brief orgasm denial and overstimulation. Reader tied up. Dom/sub vibes. Dom drop. Also angst. Soft Dean. Aftercare. And believe it or not, some fluff.

Pairings: MOC!dean x Reader (You)

Word Count: 5,074

A/N: Blame this fic on raging hormones, and a rewatch of S10. 🤷‍♀️ All I'll say is, heed the warnings. ⚠️

The beautiful dividers used here are created by @talesmaniac89

You awoke from a dream that you immediately forgot, reaching for Dean beside you. But he wasn’t there. You sat up quickly, surveying the room in the dark, and seeing no sign of him. 

You stood up and grabbed Dean's white button down that he’d worn earlier in the day before carelessly draping it over the arm of the chair. He never put his clothes away. A little imperfection of his that made you love him even more, even if it also made you wanna pinch him sometimes. 

“The drawers are RIGHT THERE.” You’d remind him, frustration leaking from your pores. Inevitably he’d smile his charming, irresistible smile and nuzzle his face into the side of your neck, licking and nipping at you and rubbing his scratchy scruff against your sensitive skin, making you giggle and shiver.

“Still love me?” He’d ask teasingly, his little boy expression making you fall in love with him all over again. Every time. 

But under his teasing -  no matter how minor your annoyance with him was, or how happy he was in the moment - beneath that you could always see his genuine fear that one day you’d say no.

Dean Winchester broke your heart sometimes.

You padded out of the bedroom in only Dean’s shirt; Sam was away in Lebanon for the night, having finally asked out a waitress he’d liked for more than a month. He’d texted earlier to say not expect him home before tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.

Go Sammy! you thought with a smile.

You wandered down the bunker’s hallways, checking for Dean in all of his usual haunts; the kitchen first, naturally, but also the library and war room, the Dean cave, the shower room, though you didn’t hear a shower running. Beginning to get a little worried, you decided to check out the basement. As you came to the bottom of the staircase you heard grunting coming from down the hall and frowned.

It sounded like it was coming from the gym. You went to investigate, although you began to suspect why he was awake and hitting a punching bag in the gym in the middle of the night. You walked into the dimly lit gym and stopped to gaze at Dean in awe.

He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and no shirt, a sheen of sweat covering his skin as he moved from foot to foot, pounding on the two hundred pound heavy bag in front of him. Each punch was landed with a grunt of effort, and sometimes his hands moved in combinations too quick for you to follow. He was an extraordinary fighter, beautiful and graceful, and extremely powerful. 

You didn’t get to spy on him for very long. His instincts and sixth sense tended to border on the prescient, so he quickly turned towards you, his face relaxing somewhat as he saw that it was just you. He pulled one of his ear buds out with his taped up hand, breathing heavily. You could hear screaming metal music tinnily coming through the tiny speaker before he shut off the music and stuffed the headphones into his pocket

“Y/N. What are you doing up?”

You smiled and walked towards him. “I woke up and you were gone, so I came looking for you.” You came to a stop in front of him and reached out to wrap your arms around his neck, but he pushed your arms away and stepped back quickly. You frowned at him, more confused than hurt.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, nothing. Sorry, I just…” he swept a hand across his chest. “I’m all sweaty and gross. Trust me, you don’t wanna be near me.”

You chuckled and gave him a mischievous grin. “Been around you all hot and sweaty plenty of times, Winchester; hasn’t bothered me yet.”

But when you closed in on him again, he backed up further, holding up a hand. “Y/N stop it!” He barked at you.

This time his anger at your approach and his obvious disinterest did hurt you a bit, but once again, you thought you knew the problem. You frowned at him.

“Okay. Talk.”

But Dean just shook his head. “Look, I’m just…I just wanna finish my workout…and, you know…” he trailed off.

You put your hands on your hips and tilted your head at him. “You wanna finish your workout? What are you Sam all of a sudden?” You said with a chuckle, trying to lighten his dark mood. 

But he remained dark. His green eyes were hard like flint and his jaw ticked. You began to notice a sort of dangerous, menacing energy rolling off of him. It was the kind of energy, you had to admit, that would make you turn and run in the other direction if you didn’t know and love him.

But his mood wasn’t at all surprising. You’d suspected all along what woke him, why he was down here, and why he didn’t want you close to him. You looked at the mark that sat like a scarred brand on his inner right forearm and felt your stomach clench. You reached out to touch it but Dean yanked his arm away. 

“The mark acting up?” You asked, trying to sound nonchalant, as though you were discussing a toothache instead of the curse that had turned him into a demon once already. You knew it had been getting worse in recent weeks. He used to talk to you when he woke up from a nightmare brought on by the mark, but lately he’d been just brushing them aside. 

“Same as always.” He answered now, as he’d answered many times before.

You shook your head. “Don’t do that, Dean, please. Tell me what you dreamt. Talk to me about what you’re going through. I wanna help.”

Dean shook his head and laughed humorlessly. “You can’t help, Y/N, and I don’t…” He ran a hand over his face and then turned back towards the bag. “I don’t want you around me when I’m like this.” He said, before landing a blow to the heavy bag that made it swing back and forth.

You swallowed and tried to ignore the primal part of you that tended to get animalistic when he was like this. Your body flushed and your core muscles fluttered whenever you could see that hard, hot, hungry look come into his eyes.

You knew it scared him and you wanted to support him; you wanted him to know you'd always believe that underneath everything he would always be the same good, loving, kind man you'd known all these years. 

But sometimes he exuded so much raw masculinity and virility, that it was like a siren song, pulling you in and you were more than willing to risk being dashed upon the rocks if it meant feeling that energy, that power, vibrating around you.

You stepped closer to him and he backed away again, but you pursued him across the gym floor. He scowled deeply at you, nostrils flared. 

“Y/N, what the fuck are you doing? I told you, you shouldn’t be around me right now.”

You shook your head. “You’re wrong, Dean. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here if you want to talk…or…anything.” You said, voice laced with too much meaning for Dean to miss it.

Again his jaw clenched, and his eyes flicked down your body, obviously enjoying the sight of you clothed in only his shirt. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you're asking for, Y/N.”

You stepped closer to him, pushing him back against a stack of mats. “I think I do. I know you wanna fuck me, I know your body is as hot and aching as mine.” You reached up to wrap your hand around the back of his head, playing with the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m here for you, for whatever you need. If you want to expend some of that excess energy, I’m right here - ready to go.”

The only sound in the room was the rough, shallow breaths coming from both of you. Suddenly, quick as a flash, Dean’s hand shot out to bunch your shirt (his really) in one fist and wrench you closer to him. 

“You’re not listening to me, Y/N. Two hours ago I was dreaming about slicing people up, pulling them apart with my bare hands. That violence, the lust, the pounding need to destroy something is still pumping through my veins. I want to fuck something or break something or maybe both.” He dropped his hand from your shirt and pushed it through his hair. “So get away from me unless you want me to do something we’ll both regret.”

Your blood was pumping so hard in your veins, you were surprised Dean couldn’t hear it. You licked your lips and shook your head. “No. I won’t regret it. I want you to use me, I’m here for you, I’m giving you permission to use me…however you need.” You paused for a beat before admitting, "I want you to leave marks."

Dean’s face was almost feral in its intensity and you felt the slick begin dripping down your inner thigh.

"You don't really mean that, sweetheart." Dean grit his teeth, and spoke in a growl.

"Don't I?" You whispered.

You unbuttoned the few buttons holding his shirt closed and let it fall to the floor, leaving you in nothing but a white, lacy thong. Dean clenched his fists over and over as his burning hot gaze scorched you completely.

"Last chance, sweetheart. Run." He warned, his voice low and slightly ominous, causing you to shiver.

You shook your head. "No." You said simply; anything more was beyond you at the moment.

A split second passed before Dean pounced. He grabbed you roughly by the throat and landed his open mouth on yours, sweeping his tongue inside. His body radiated restrained power as he kissed you, consumed you. Moving down from your mouth he sucked on the skin below your ear, beginning to make the marks you wanted to see in the mirror the next day. 

He broke away from you and pulled you aside so he could yank down one of the mats from the pile, and toss it on the ground.

"Get down." He ground out, before pushing you to the mat when you didn't move quick enough.

He towered above you, staring down at you as he slowly pulled the tape off his knuckles. His eyes were dark, and wild and made your body shiver slightly in anticipation.

"Take off your panties. I want you on your hands and knees." He told you when he was finished. "I'm gonna fuck you into oblivion." He pushed down his sweats, making you moan deeply as you saw he wasn't wearing underwear. 

You reached for his rock hard cock, but he slapped your hand away, kneeling down and manhandling you into the position he wanted you in before tearing your panties from your body. 

He set you on your hands and knees and pushed against your back until your cheek was pressed tightly against the mat. The position left your ass and pussy completely exposed to him and he took immediate advantage of that, roughly driving three fingers into your dripping hole. 

A cry escaped you and he growled deep and harsh, clearly enjoying the sound. He chased it again by pulling his fingers out and then slamming them back into you, even harder.

"Unf - fu-huck." You gasped out, your whole body vibrating with need. He pulled out and added his fourth finger, ramming into you and forcing your cunt to stretch wide. With most of his hand sunk deep inside your pussy he pressed against your g-spot and made you scream.

He pulled back from the sensitive spot and then punched back into you so hard he almost knocked you over. But he grabbed onto your hip in a bruising grip. His hand was so big, his blunt fingernails dug painfully into the crease of your thigh.

Buried deep inside your cunt he turned his hand so that his thumb could circle the tight, puckered hole of your ass. His hand moved from gripping your hip to spreading your cheeks open.

He spit onto the ring of muscle and you gasped. You had no experience with anal sex, and your stomach flip-flopped half in fear and half in excitement. He spit on you again, rubbing his saliva over your hole with his thumb before breaching it, pushing just the tip in at first. He pulled out and then pushed back further, to his first knuckle. 

The sensation was strange but pleasurable. He pushed his thumb in as far as he could and the unfamiliar stretch burned. He moved his other hand forward and began to push in his other thumb. He spit on you again to lube up the way for his probing fingers. As he pushed both thumbs in completely he pried you open slightly, stretching you and making you whimper, half pain, half pleasure. 

You felt stuffed full of him, both holes stretched open and stinging. Then he pushed his fingers against your sweet spot again, rubbing and pressing there until your walls clenched tightly around him as you exploded, yelling out a rough, ragged sound of pleasure.

As you were coming down, he pulled his hands out of you and stood up. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking on it hard and making you cry out in pain as he used it to pull you to your knees.

Without pausing, he wrenched your head back so your face was turned up to him. Then his hand came down across your cheek, stinging sharply.

"Open your fucking mouth. I wanna make you gag."

You did as he said immediately, feeling your belly clench in spite of the pain, or maybe because of it. He shoved his cock roughly down your throat, getting what he wanted as you choked around him. 

He pulled out and cum and spit dribbled out of your mouth before he pushed back in, even further down your esophagus. He took his free hand and ran his thumb over your bulging throat. 

He pulled out again, letting you barely catch your breath. You coughed hard, your throat already aching from being used so roughly. But Dean held your head in place by your hair and shoved himself in again, until he was fully seated in your throat. 

You gagged around him over and over, but he just wrapped his big hand around your throat and squeezed, gripping his own cock buried deep inside. His fist squeezed tightly and you stopped gagging simply because the immense pressure of his fist allowed for no movement. 

You began to see black spots moving in around the edges of your vision before he finally let go and pulled out his cock. You coughed horribly, raspy, gravelly sounds emanating from you as you struggled to bring oxygen into your lungs.

Before you really had time to recover, Dean yanked you to your feet, his hand still bunched in your hair. Your legs were wobbly, but he pulled you over to one of several workout benches around the room and pushed you down over it, finally letting go of your hair. 

"Don't move." He told you; his voice was dark and sinister and made you start shivering. Your body was aching, but also humming with need. 

You couldn't see what he was doing behind you but suddenly his mouth was buried in your pussy, his hard tongue penetrating you. 

"Dean!" You screamed out, and it hurt your raw throat, but you couldn't help it as his delicious mouth sucked and licked at your throbbing cunt. You wriggled against his mouth and he pulled away making you whimper with want. 

Then you felt his palm crack hard and heavy against your ass and your whimper turned into a gasp and then a moan of pain as he delivered a second blow, making heat bloom and spread across your cheeks.

"I told you not to fucking move." He growled at you. 

You nodded your acknowledgement, a whine leaving you as he returned to pulling you apart on his tongue. You tried hard to stay still, but as he pulled your clit between his swollen lips, you instinctively pushed back against him.

He pulled away again and you knew you'd messed up. He lifted you off the bench easily and brought you back over to the mat on the floor. He threw you down on it and walked away. 

He returned quickly, carrying three long skipping ropes. He got down and knelt over you, one knee on either side of your hips, and grabbed hold of your hands, using one of the ropes to tie them tightly in front of you. Then he stood up and pulled on the rope until your hands were stretched out above your head. He tied it off to something, making it impossible for you to move your arms.

Next he tied the two other ropes to your ankles and stretched your legs wide, making sure your restraints were taut enough that you had absolutely no chance of movement.

He stood over you again, admiring his handiwork, and watching the need spasm across your face. You called out to him, desperate for him to relieve the pulsing ache in your pussy. 

"Dean, please. Please."

He gave in to your pleading and laid down to bury his face in your cunt once again. Your complete inability to move made the teasing, sucking and fucking of his mouth nearly unbearable. He put his big hand flat on your lower belly so you couldn't lift your hips even a little.

You were completely at his mercy as he tortured you with aching, all-consuming pleasure. 

You were screaming now, over and over, just harsh, guttural shouts of desperate need. It was the only outlet you had, the only way to express the overwhelming ecstasy Dean was pulling from your exhausted, trembling body.

He spread your lips wide with his thumbs and flicked the tip of his tongue back and forth against your clit, pulling back again and again when your climax was about to take over. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your arms and legs pulled uselessly against the bonds Dean had tied so tightly.

Finally Dean sat up and then moved up your body. He cupped your tits in both hands and squeezed hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh without mercy, making it feel as though they were being crushed by a vice. He let go to twist your nipples with his strong fingers, making you cry out in pain again. Or maybe it was pleasure. At this point it was almost impossible to tell the two apart.

Dean let go of your nipples and then began going back and forth between your tits, slapping each of them over and over, with sharp, strong, stinging blows. You knew the punishment he was dolling out would likely leave them raw and aching, with bright red marks as evidence of Dean's lust and need for violence.

Finally, he left them throbbing as he grabbed your throat. He didn't squeeze hard, but the threat was there. He hovered above you and then spit in your face. Warm and thick, the saliva slipped down your cheek and Dean shook your head back and forth.

"Open your mouth, bitch." You followed his order immediately, your cunt clenching around nothing at his name-calling. He spit into your open mouth twice and then slid his hand up from your throat to clamp your jaw shut.

"Swallow it." He ordered harshly and you did. He kept your jaw clamped tight in his fist, so that you could only scream quietly through clenched teeth when he was suddenly fucking up into you, rough and fast. He was so big, and so hard, and he went so deep inside you it felt like he'd tear out your guts. 

And yet you wanted more.

Letting go of your face to raise himself up like a push up above you, he forced his way forward , pushing out every ounce of power he had in his hips, to rut powerfully and unendingly into your cunt You came three more times as he continued to pound away at you. He fucked you for so long and jackhammered into you so rough, that your pussy ended up raw and painful as he continued to fuck you. You could feel the damage he was doing to your cervix, ramming into it over and over, leaving it bruised, and making your body ache and throb even on the inside.

And yet, despite all the pain and your complete and utter exhaustion when he gripped your chin in his hand and demanded you open your eyes and look at him, you did so. 

"Give me one more, slut. Squeeze me hard one more time and I'll spill so deep in you, you'll feel me leaking out of this pussy for days."

You felt your belly clench seconds before you gave him what he wanted, your walls spasming around him once again as you shook with your release. 

Dean yelled and cursed as he followed through on his promise, muscles straining above you as his hips stuttered and lost rhythm, and his thick, burning hot cum shot into your womb. He seemed to cum forever, more and more of his seed painting your walls as he shook above you. 

Finally he ended with a groan of repletion and landed on top of you. His heavy weight was a lot for your aching body to take, and every part of you throbbed.

He eventually rolled off of you and you thought he might have drifted out of consciousness for a few minutes. You may have done the same if the painful ache pulsing through you would have let you. 

As you lay beside him, still unable to move because of the ropes tying you in place, you thought about how Dean had used you, just as you'd told him to, marked you as you’d begged him to. Ordinarily Dean was the gentlest of lovers, almost reverent, and he always made your body hum and glow, plucking at you in that perfect way that only he knew. 

But tonight had been something else entirely. There had definitely been times when sex between you and Dean had been a bit more athletic and acrobatic than other times, but it had never been anything like this. You decided that although you certainly wouldn't be able to do this every night, it had been an incredible, pleasurable, hot and thrilling experience, that you wouldn't mind trying again sometime. 

Your body throbbed and you amended your thought. Yes, with a lot of recovery time in between.

Finally, Dean stirred beside you and then turned his head to look at you. It seemed to dawn on him slowly that you were still trussed up, but when it registered completely, he leapt up.

"Shit, Y/N I'm so sorry." He said, untying the ropes around your ankles and wrists. He helped you sit up and you couldn't help grimacing and letting out a sharp cry of pain as you put pressure on your overused pussy, and never-before-fucked asshole.

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry." You heard the heartbreak and guilt in Dean's voice and you shook your head vehemently, wanting to immediately nip those feelings in the bud.

"Dean, no, I'm fine." You said, but your throat ached and sounded raw as you spoke, making more remorse cloud his expression.

You tried to tell him again, but he just shook his head at you and pressed his lips gently to your forehead.

"Shh, don't try to talk baby. Just put your arms around my neck."

You did and he lifted you easily from the ground. You tried desperately to curtail your groans and gasps of pain, but you weren't always successful as he walked with you slowly down the Bunker's hallways trying not to jostle you.

Eventually, he brought you through the tiled shower room, and into the back area where a wide, deep bathtub, set into the floor and shaped like a hot tub, was waiting. 

He carried you down into the pool-like bathtub and sat you on one of the benches built into the side of the tub. You shivered at the cold tile and Dean nodded.

"I know, baby. I'm gonna fix that right now." He moved over to the big taps, sliding the drain closed, and then turning the water on, letting the gushing, warm water pour into the tub.

He climbed out and gathered up some things as it filled, covering you slowly in heavenly warm, soothing water. 

When it was full, Dean returned to set the things he'd brought down beside you on the edge of the tub. You saw he'd brought over your coconut body wash, as well as your shampoo and conditioner. He also had an exfoliating mitt, and a handheld massager.

He climbed into the tub beside you and simply pulled you into his lap. He held you like that for quite a while, running gentle fingers up and down your skin - on your arms, your legs and your back. He used the water to let his hands glide over you smoothly.

Eventually he turned you so your back was to him, and he began washing your hair. The same fingers that had gripped it so tightly and pulled it so harshly earlier, were now gently massaging your scalp with careful, circular movements.

When he rinsed all the shampoo and conditioner out of your hair he put on the exfoliating mitt which didn't really fit his big hand, but it worked well enough for him to squeeze some body wash onto it and begin to ever so gently exfoliate your skin. When you were covered in sudsy body wash he picked up the massager and began to run it over your body, applying the perfect pressure to the little wheels as they rolled over you, kneading your aching muscles with a beautiful kind of relief.

Finally Dean put the massager down and used his hands to scoop water up over you to rinse everything away. He lifted you out of the bath and wrapped you in a towel, leaving everything where it was so he could carry you to your bedroom and set you on the side of the bed.

He grabbed your lotion off the dresser and after toweling you dry, squeezed some of it into his palm and began to apply it to your skin.

You shifted to lay back against the pillows and he moved with you. He'd spoken very little this whole time, just soothing, nonsensical words and the odd direction here and there, to lift your arms or tilt your head forward. 

You felt like you were moving through a sleepy, peaceful fog as he tended to you, and you sighed deeply and closed your eyes. You must have dozed off because when you woke up the light was low in the bedroom, and you wore one of Dean's band t-shirts. Your blanket was also pulled up and tucked around you.

You looked for Dean beside you but he wasn't there. Then you looked up and sighed in relief as you saw him sitting at the desk with an elbow resting on it and his head held in one hand.

As you watched, you saw him reach up and brush his fingers across his cheek. Your heart cracked when you realized he was sitting alone in the semi-darkness, crying.

"Dean." You called out to him and though your throat still sounded a little rough, it felt much better.

He looked up and quickly ran a hand over his face, obviously hoping you hadn't seen his tears. He came to sit beside you on the bed and brushed your hair back off your forehead, tucking it behind your ear.

"Hey sweetheart, what do you need?" He asked as he poured you a glass of water from the decanter he had sitting there. You took a sip and the cool water was delicious and reviving. You sat up a bit more, hiding your grimace, but Dean saw it anyway.

"Don't move too much, baby."

You shook your head at him, feeling the guilt pouring out of him. "Dean, I'm fine."

His jaw ticked and he picked up your hand to run his finger over the purple bruises that marred your skin from where you strained against the ropes. 

"No, you're not." He raised his head and then tilted your head back gently so he could see the bruises that undoubtedly adorned your throat from where he'd squeezed it so tightly.

Tears clogged his voice as he pulled his hand away from you and then shifted backwards, putting distance between you both. "Look at what I did to you, Y/N." He shook his head as you tried to interrupt him. "And I liked it. I…fucking hell." He cursed and turned his head away from you. 

But you reached up and turned his chin back towards you. "So did I, Dean. I liked it too." He stared at you and you nodded trying to make him listen to you. "All of it. Yeah it was painful at times, but it was also hot as fuck, and I loved it. Might be a while till I'm ready to do it again, but, I hope we will."

Dean's expression told you he desperately wanted to believe you. You leaned forward and kissed his lips, petal soft and then pulled back to run your hand over his cheek. He leaned into the caress and then opened his eyes and his gaze was afraid. 

"Still love me?" He asked, fearfully.

Your heart broke a little and you kissed him again, before staring deep into his eyes, making sure he could see the truth reflected in yours. "Dean Winchester, I will love you every single day for the rest of my life." 

He let out a deep sigh and seemed to accept your words as the truth. You smiled at him and spoke against his lips. "Maybe even a little longer."

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

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[asumofwords]

So I see you’re going to open up requests soon??? 👀

Lemme just put this one there to marinate because some of the asks have really put the thought in my head with no sign of it leaving me be.

Spooky season is coming!!!!

I rewatch the Haunting series on Netflix every October so I’m kinda feeling a Bly Manor type possession fic. SFA one shot or not, but Aemond’s dead and they were definitely in love. When reader moves on after his death and eventually meets someone she can fall in love with again, maybe she brings him home and Aemond possesses her new man just so he can fuck her again. Bonus points if she doesn’t know the first few times but keeps wondering how her new boo knows exactly what she likes before Aemond finally reveals himself and ultimately, she lets it continue because she gets her Aemond again.

Just some thots

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: Death, murder, sadness, depression, thoughts of suicide, talks of blood and gore, moving on, haunted estate, possession, fear, anger, smut, chasing, blood, choking, slapping, fucking, creampie, degradation, rough sex, angry sex, dub-con, slight non-con, confusion, grief, Cregan being possessed by your late husband, spooky vibes.

Pairings: Ghost!Aemond x Reader / Aemond Targaryen Possession Fic, Cregan Stark x Reader, Possessed!Cregan x reader

Notes: Look.... I'm such a Cregan Stark slut, I'm gonna throw him in wherever I can... Hope you enjoy!!!! Hehehe, I hope I have done your request some justice!!! I really enjoyed writing this <3

Aemond Targaryen was a man that could not be summarised by mere words. You didn’t believe that you could ever find enough of them to describe him, if any could come close to it. He was kind, quiet at times, calculating, but passionate. And that was why you had married him. His passion for you was so strong it almost burnt, the flames of it constantly flickering over you like fire. 

You had been married for some time, meeting at University, Advanced History and the Politics of Old, and instantly falling for the quiet man who had sat up the back, hand constantly writing notes on paper. He had this charm that surrounded him, and the day you had gotten the courage to ask him out, pacing in front of your mirror all morning, practising the words over and over in your head and aloud, he beat you to it, seemingly having done the same thing. 

You were married a year later, a quick turn around, but happy with bliss and the love that you had for each other. Years flew by together and eventually you began to plan for a child, and Aemond in his excitement, invited his family over to announce this to them. His mother, unbeknownst to him, invited his half-sister Rhaenyra, her children, and her husband, Daemon; A man Aemond had once admired, but now despised. 

And because of this, tragedy struck.

At first the evening went well, but with the presence of his nephew, Lucerys, the boy who had taken his eye in an accident at a young age, Aemond’s anger simmered that night between him and his uncle, Daemon, and with the alcohol that flowed heavily from the table during your celebrations, a fight broke loose. 

You could still see it. Still see it move behind your eyelids like a film, slow motion, then quick, then slow again.

Aemond’s fist flying into Daemon’s cheek, a man much taller and broader than your husband. You had shot up from your chair to reach them, but Alicent had held you back whilst Rhaenyra tried to pull her husband away from her half-brother, who Daemon knelt over, fist after fist striking the younger mans face. You had screamed when Daemon was finally pulled up and away by his angry wife, concern thrown down to her estranged sibling, her violet eyes roaming him for injury. 

But your Aemond, your sweet, sweet Aemond, head strong and stubborn as he was, didn’t know when to stop, and so, jumping up from the ground, face bloodied and lips bleeding, Aemond’s hand had snatched a steak knife from the table, charging for Daemon, who pushed Rhaenyra out of the way. 

The next thing you knew, Aemond lay lifeless on the floor, knife in his unseeing eye, blood pooling on the floor around him. You had screamed and ran to him, sobbing over his corpse as Daemon stood in shock, looking at his now bloodied hand whilst Alicent blinked down at her son.

Daemon went to jail, a short term for murdering your husband, self defence they had said, since Aemond made the first move and grabbed the knife. And whilst Daemon sat in a cell, visited by his children and wife, you were left alone in the large estate that you had together, bereft with grief and uncertain if life would ever move on without him. 

You had thought about it, once or twice, grabbing a razor or taking one too many of the pills the doctors had prescribed for your debilitating depression, or perhaps reaching beneath the sink to grasp at Aemond’s old pain medication and taking the entire lot. But each time you thought of it, you just couldn’t do it. Too cowardly to go forward with it, which almost always ended with you on the floor where he had died, sobbing into the flagstones. 

It had been five years when you met him, five years when you decided to get back out into the world. Or not really decided, more like forced to by Helaena, Aemond’s older sister, who had been your life boat through grieving the loss of her brother. She had told you that Jacaerys, her nephew she had no qualms with despite the family tension, had a friend that you would get along with. Someone kind and gentle, and so far away from being anything like Aemond, that it was a safe bet.

And so one night of a blind date with Cregan Stark, Helaena and her girlfriend Cassandra joining as a buffer, turned into two, which then turned to three, then four, until soon enough, you were falling for the man. 

He was courteous. Tall and broad, with long, dark hair and a short beard, or more like stubble that had been left untouched for days on end. He had kind grey eyes, that looked like a winters storm that swirled each time he gazed at you. 

And he was different. That’s what you likened as to why you liked him. 

He was the complete opposite of Aemond. 

Where Aemond was fiery and warm, Cregan was cool and patient, always waiting for you to make the first step. Whenever you would fight, if at all you would manage to get him to react, it would always end with him apologising to you. 

Even when you were in the wrong. 

That was one thing you hated about it. 

He would never rise to your goading, never rise to the bait you would set for him to flare his temper. Sure, he would get angry, his wild grey eyes alight with something, but it would pass as soon as a storm, and he would leave to walk it out, or ask for space. 

You missed how it had been with Aemond. How you could goad him into anger, to have him fold you over any surface and have his way with you, rutting into you violently and cruelly, as he ripped peak, after peak from you, until you begged for mercy, tears falling down your cheeks. 

But Cregan was different, softer, sweeter, and not at all like your hot headed late husband. 

And this, you were thankful for. 

In some ways at least. 

It had been over a year of dating when you finally asked him to move into the estate with you. He lived awhile away, and you were alone in a house that had close to a hundred rooms and only memories to haunt you. It only felt right to fill it up with one more person. 

The estate was old, and although Aemond had died within its walls, you just couldn’t leave it. 

You were stuck. 

Feeling drawn to its stones and halls, and even the mere thought of parting with it made you breathless. 

Though, there was something about the old estate that made your skin crawl. 

It had always made you uncomfortable, and it was something that you had voiced to Aemond upon many a times, and he would always assure you, that they could not touch you, whoever they were.

But something was different.

Something had changed in the years past since Aemond had died.

Helaena had once come to the estate, months after the fact, and gone pale, looked right past you as though she was looking at someone there. But when you had turned, there was no-one. Not a soul, or wisp, or a particle. Just air.

But it was cold. And Helaena had told you, whilst staring behind, that Aemond would always be with you.

But you knew he would. You had his memories, his photos, his clothes that you had folded in trunks in the attic, or the blanket that still smelt very much like him that you would curl into on lonely nights and breathe in his scent. 

Of course he would always be with you. 

He was your first love.

But there was something about the estate.

You just didn’t know what.

It didn’t help that no matter what you did, you felt like you were being watched. But the building was as old as the hills, and your therapist had told you it was likely just your hyper observance and PTSD to blame. 

There were no ghosts in the house, no ghouls or monsters. It was just you. 

You and the empty walls, and halls that used to house his voice, and his smile, and his laughter. 

You were lonely, that much was sure, and although you loved Cregan, you truly did, it would just never match the love you and Aemond had. Not that you were comparing the two to each other in that way. Aemond was fire, Cregan was ice. They were both two very different people who loved in two very different ways. And you knew, much to your grief, that it was time to move on. 

Time to move forward with your life. 

And so you did. With Cregan. And that feeling of being watched only amplified. The feeling of heat on the back of you neck, being watched wherever you went, multiplying by tenfold with Cregan’s now permanent presence. 

The rooms would suddenly get cold, to the point that he had even noted it, but had explained it away; His home back in Winterfell was older than this estate, and it too had cold spots in it. 

It didn’t mean anything, it was just the old buildings, with old drafts, and terrible old insulation. 

But something felt off since he moved in. 

You always felt like you were being watched but it had changed to something more angry. Like something was always in the corner of your eye when with him, especially when intimate. But Cregan, with this kind eyes and unbendable patience, listened to your worries, and ensured you that it was fine, and even if there was an entity in the estate, it could not touch you, nor harm you, and probably didn’t even know you were there, lost in a world of its own. 

Yet, you still couldn’t shake the feeling of it. Maybe it was because you were moving on, and feeling guilty about doing so. 

You didn’t move into your old room that had been yours and Aemond’s. That was off limits. Closed for good, unless you wished to go in there and sit for a while. It had been over six years, six long years without him, but maybe, just maybe, Aemond would want you to move on. 

Yes, you were sure of it. 

He would want you to be happy, to move on. Not forget about him, but to continue on with your life without him, despite the feeling that your life had stopped with him the day he was killed. 

You still had night terrors about it, picturing his body on the floor, lifeless and cold, blood pooled beneath his head, seeing eye staring up unfocused. 

The terrors had gotten worse when Cregan had moved in. You would wake with a scream, and the vision and smell of blood before you, body covered in a light sheen of sweat, and the feeling as though something, or someone, had be pushing down on your chest. And each time, Cregan would be there for you, to ground you, to bring you back to the present and hold you as you sobbed in his arms, and eventually went back to sleep, skin tingling with the feeling of an extra eye on you.

But Cregan made you feel safe.

There were many things about Cregan that you adored. His loyalty to his friends and family, his smile when excited or pleased, the way he would hold you tightly against his chest, head tucked beneath his chin as you inhaled deeply. 

And to top it all off, he was an amazing lover.

Sleeping with Cregan was different to what it had been like with Aemond. He was gentler, softer, less rough and violent. Which was something you actually missed. When once you had asked Cregan to wrap his large hands around your throat, he had blushed and looked away, saying he needed time to work his way up to that. And so you dropped it, and respected that boundary. 

It wasn’t that the sex wasn’t good, it was. Cregan knew how to bring you to your peak with practised skill. It was just that it wasn’t what you needed. You needed a release. A cathartic bloom of pleasurable pain, submission and dominance, to not be in control, to let someone take the reins and bring you to a warm and fuzzy place that Aemond called ‘Sub Space’. You needed to feel the ache of being roughly handled, to see the bruises of Cregan’s love on your skin the next day or week after, but he was almost afraid of hurting you.

Gods bless that sweet man.

-

Footsteps clumped from down the hall as the tv softly played the previews of a new show on Netflix. You leant back against the couch, tucked under a thick blanket as you watched Cregan enter the lounge room with two bowls in hand. 

“What are we watching?” His deep voice curled around the room, eyes darting to the tv as you scrolled down, trying to find something the two of you could watch.

“I don’t know.” You flicked to the Recommended For You section, the couch dipping beside you as he sat, placing the steaming bowls of pasta in front of you, “Thanks.” You pecked his cheek lightly, before looking back at the screen.

“What are our options?” His fork clinked on the edge of his bowl as he twirled the long pasta up his fork, shoving it into his mouth beside you.

“Pride and Prejudice-“

“-2005 or BBC?” Cregan interrupted.

“2005 obviously.” You smirked, turning back to the tv, “Jurassic Park, Knives Out,” You flicked through the recommendation list, hearing a snicker beside you as you moved past 365 Days, “Gone Girl-“

“Gone Girl? What’s that?” Cregan asked between chews, large hand reaching to place your own bowl into your lap.

You grinned, “Only one of the best movies ever. Have you really not seen it?” You turned to face him, watching as he shook his head. “Gone Girl it is.”

The movie began to play as you settled in at his side, eating the dinner he had made you both. Cregan was engrossed in the film, and made you laugh as he screamed profanity at the tv, already hating Ben Affleck's character thinking he had killed his wife.

Towards the end of the movie however, Cregan was cheering Amy on, getting excited as it went through her step by step revenge plan. You were almost at the crescendo of the film when you felt Cregan shift beside you, his audible stream of consciousness suddenly stopped. 

You turned your head to look at him.

The large man was sitting stiff as a board beside you, grey eyes narrowed onto your face. It was as if all emotions had slid away, leaving a cool exterior. You frowned, turning your body to face him completely, watching as his eyes slid carefully over your body.

“Are you okay?” You asked, wondering what had changed his mood so suddenly.

Cregan’s eyes blinked slowly, lids half hooded as he peered at you.

There was something about it that was familiar.

Something about it that sent a shiver down your spine. 

And as if it didn’t happen, Cregan blinked again, shaking his head slightly, large hand coming to press at an eye as though in pain.

Your hand reached out to rest on his shoulder, “Hey, are you okay?” Concern written on your features.

Brows furrowed, he winced, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye, “Sorry.” He apologised through gritted teeth, “Migraine came out of nowhere.”

Sympathy rolled through you. Standing from the couch you clicked your tongue, “That’s no good. Let me get you some pain killers.” 

Your bare feet pressed into the cold flagstones as you headed to the large kitchen, bending at the waist to rifle in the small medicine box under the sink. 

The box was old, something left over from Aemond, with the painkillers still inside that he used for whenever his eye and scar was giving him bother. You spotted the small silver packet of pain killers beside Aemond’s old ones, out of date and not useful to anyone, and yet you still could never bring yourself to get rid of them, as though your brain worried that they would be needed out of habit despite him no longer being there anymore. 

Bypassing your late husbands medication, you pulled at the small packet of regular painkillers and made your way back to the lounge room, worrying over Cregan’s sudden pain. 

He never usually had migraines or headaches, but it had become something more frequent since he moved in. His doctor had said it could be allergies, or perhaps even the presence of black mould in the old estate, but you had hired mould cleaners, and even mould detecters who brought in an old dog to sniff about the property, and they, not once, found any sign of damp or growing fungus. 

Entering the lounge you spotted Cregan, sitting stiff backed on the couch, head immediately flicking to you.

“I got you some pain killers,” You walked towards him, popping two little pills out of the foil packet, “Is it bad?”

Cregan’s lips twitched slightly as he watched you, eyes narrowed, and yet he did not answer. 

Must be bad if he’s not talking. 

“Here.” You held your hand out, waiting to place the two painkillers into his palm. 

Cregan Stark watched you with hawklike eyes, not taking the pills from you. Suddenly he stood, large frame towering over you as he looked down his nose at you, face devoid of any emotion, and a certain strike of familiarity sparked inside your mind.

Why does this feel familiar?

A large hand struck out, grabbing you neck roughly, squeak falling from your lips as you were tugged towards Cregan, his lips finding yours in a rough and bruising kiss, his straight teeth nipping at your bottom lip roughly, tingles climbing up your spine. He kissed you until you were out of breath, hand not releasing itself from your neck, keeping you firmly to him until you parted bare centimetres away to catch your breath, lips brushing against each other as you heaved. 

“What's gotten into you?” You breathed heavily, want coursing through you.

The pink of his tongue darted out to wet his lips, though moving slower as though he was savouring the taste of you on him, “I’ve missed this.” Came a deep purr from within his chest.

A smirk pulled at your mouth, “You had me last night.” You teased, nibbling at your bottom lip, wondering where this sudden burst of lust had come from.

Cregan merely grunted as he crashes his lips back against yours, fingers tightening around your throat in a way that you had begged him to do for months, cutting the supply of blood flow making your head spin. You mewled as he broke the kiss, spinning you around to push you over the edge of the couch arm. 

Air was ripped from your lungs as he pushed his weight onto your lower back with his hand, fingers ripping at your clothes to reveal your slick folds to the room. 

There was no preparation, no warning, just the sudden and sharp bite of his length pushing into your walls. You cried out, hands grasping at the pillows as he set a rough pace, his length dragging in and out of you sharply as he grunted from behind. 

Cregan’s weight pushed into your spine as he continues to rut into you wildly, feet dangling uselessly as he fucking you over the arm of the couch, hands gripping the pillows tightly in your hands. It was the first time he had ever fucked you with such vigour, without care, and it set your nerves alight. 

You whined beneath him, feeling closer and closer to your peak, slick coating your thighs and his length, the wet sound of flesh against flesh behind you. 

“Always such a good little slut for me.” Cregan growled, and the sound sent tremors through you.

Your brows furrowed, a nagging sensation in the back of your mind telling you that something was not quite right. That Cregan would never call you that, had never called you that, and that it was something that Ae-

Blinding white pleasure burst through you as you came, Cregan moaning behind you as he felt your walls tighten around his length. You whined beneath him, body going slack as he sought out his own peak, rutting into you frantically until he came with a grunt, warmth filling your walls.

You slumped against the couch, mind hazy as your climax scrambled all thoughts. A kiss was pressed against your shoulder blade and a small hiss came from behind as your boyfriend pulled out of your core. Too tired to move, and the man clearly sensing that, you were scooped up into two large arms and carried off to your bedroom. 

The rest of the evening a blur of being cleaned, given water to drink, and then the soft sheets and warmth of a body pressed up against you in bed, large hand stroking over your hair lovingly as you drifted off to sleep.

When you woke the next morning, it was to a grunt of pain and not pleasure. Cregan was laid on his back, hand once again pressed into his eye as his brows furrowed, desperate to alleviate the pain that settled behind it. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, turning to face him, watching as he tried to compose himself, a soft wince pulling at his features. 

“Migraine again.” Cregan whispered into the early morning air. 

Your hand out of habit, moved to soothe the hair at the top of his head on the side of the eye pain, in a way that was purely instinctual, in a way that you had for many years with Aemond whenever he would wake in pain, or lay in silence, biting roughly at his own lips to try and get through it alone.

Pressing a kiss to the side of Cregan’s face you crawled out of bed, “You didn’t take the painkillers last night that’s why. I’ll go get you some more.”

You had brought him the painkillers and forced him to take them with a whole glass of water, before settling back into the covers with him, soothing his long brown hair away from his face as the pain slowly dissipated away from his features. 

-

The next week, it happened again. 

The headache. 

The cool half lidded gaze.

The sudden change in demeanour.

The things that he did and said reminded you so much of Aemond, that you felt immediate guilt for thinking of your late husband whilst in the throws of a rough fuck with your new boyfriend. But this time you took the reins, and told him to slow down, told him that you wanted it softer, more loving, more him. 

“Sl-slow down.” You pleaded from below, thighs pressed against your chest as Cregan pushed his whole length inside of you, tip of his cock pushing against your cervix.

His eyes narrowed on you as he grunted, fucking into you harder instead, “No.” He growled, and a small spark of fear sparked up your spine. 

Tears welled in your eyes as you pushed at his chest, “S-stop. Cregan, stop.” Your nails dug into his chest as you tried to push him off of you, yet his pace didn’t falter. 

Your brain in its confusion pushed out a word you hadn’t used in years, a word that was reserved for you and Aemond only, a word that was to be used if you wanted all things to end. 

“Perzys.”

Fire.

Cregan immediately stopped, eyes blinking suddenly as he looked down at you in a moment of confusion, and then concern. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him, your own confusion and sorrow swirling inside of you. 

How did he-

“What’s wrong?” 

A tear slid down your cheek as you felt him looking over you, blinking again as though trying to rise from a fog, and yet he had stopped. He stopped with a word that he shouldn’t have even known. 

Or maybe you had told him. Maybe you had, a long time ago? Maybe he was confused by your sudden use of the foreign word? Maybe-

“You’re scaring me.” Your words came out breathlessly, all desire having leaked from your body and replaced with a myriad of others. 

Guilt.

Fear.

Confusion.

Grief.

It was too real.

It was too familiar.

It was-

“I thought this was what you wanted, ñuha-“ Cregan’s hand flew to his eye, pressing into it roughly as he gasped out in pain. 

You scrambled to sit up, pulling his length from inside of you as you held onto his face, soothing his hair away, fear replaced with worry. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” You asked in concern, watching as Cregan’s teeth ground down on each other, low grunt of agony passing through his clenched teeth.

“Let me see.” You begged, mind going into autopilot as you gently grasped his wrist, pulling his hand away from his eye as he blinked down at you in surprise for a moment, a multitude of emotions flashing across his face before his hand rose, and then his face crumpled once again, and the heel of his hand pushed back into his eye. 

You sprung into action, body already taking you immediately to get painkillers for him, hand reaching for the little yellow pill container before having to grab the others. 

Eventually you got him to settle into bed, begging him to see a doctor, before the two of you finally agreed to see one later that week. 

And what an uneventful doctors visit that was. 

Two MRI’s, CT scans, and blood tests later, the doctor gave him the all clear. No growths to be seen, or unusual brain activity, not even a simple vitamin deficiency; Cregan was the pinnacle of health. The Stark came out of the doctors office with reassurance that there was no malignant growth or anything to be worried about, but a warning that perhaps stress was the causation for his sudden pains. He was given instructions to rest, and so Cregan took sick leave for the rest of the month. 

-

Two weeks into Cregan’s rest, and the both of you were pleased to find that Cregan didn’t have another migraine attack. Nor did his demeanour suddenly change like the last time, much to your relief. 

Winter had begun to roll into the realm, and the estate, being as old as it was, became far colder at times, inside than out. The fires were constantly lit to keep you both warm, and it made for a rather romantic setting for the two of you. 

That morning you had gone out to get a nice bottle of wine to bring home. You were going to surprise Cregan with a home cooked meal, a nice bottle of red, and then after, if you were both feeling inclined, which you knew you would be, a slow and gentle fuck in front of the fireplace.

You had gone out of your way to avoid him that day, going to the shops to buy ingredients, prepping the dinner as quietly and quickly as you could, lighting candles in the casual lounge room for the two of you, and placing some fluffed pillows before the hearth to lounge in.

It was perfect. 

Your dinner was cooked, and you were ready for the evening and with good timing. You heard Cregan walking through the hall as you put his bowl next to yours on the coffee table, placing the nice bottle of wine in the centre as you brushed down the sides of your dress and made sure your hair was perfect. 

The dress you wore was tight and black, and although you had thought of wearing heels, there was no need to in your own home, so you went bare foot. Beneath your dress lay a lacy surprise. You waited to see Cregan enter the room, to see his smiling eyes and warm grin at you, but he kept on. Walking straight past the lounge, his footsteps disappearing down the vast hall. 

You stood in confusion for a moment.

Maybe he was going to the bathroom.

Maybe he didn’t know you were there or that you had cooked dinner. 

But he would have smelt it. 

And he would have known. 

You waited for a while longer, hoping he was making his way back, but when he didn’t, you began to grow impatient, leaving your steaming dinner behind to go in search for him. In that moment you cursed the vastness of the estate, but knew that Cregan wasn't really one to explore it. He kept to what he knew, and so you went to those spaces.

He wasn’t in your shared room.

Or the dining hall.

Or one of the many bathrooms. 

Nor was he in the kitchen.

The estate was cold, and dark, and the coolness of the home creeped up your bare feet and into your spine, sending shivers running down it. You called out his name, hoping he would come to you so that you would eat.

But no response came. 

It wasn’t until you were climbing the stairs back to your bedroom that you noticed a light on in a distant room. 

A room far down the end of the east wing. A room in which Cregan knew he wasn’t allowed inside. A room in which you had not been inside of for a long, long time. 

A pang of hurt and anger rose inside of you as you went towards it, feet slapping against the stones as you got closer and closer, unready and unwilling to be reasonable for such a boundary being crossed.

This was not what you had planned for the evening.

The hallway became shorter, as you got closer, and the air in the hall changed. It became colder. Sharper. More charged. And the anger that you had within you, slowly began to crackle as you came to a stop, spotting Cregan standing in Aemond’s study, his large back to you.

“What are you doing?” You demanded, hurt rising within as he stood in front of Aemond’s old desk. 

There was the smallest of whispers of something not being right that began to grow in the back of your mind. 

But Cregan did not answer you, nor did he turn to look at you when he would have no doubt heard you enter. 

The room opened a wound you thought had been closed.

And Cregan had done that.

You stepped towards him again, no answer still from his lips. 

You thought he was better than this.

You thought that he respected this boundary.

What did he want from coming into this room?

Why would he be in here?

You looked at his posture. 

Bone straight.

His large hands clenching and unclenching at his side as his head stayed straight on.

Something wasn’t right.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” You told him, voice wary as you stopped yourself mere feet away from him. 

Again, no answer.

Did something happen?

Was this a test?

“Cregan?”

And then you heard it.

A low chuckle.

A sound that in your years of dating Cregan, you had not heard once.

And in your years of his absence, you had missed.

It was a chuckle that sent ice running down your spine. 

And yet, your feet took you forward anyway.

“Cregan?” You asked again, wariness in your voice as you tried to peer around his side and look at his face.

Was this a dream?

A nightmare?

A hum. All that came from his chest, was a deep and oh too familiar hum.

“Hm.”

Your spine stiffened, and it felt as though the air in the room turned to ice, goosebumps rising on your skin. 

“This isn’t funny, Cregan. Get out.” One last attempt of courage, one last attempt of standing your ground, or at least your first attempt, which came and flew and crashed to the ground in flames. 

Cregan finally shifted, turning to face you, and although it was the face of your boyfriend, it was the mannerisms of your late husband which caused you to gasp out in fear. On Cregan’s soft lips, was the sharp pull of a smirk that Aemond almost always reserved for you.

“I’ve missed you zaldrītsos.” Little dragon.

Horror flooded you.

“Cregan.” You warned in clenched teeth, afraid that if they were open, they’d chatter, “This isn’t funny.” 

Growling, a tear fell down your cheek, your hands clenched into fists as you looked at him.

He had no right to be in this room.

He had no right to call you that name.

To act as he did.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Another smirk, and a step towards you, “Cregan is indisposed.”

Another tear fell down your cheek as you took a step backwards and away, watching as his eyes roamed down your body, “Cut it out, Creg. I’m serious.”

Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, clicking his tongue, “Oh, I'm deathly serious.” Came his purr-like response.

Your heart raced against your ribcage, blood rushing into your ears as you stared at him in shock and fear.

This-

It couldn’t-

It wasn’t-

“Aemond?” You breathed.

And it was the smile that did it for you. The smile you had prayed and hoped and dreamed to see every day for the years without it, yet now, seeing it up close on the face of your boyfriend scared the living wits from you.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he shifted lightly on his feet, not at all in the clunky manner that Cregan would have, but it in a smooth, calculated way that was every movement Aemond would make, “Have you missed me?”

You couldn’t move. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

You couldn’t speak, even if you dared to. 

It must be a dream. 

A cruel dream.

A nightmare in which you would wake from soon. 

But it felt too real.

It felt too sure. 

He was here. 

There, right in front of you. But it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t his body, his face, his voice.

But it was him.

He took another step towards you, and your stumbled backwards, mouth agape as you looked at him, the shadows of the dark lit room falling across his face. 

And then there it was. 

That Cheshire Cat smile.

“Run."

Your feet bound on the flagstones as you fled in terror, racing down the stairs to try and escape, to leave the estate, to get to your car and go, or your phone, or anywhere that wasn’t near him. To get away from him. It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him.

It was.

It was him. 

Air struggled to get into your lungs as you ran as fast as you could, hands catching themselves on the stone walls, nails biting into them as you caught yourself taking sharp corners, the dark halls and stairways causing your heart to race faster, feeling as though they were closing in on you. 

You didn’t dare look back. 

You knew he was there. 

You knew he was chasing you. 

Something you had done together for fun, for pleasure, but now, you were struck with terror.

But there it was, sweet salvation. 

The floor crashed up towards you as you landed heavily on your knees, tripping on the last step, not wasting anytime to check for injury nor even feel the blood that dripped down your legs, knees skinned from landing on the ancient stone floors. 

But there it was. 

The main hall. 

And there at the end, your way out. 

Your escape. 

The front doors of the estate.

You raced for it, heart in your throat, air barely in your lungs as they screamed for a reprieve, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you got closer and closer, fear still crawling up your throat, threatening to break through as a scream. 

And scream you did as your body was hauled off of your feet and into the air by a pair of large arms, wrapped around your centre. You kicked and clawed as you tried to get away from him, mind racing a million miles an hour, unsure of what was happening, and if it was even possible, but desperate to get away.

Not a sound, nor a jeer, nor a tease came from the man behind you. Not even a word to reassure you that this was a game, that it was Cregan, that you were safe, that this was just a long planned part of a fantasy you had expressed you wanted and he had denied. 

There was no reassurance. 

There was no check in. 

Because it wasn’t Cregan. 

It was Aemond. 

And as he hauled you back down the hall and up the stairs, kicking and screaming, back to his study, tears falling from your cheeks, you knew that it was him. You knew that it had been the slightest glimmers of him in Cregan the past month. Those migraines were more, those changes were more, and you had ignored them. 

Your hips collided with the desk of Aemond's study as he threw you into it, hands desperate to catch your fall, spreading across the desk knocking over items that had not been touched nor moved for years.

“I’ve had to watch him fuck you, every night.” He growled from behind, as you tried to push yourself up, his body caging you into his desk. There was a flicker of familiarity of the times you had once found yourself in a similar predicament.

“I’ve had to hear your moans and whines, knowing they were for someone else.” He said angrily, pulling at your dress, ripping it upwards as you tried to pull it back down, hands clawing backwards at his arms.

“You’re insane!” You screamed at him, “Get off me, Cregan!”

Aemond chuckled from behind, “You know it’s me. You always did like it rough,” His hands smacked yours away from him, shoving your face down on the desk again, “And poor Cregan just couldn’t do that for you, could he?”

Tears fell onto the desk below you, brain short circuiting as you didn’t know what to do or how to react, “Cregan, this isn’t funny.” You tried one last time, hoping his name would reach him, to snap him out of whatever this was, “Please, stop.”

Two large hands wrapped themselves around your wrists, bringing them both into one as he squeezed, face coming to the side of yours as he growled deeply, “Stop. Calling. Me. That.”

Aemond’s free hand ripped at your lace panties that you had worn for Cregan, tearing them to shreds from your body, the burn of the material hot against your skin. His hips pressed into you from behind roughly, and you stifled a confused and frightened sob.

“I’m going to fuck this little pussy like I’ve wanted to for years.” He emphasised with a grind against your backside, “I’ve had to watch you cry over me, my sweet byka mēre.” Little one, You sobbed loudly at the name, “Ao sagon ñuhon. Iksan dōrī ivestragī jā.” You’re mine. I am never letting you go.

It was him.

It was truly him.

Cregan couldn’t speak Aemond’s native tongue. 

Cregan didn’t know the names your late husband had called you.

It was him. 

It was Aemond.

You sobbed beneath him, you didn’t know if it was in relief, in horror, or in fear. 

You were so confused. 

“Valzȳrys?” Husband, You cried, trying to turn your head, but knowing that you would be met with a face that didn’t match.

Long fingers brushed through your folds, finding them slick already, “Shhh.” Aemond quietened you, “Let me take care of my ābrazȳrys.” Wife. 

Aemond smeared your slick through your folds with the tip of his cock as he brushed against your bud and then pushed inside of you. A long groan fluttered through his chest, vibrating against your back.

He set a brutal pace immediately, the old, heavy, wooden desk jutting with each thrust, your hips no doubt bruised from the force. Tears still fell from your eyes as you cried out, feeling him pull you by your hair, causing your back to arch up against his front as he fucked into you harder, hot pants in your ear. 

Aemond fucked you in a way that only he knew how, pulling mewl after mewl from you with every stroke, large palm squeezing at your throat whilst the other moved to grasp at your hip, pulling you back onto his cock roughly, slick dripping down your thighs as the coil within you began to tighten.

“So fucking tight for me.” He grunted from behind, hand coming to your front to gather some slick from your folds as he parted them further, his cock plunging inside of you from between them, “So fucking wet. I have missed this little pussy.”

His fingers pressed against your bud, swirling in time with his thrusts, causing your pleasure to mount faster and faster, the tears having stopped falling from your eyes as you moaned loudly, head thrown back against his shoulder. 

Your release was bounding towards you rapidly, and Aemond felt it. 

“Squeezing me so good, you gonna cum for me already?”

You nodded, feeling a smirk beside your cheek as he pressed harder against your bud, “Cum for me.”

The coil snapped, and warmth flooded over your body as your writhed in his grip, walls gripping his cock as you came hard. Aemond increased his pace, fucking into you harder as he squeezed your neck roughly, mind spinning and vision going black in the corners. 

You felt like you were floating. 

You hadn’t felt like this in years.

Aemond moaned from behind you as your walls clamped down on him, “Such a perfect little pussy.” He thrusted deeply into you, grinding the air out of your lungs as your mouth dropped open, “Made me for me. Only me.”

You body began to feel heavy as he continued to squeeze your throat, mind going fuzzy as you floated in bliss, his cock drilling into your walls, the sound of your slick release obscene in the room as he clapped his hips against yours. 

“You’re mine.” Came a growl that sounded just like Aemond’s voice and not Cregan’s, tip of his cock jutting into your cervix painfully, “Forever.”

You nodded weakly and whined, “Yours. Only yours.” 

Tears began to spring into your eyes again, knowing that this was Aemond. Knowing that this was him, but also knowing that you could never have him truly. Knowing he was gone, and never coming back, and although you had tried, although you did love Cregan, you would never truly move on from Aemond. 

You would always be his.

The grip around your neck pulled away and blood rushed to your head, strange euphoria taking over as you felt his pull out of you from behind. You stumbled forward slightly before he caught you, turning you around and lifting you onto the desk. And although you were staring at Cregan’s face, with his stormy grey eyes and his brown hair, you could tell just by the way his features contorted, by the way he moved or talked or fucked you, that it was Aemond. 

And at this, more tears came.

Aemond sucked his tongue at you, wiping away a tear roughly as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, and without waiting another second, slid back inside of your walls, a needy moan falling from your lips as you continued to cry.

Aemond began to rub at your clit again, sending blinding pleasure back up your spine. It was almost too much, too intense, added with everything else, your mind was running in circles.

You whimpered and tried to run away from his fingers, which only served to anger him. 

“Stop crying.” He ordered, hand slapping at your clit in warning causing you to yelp.

You hiccuped and sniffled, body jolting with every thrust as he pushed you backwards to lay down on the desk, hovering over you, one hand gripping your shoulder to pull you back down on him, the other pressed onto your swollen bud, “You like when I fuck this little pussy?” He grunted, and you closed your eyes, trying to imagine his face instead of seeing Cregan’s.

“You’ve been thinking of me, haven’t you?” He chastised you, tutting meanly as you nodded your head with a suppressed sob, “He could never fuck you the way I can.”

Pleasure mounting within you again, all you could do was nod and babble yes.

This seemed to both please and anger Aemond, his thrusts speeding up as your spine rubbed painfully into the hard wooden surface, “Cregan could never give you what you want. What you need. He’s useless.” A tear tracked down your cheek as you turned your head away, looking at the far wall as he ploughed into your cunt, “It’s only me. Only I can make you feel this good.”

You moaned beneath him as you felt your second peak rising just as rapidly as the first, his hand not once relenting. But your non-answer came at a cost. Pain bloomed in the side of your cheek as you squeaked, slap having caught your attention as Aemond pinched your jaw in his hand to look up into eyes that weren’t his.

“Say it.” He thrust into you sharply and as deep as he could go, sparks of pain rippling through your cervix in a haze of confusing pleasure.

“Only you,” You whined, “Always you, Aemond.”

“Good girl.”

Aemond’s pace increased, determined to bring you to your end as well as reach his, each thrust jolting the desk against the floor and punching the air from your lungs. You knew that by morning you’d be an aching and bruised mess, but that thought only brought you closer to your peak.

Loving kisses were dotted against your cheeks as Aemond soothed the tracks of tears away with his lips. Your hands reaching up to wrap themselves around his shoulders and your legs around his waist, desperate to pull him in closer.

“Please.” You whimpered, but you didn’t know what for.

Aemond’s arms scooped under your back and pulled you closer to him, changing the angle so that his cock pressed deeper and at a higher angle, one that he knew you loved the most.

And it was all that you needed before you fell of the edge with him, head tossed back in ecstasy as you came for the second time, Aemond following you with a long moan, pressing as deep as he could inside of you. 

“I love you.” You whispered into his neck, feeling his cock pulse inside of you, cum filling up your walls.

Your hands soothed the hair at the front of his face in a way you knew he liked, and you felt him shudder from above, kisses pressed into the crux of your shoulder and neck as he whispered into the skin. 

I love you. 

I love you. 

I love you.

All too soon, the high of your ecstasy fizzled away, and reality came crashing down around you. Your arms and legs tightened around him, small hiss coming through his teeth as your walls clamped around him. 

The stinging prickle of tears filled your eyes again, “Please don’t leave me.” You cried, heart beginning to feel as though it was breaking all over again. 

Aemond pulled away from you, though not without a struggle, a different face looking down at you with a familiar sign of love. His hand came to brush the tears away from your cheek slowly, before he leant down to pull you into a kiss, your lips shuddering as you poorly contained a sob, “I will never leave you.” He whispered against your lips, “Not now, not ever. I am always here.” He pulled away, soothing your hair from your face as his brows pulled together in a way that you knew pain was coming. 

You tried to sit up, to try and soothe his pain, to instinctually run for the medication you had kept all these years, but he stopped you, cupping your cheek with his large hand as he looked down at you, eyes now full of determination, “I am always watching you. And one day, Cregan won’t be a problem anymore.” 

You blinked in confusion as you looked at him, your own brows furrowing, but before you could even respond, his eyes shut in pain and a groan whittled through his lips, heel of his hand pressed into the side of his face where Aemond had lost his eye. 

“Aemond?” You whispered quietly, unsure what was happening.

Grey eyes opened slightly, looking at you in confusion as he blinked a couple of times, “Huh?” A low groan came from deep within his chest as he clutched the side of his head, “Wha- Wher-“

“Cregan?”

His eyes opened at you again, and then did a sweep of you and the position you were in. You looked no doubt a mess, hair tousled, neck red from where Aemond’s- Cregan’s hands had squeezed, down to your ripped dress, to finally where you were still connected, your combined releases leaking onto the old wooden desk.

Blinking rapidly he noticed the tear tracks staining your cheeks, and suddenly the pain was pushed away by concern. Cregan’s hand came to touch your neck tentatively, fear rising on his features, "Are you okay?” His voice was rushed, “Are you hurt? Did I- Did I hurt you?”

Guilt and pain struck in your chest. 

He thought you were hurt. 

He thought he hurt you. 

You shook your head rapidly, clutching the sides of his face in your hands, “No, no. You didn’t hurt me. Not at all.”

Cregan seemed to relax at this, though there was still confusion as he looked at you, forehead pulled in pain as he tried to piece everything together.

“Did we…”

You bit at your lip, worrying it between your teeth, “Are you okay? Do you remember anything?”

The man closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think, “I remember smelling food, and then I had this urge to go somewhere.“

Your heart began to race in your chest as you looked at him. You wet your lips with your tongue, eyes searching his face for any sign of Aemond left. 

What had just happened?

Was any of that real?

What was happening to you?

What was happening to Cregan?

“Hey.” Cregan caught your attention again, lowering his face to your height, “Are you okay?”

Your mouth was dry. 

Were you okay?

No.

Yes.

You didn’t know.

“I’m okay.” You lied.

Cregan frowned at your obvious avoidance, “You sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“Positive.” You reassured him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, your stomach turning. 

When you pulled away, Cregan was watching you with caution again.

“What?” You asked quietly, fear beginning to rise inside of you. 

Did he remember?

Does he know?

Did he-

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You couldn’t help it. 

You couldn’t stop it if you tried. 

A broken sob fell through your lips like a half laugh.

Had you?

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

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[lol-jackles]

I know its beens awhile but what did you think of S15 as a whole?

As a whole I think season 15 was an above-average season due to below-average execution and ended with a stellar series finale that added rewatch value not just for season 15 but also all of 15 seasons.

Season 15 started and ended with callbacks to previous seasons; from season 1's woman in white and Sam's goal of returning to a normal life, to season 5's Dean's time in hell as Alastair's apprentice and bringing closure to Adam Milligan, to season 8's endgames for Sam and Dean.

The first half of the season 15 was about free will vs determinism, with Sam representing the former and Dean representing the latter.  Sam and Dean’s confrontation with God parallels how they've reacted to family and authority their entire lives: Sam challenged God’s Divine decree over His Creation while Dean accused God of abandoning His Creation.  When Abraham spoke with his heart and mind to God over His plan to destroy Sodom & Gomorrah, it led to Abraham transcending himself, leading the way for God, and becoming the father of faith. Metaphorically it's all about lessons in honest, meaningful relationships with our fellow human beings.   People often suppress their true selves and principles for the sake of avoiding conflict instead of taking the relationship a step further into a place of sincerity.   From season 11 to 14, Sam and Dean spoke their hearts and minds to God and the brothers' relationship became at its strongest, never wavering even when occasional arguments sprouts up because they were honest with each other.

Sam and God became connected through Sam's hope which manifested in their identical wounds. Secular-based hope is about anticipating something good to come in the future.  Sam has hope in a better future, so Chuck showed him a bleak future to make his lose that hope.  Once Sam lost his hope, God leaves.  That’s pretty much what happens to people in real life, when they lose hope, they feel there is no God or God abandoned them. Another physical manifestation of a bleak future is Dean's old friend who retired from hunting, Lee, who became so corrupted that Dean is forced to kill him.

The return of Sam and Dean's half-brother, Adam, brings welcome closure.  Adam is not out for revenge as he acknowledged his own culpability for agreeing to vessel-ship in the first place.  Him and Michael only having each other for 10 years in the Cage led to their codependent-symbiotic-ish relationship that parallels Sam and Dean to some extent.  

I like to call the second half of season 15 the "Dean redemption tour" where side characters were used to address Dean's unresolved issues in order for him to be good enough for Sam in their eternal afterlife. Normally whenever Dean interacted with side characters it is about the side characters, not Dean (see example here and here). But when the formula is reversed, it becomes a bit disjointed, and the audience picked up on it. The final redemption act target Dean's anger issues that both Amara and Chuck discussed.

Chuck: This is my ending.  My real ending. 

Very next scene: *Dean pulls a gun on Sam*

Dean’s been so obsessed with having free will that he’s actually following Chuck’s writing.  As usual Sam broke through to Dean, in effect breaking Chuck’s influence. Then a very mad mad Chuck shows up.

Chuck:  “Are you kidding me? After all that, you did it again!”

Then 15x18 happened. Ignoring the hilarity of that scene, the speech was supposed to remind the general audience that Dean is A HERO before he dies two episodes later. By 15x19, free will vs determinism comes to a conclusion.   Michael and Lucifer betrayed the Winchesters and succumb to determinism, fulfilling their destiny to destroy each other.  Sam and Dean manipulated Michael to lure Chuck into a trap to replace him with a new God, Jack. Chuck is left only with human frailties and for the first time Chuck has no idea what happens next, bringing the free will theme to a full circle.  

Due to interactions with Sam, Rowena became the new queen of Hell while Jack becomes the new God of Heaven. Jack promises Sam that He will have a hands-off approach and people don’t need to pray or sacrifice to Him. Jack’s perception of humanity is distilled down to, “When people have to be their best, they can be.” 

Before the story ends, the protagonist is supposed to accomplish their primary goal that had kept them driven and move the story forward.  Sam’s goal was attaining normal life, it was never about eradicating monsters to extinction or avenging his mother’s death.  In fiction it always seems like the main character want many things, but there is always a primary goal.  Harry Potter gets dragged into many subplots such as conflicts with his best friends, romantic misfires, and incidents with secondary characters, however his main goal was always to defeat Voldemort and that's what the audience is holding out to see.  Sam Winchester’s journey is flipped from Harry Potter’s; Sam gets dragged into many subplots of saving the world, defeating the Big Baddies, and conflicts with his brother, however his main goal was always to have a chance at a normal life. But this can't happen while Dean is still alive.

Dean has everything he wanted: Sam and hunting.  Dean is a complete person; he doesn’t need anything else. But Sam had given up just about everything so that Dean wouldn’t be alone. 15x16 reminded the audience that Sam wanted out of the hunting life since he was a child. Sure, Sam is very good at his job and even became a leader, but they always made sure to show that Sam doesn’t have passion for the family business other than saving people’s lives.  Claire Novak shows way more enthusiasm for the job. But Dean would never retire from the hunting life.  Even when Michael gave Dean a fantasy life, Dean still conjured up monsters so he can fight and kill them.  As long as Dean is alive, Sam will never be free to pursue a normal life.  Think back to Dean's speech in season 8 telling Sam to pursue his normal life only after Dean dies with a gun in his hand and a smile on his face.

The pivotal barn scene in the 15x20 finale was genius, bringing the series to full circle with callback to the pilot, fleshing it out, adding backstory to Dean’s pov that brings his fear, need, relief, and love to stark relief.  It hurt like hell, and at the same time, cathartic because Dean was honest.   The way Dean said, “Come here. Let me look at you. There he is!”  That’s Dean in dad mode, the parental figure to Sam.  The show reminded the audience in 15x18 that Dean raised his little brother.  Still in dad mode, Dean then tells Sam that he is proud of him.  It’s what every son wants to hear from their dad.

Dean then goes into brother mode and tells Sam he admires his strength even when they were children.  Sam’s strength is such that Dean was afraid that Sam doesn’t need him. Fearing rejection, he stood outside of Sam’s dorm for hours before finally going to Sam because it’s always been Sam and Dean, and Dean can’t comprehend if he didn’t have Sam. 

From there Dean gives Sam his blessing to keep living his life.  “I love you so much, my baby brother”. Sam’s reaction was pure and raw, he has always been honest about his wants and needs but craves Dean’s approval to pursue them, and now he has it.  Sam’s faith in Dean went answered with Dean saying how proud he is of Sam, how much he admired Sam’s strength so that Sam knows he is strong enough to go on living without Dean.  

Another reason why the barn scene is genius is the pilot callback sets up Sam and Dean’s reunion in New Heaven as pilot 2.0.  From there they will build their relationship just as Sam and Dean.  They are at peace without monsters disrupting their lives, without vindictive angels disrupting their afterlives, and without childhood angsts weighing them down.  They have both freedom and peace.

This applies to all of the hunters.  Jack’s New Heaven is like a retirement home for hunters where they can enjoy their peace and socialize with their friends and loved ones and even upgrade themselves to the people they were meant to be on earth.

[larry-is-my-anchor1]

Hey Tim, how are you? This may be a bit forward of me, but whenever you decide to make Buddie canon can you consider the following title for the episode: “Do you feel the same? Too scared to say.”?

I just feel Buddie going cannon still may not be in the works for the second half of season eight. It shouldn’t certainly be a big aha reveal either with teaser commercials. It should be gradual and organic. Much like Bucks and Eddie’s relationship. I feel like so much care and respect have been given to them. I think for the most part for all of the characters.

But also there is still so-much work to be done with Eddie delving into his feelings. Show timeline is only three months since Christopher left. I gather much more time won’t have passed when the show returns in March. (😭). I would love to see Eddie work on himself more and repair his relationship with his son. Perhaps get him away from his stupid parents. Who truly are not helping.

I think Eddie still may realize his feelings before Buck though. But maybe Buck will realize before Ed’s. But Buck does not want to be a cliche of falling for his best friend so he won’t act on his feelings? Or maybe Buck in his own time does tell Eddie, but at first Eddie isn’t ready because although he’s finally out he’s scared. I don’t know. They both have abandonment issues, maybe neither of them won’t say anything for sometime?? Their dance is moving away from the point of you fools have always been in-love, to why aren’t you fools acting on your feelings? Buddie is clearly end game. Or should be.

We need scenes with Eddie admitting his attraction to men. Either when he was younger, maybe during his time in the army. Or maybe when he was in high school during the period when he and Shannon broke up. Perhaps the show could explore why Eddie stopped going to church. And his sexual identity was the reason. His faith has no room for homosexuality. But his family and church were still strong influences to stay with a girl. And Shannon was just the perfect person to hide with. Maybe that’s why he ran away at first to the army. He just didn’t know how he got to where he was. Marriage, a baby and being an adult. Whatever that means. They all were so overwhelming. Maybe his parents made him “behave” like the man of the house because they knew for sometime that Eddie was not heterosexual. We need to see his discovery lore and why he hid himself. The shame society and religion put on queer people. But also joy meant being selfish in most religions. To act out on joy brings negative consequences. Eddie isn’t there yet with not punishing himself.

Also been trying to figure out who would want to kidnap Maddie? The kidnapper appears female. Though again not sure. Is it a random distraught person? A serial killer? Someone out for vengeance? Why Maddie? Why does the show have to be all full throttle with drama and also torture us with, well we’re not sure yet how Buddie will go? Why though? After all the eye fucking they have done for the last seven seasons!

Season eight seems all over the place. After watching and rewatching the show a few times I’m having trouble seeing how main story lines and subplots are woven together.

Is it weird I kind of got used to Eddie’s mustache. I know it represents something negative but I like the look on Eddie. He’d actually make a good Magnum PI. Just incase Hollywood wanted a spinoff down the line.

The waiting is torture and it’s only the beginning.

[namicakes]

Washing Machine Heart.

Hajime Kokonoi x F!Reader

Note:(Angst! Inspired by Mitski's Washing machine heart. I rewatched the tenjiku arc of TR and my heart cracks a million times when the scene where koko and inupi was fighting and koko was like “would akane scold me with this expression?” aAaAaAHHhH)

Kokonoi Hajime had built his world around losses, the kind of losses that hollowed a person out and left them walking through life with only shadows of what once was. You knew that when you met him, saw the way his gaze never quite settled on you, lingering somewhere beyond—somewhere out of reach. But that didn't stop you from falling for him. In some strange way, maybe it was even part of what drew you to him, because you understood that pain could linger like a scar and haunt like a ghost.

He’d loved Akane, his first and only love, with an intensity he’d never thought possible. But then, in one tragic moment, she was taken from him. The memory of her haunted him, lingering in the scent of roses, in the soft flutter of cherry blossom petals. And in the moments he spent with you.

To him, you were a bittersweet reminder of what he could never have again, an echo of the love he’d lost. At first, you didn’t mind the resemblance. You weren’t blind; you knew you looked a bit like her—light hair, the way your eyes softened at the edges when you smiled, your laugh that came with that same slight lilt. And when he’d first noticed you, you felt his lingering gaze, an intensity in his eyes that was impossible to ignore. But slowly, you realized that when he looked at you, he wasn’t really seeing you. He was seeing her.

The days passed in moments that felt half-real, like you were in the background of a movie playing in his head, like he was constantly comparing you to a memory. Sometimes, when he held you close in the quiet of the night, you’d hear him whisper a name that wasn’t yours.

“Akane…”

Each time, your heart broke a little more, but you told yourself it didn’t matter. You loved him, even if he wasn’t fully present with you. You thought that maybe, with time, you could help him let go of the ghost of Akane, to see you standing right there in front of him. But that hope grew dimmer with each passing day.

One evening, as Mitski’s “Washing Machine Heart” played softly in the background—a song you’d heard him hum once or twice when he was lost in thought—you sat across from him in your dimly lit apartment. You’d been trying to tell him about your day, to pull him into the present, to just share a simple moment, but his eyes had drifted again, lost in a world you could never fully enter.

With a shaky breath, you asked, “Hajime… do you really see me when you’re with me?”

The question hung in the air, fragile, ready to shatter with the wrong answer. His gaze snapped back to you, a flash of guilt crossing his face before he tried to mask it. “Of course, I do.”

But you shook your head, finally letting yourself say the words that had been clawing at your heart. “No. When you look at me, you’re looking at her, aren’t you? Every time you smile at me, every time you hold me, you’re seeing Akane.”

He looked down, unable to meet your eyes, his silence telling you more than any answer could. “I… I don’t know how to let her go,” he admitted finally, his voice almost breaking.

The rawness of his words hurt, but it was an honesty he hadn’t shown you before. “I’m not her, Hajime,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes. “I can’t keep pretending that I don’t see it, that I don’t feel like just a placeholder for her memory.”

He reached out, trying to hold your hand, but you pulled back, the hurt too fresh, too raw. The music played softly in the background, Mitski’s voice a haunting reminder of what you were trying so hard to keep alive, a love that felt borrowed and broken.

“Maybe I thought… maybe I thought if I loved you, I could heal,” he whispered, his voice small, almost ashamed. “But every time I look at you, I see her. I don’t know how to stop.”

You swallowed, nodding as you wiped a tear away. “Maybe that’s something you need to figure out on your own, Hajime. I can’t be her. I can only be me. And maybe that’s not enough for you.”

He looked up, pain etched in his features as he reached for you again. “But you are enough,” he said, almost desperately. “It’s just that… I don’t know how to stop the memories from clouding what I feel for you.”

For a long time, you sat there in silence, Mitski’s voice filling the empty spaces between you, the song’s lyrics echoing the ache in your heart. You wanted so badly to be what he needed, but you knew that you couldn’t be a substitute for a love lost, a memory wrapped in pain.

With a heavy heart, you stood up, placing a soft kiss on his forehead as you whispered, “I hope one day you find peace, Hajime. I really do.”

And with that, you walked out of his apartment, leaving him alone with his memories, and the faint sound of “Washing Machine Heart” playing on repeat—its lyrics, hauntingly, the only witness to the emptiness he felt, the emptiness that had cost him both the love he lost and the love he could never fully hold.

[watchingblsnowandforever]

Hello again! =D

Here's Part 1

*looks at all the remaining screenshots and sighs* I really need to learn to take screenshots more selectively-

Warning: long post 😊😅

This is the sole reason Phum chose to ride the cycle, because we all know he brought his car.

I'm not complaining though. In fact-

Peem, give this man all the hugs in this world. He deserves them. <3

HANDS!!

Aunt Pui Live Reaction

She ships them hehe

She's the best wingaunt 😭🫶🏼

Oh, it's his turn with the braincell finally hehe

Oh, that little kernel of insecurity making him question this :(

And it's Phum's turn to immediately refute any doubt about his feelings.

Oh yeah, telling him all the reasons you like him is the only reason you'll "have" to stay over at his place, Phum. It's not like you wanna cuddle him or anything. Pfft of course not.

Peem's reaction is so cute (no pun intended-) oh gods 😭

This is what told me for sure that Phum knows about Peem's feelings.

The way he framed this, the absolute lack of hesitation in his voice, the way he smiled, the way he looked at Peem.

Just because he doesn't confront Peem about it doesn't mean he doesn't know his feelings are reciprocated.

No wonder Peem's reaction looks so genuine 😭 (Pond improvised this part)

What do you do when the guy you like keeps shrugging off your hand? Keep trying of course! And then lock your hands so he can't shrug them off.

Mission Side-Hug Your Crush: Accomplished 😌✅️

Me:

Wait- WAIT, you're gonna leave the cycle right there in the middle of the driveway?! WHY 🥲😭

👀

Yep, same pic.

The moment I saw this I was like where have I seen this before- OH yeah.

See, now Fang isn't hesitating to call him out on it. Now he knows for sure Phum likes Peem, and it's okay to talk to him about it. But he still doesn't prod much, and only takes what Phum tells him.

In conclusion: Fang is a good brother. 😌

Others: Byee! Have a great time!

Chain: I'll play the guitar for you.

Let's be honest, who's the enabler here? Pun might come up with the strangest most complicated plans, but who's the first to go along with it?

ASKFDGHYTRUASKJNCHDFJ

WHAT WAS THIS KISS?!!!! AND WHY WAS IT TAILOR-MADE TO MAKE ME GO CRAZY?!!!!!

WINNYSTANG. I liked you before but to be very frank, I was kinda indifferent, but now you have my full attention. Make me go even more crazy.

Ooh they have a third brother??

See, up till this point, I was willing to ignore their parents (not what they did, but them as people, because they do not deserve any attention) but this? Stopping Fang from going to check on his brother? NUH UH. That's a line you don't cross.

So now, I'm handing Peem and Tan their weapon(s) of choice and letting them have a go at it. The bodies? Oh, don't worry about that, we'll handle those. :)

What I really love about this scene is that Peem hugs first, then asks questions.

Ah I love hugs so much 🥹🫶🏼

No. They can't.

And similarly, our parents can't always be right. They might always want what's the best for us, but that doesn't mean that what they do is always the best for us.

Also- I'm completely normal about the fact that Phum and Fang went to Peem and Tan - their respective safe zones. Very normal. 🥺

AND THOSE 'I LOVE YOU'S BY TANFANG OH MY GODS I-

I could write a whole essay about just these few minutes (of that PhumPeem hug and this TanFang moment) but I don't have that much time or energy 😭

I'll just go sob in the corner because this entire ep was made to attack my heart with fluff but this scene just broke me.

Also- we finally get actual wind-ruffled hair in BL hehe

Isn't he already Golden Retriever enough? 😭

[Also, at this point my anxiety spiked because I had 7 more screenshots, but I'd already done 25, so tumblr would allow only 5 more 😶😭]

Yes.

Peem finally getting his confidence and sass back! Hehe

That peck had me blinking and then smiling so wide and rewatching those few seconds at least four times.

He says no, and yet his face is tilted and eyes closed and he's all ready to be kissed so sweetly.

You betray yourself, Peem *smh*

HANDS!!!!

The day I stop screaming about hands is my last day on Earth.

This broke my heart, but this hug and Peem's reply put it back together. <33

He-

He said it. While he was awake. 😶

Listen, that nose boop and him telling Phum he'd done a good job the first time changed my brain chemistry so much I collected all the stray strands of my nonexistant giffing skills and made a gif just to put it as my header (replacing that scene from Cherry Magic that I've probably watched a million times now, and had changed me viscerally).

AND THEN THEY GIVE ME THIS.

They're playing table tennis with my heart 🥲

Anyways. Love this scene. So much.

BONUS: I couldn't upload the screenshot of this, but that horse riding scene is so funny to me, because Phuwin is the one who can ride, and Pond's the one a little scared (a little like that roller coaster scene except reversed hehe).

Also "I feel like a prince, riding my horse led by my servant." uh huh. no reference here. just a random line in a random series where the main leads acted in a series previously where one of them was a khun chai and the other worked for him. no reference at all.

Finally!

That's it for ep 12, see y'all next week!

If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! 😊

Here, have some pancakes 🥞

All my previous We Are posts.

@inonetoomanyfandoms here's part 2 hehe

[sunfyre-targaryen]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON S2E7

i've taken some time to rewatch the two last episodes to express my opinion.

the conversation between addam and rhaenyra. addam is one of my favourite characters and i cannot wait to see him in action. for whom that hasn't read the book, remember just one word: loyal

alicent getting the same wound as rhaenyra on her arm. i appreciated this detail, because now alicent is in the same position as rhaenyra was before deciding to move to dragonstone with laenor and the kids. alicent doesn't have power anymore, aemond doesn't need her and she is kinda lost because all her life, as she said to orwyle, she only has served her house and family and she ruled as regent for her husband.

rhaenyra and mysaria. guess that kiss was kinda useless, but i adore mysaria as master of whispers. when rhaenyra said "let us raise an army of bastards" i thought that in this way she is going to make vain every time her and her father tried to defend her children (even if in the book this is a jace's idea)

corlys and addam. it can be seen how addam would like corlys to behave like a father or at least admits that he knows that he is his son.

lord oscar tully, the man you are. he literally tamed daemon. catelyn tully and the black fish being his descendants totally makes sense.

daemon's vision of viserys asking him if he still wants the crown. i actually adored the visions he had with his brother. they revealed the loyalty and love daemon has for his family and house.

aegon trying to walk again. his pain. that broke me. (tom's interpreation is just chef's kiss).

alyn and corlys. when alyn said "i am of salt and sea". differently from addam, it can be seen that alyn is angry at corlys for leaving them behind.

rhaena and her obsession for dragons. it reminded me of little aemond, they are sooo different obviously, but they share the weight of being a dragonless targaryen while their siblings/relatives have one. i cannot wait to see her and sheepstealer at this point, since we won't get nettles.

alicent going out alone. it was kinda sad to see, especially because in the first season she was so fierce. i would have liked to see book alicent now, but i kinda understand this development of her character now.

jace being angry at rhaenyra. i kinda understand him, as a bastard the fact that he can ride a dragon is the only thing that make him worthy of his status to the eyes of the people. i understand his rage. on the other hand, he proposed to search for dragonriders among the nobles, it isn't so different. in both ways people will think that targaryens aren't so special if a mallister or a lowborn can ride a dragon.

rhaenyra's valyrian is like music for my ears. i absolutely adore when she speaks in high valyrian. (emma's voice is like honey to me fr). when rhaenyra summons vermithor, it is so targaryen, you know what i mean

hugh hammer claiming vermithor. perfection. he is saera's son for sure!

ulf claiming silverwing was kinda funny. vermithor be like "i will kill you all", silverwing on the other hand "you'll do baby boy". silverwing is so beautiful and watching her flying upon king's landing made me think that she used to fly like this with good queen alysanne, kinda emotional somehow.

THE FINAL SCENE. as a team green supporter i shouldn't have enjoyed it, BUT COME ON. AEMOND AND VHAGAR LITERALLY RUN AWAY AND RHAENYRA'S DRAGONS ALL "SINGING". THAT WAS JUST AMAZING.

i'll post ep8 after the rewatch. i have to figure out some things.

if you want to talk about it, feel free to send a raven!

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Together Bound In Madness - Part 7

Summary: There.....was...someone else…

A/N: This particular piece of work wasn’t meant to see the light of day and live its life in my WIP folder…it was supposed to….

Then I mentioned to @ken-dom that I might share and well…here we are…what can I say y'all? She’s mad encouraging and I love her dearly for it. Without her none of these would exist.

Y'all are getting an update because my internet Mama is the worst (read: best)

As always, this NSFW 18+ and has a few extra warnings attached; a kidnapping trigger warning being the biggest one, and approach this one with some caution….it’s consensual so it’s not technically rape, but the situation could make some uncomfortable.

The title comes from the Marianas Trench song The Killing Kind

Inspiration for this particular bit came from my recent rewatch of "You" on Netflix (Season 1 Episode 10 to be precise) See here (The first 2 mins or so) (Spoilers obvi)

Y'all should know by now I rarely post one shots…..so yeah, this will be multiple parts….I’m just not sure on the final tally yet. You can find previous parts here.

Enjoy my loves! <3 

He sat at an empty barstool, finding this idiot was easier than even he thought it would be. Day drinking like the real winner he was. 

He didn't even need to try, your male suitor, who had been so enamored with your lips. His lips. You were his. 

He spent no less than twenty minutes next to this man before he started talking about you. It became very clear very quickly you were nothing but a piece of ass, a conquest. 

The moment this waste of skin stood from the barstool, he saw red. Immediately pulling himself up from his own stool, following him out into the street. 

***

You jumped hearing his keys outside the door as he opened it, stepping over the threshold. 

You gasped, for the second time in as many days, his typically white jacket was stained dark red. 

“God…please no” you whispered softly, dropping your gaze as he came to stand in front of you. 

His shoes were blood spattered, you looked up slowly, your eyes taking in his blood streaked jeans, his stained shirt, his soaked jacket. 

“What did you do?” You whispered, finally meeting his eyes. “Tell me you didn't”

He stood in front of you, his face emotionless and unreadable before he spoke with a small shake of his head. He reached behind you, snapping the zip ties apart; you winced, moving your arms in front of you, stiff from being held back for so long. “I can't”

You gasped, feeling like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs as you broke down sobbing. 

He reached a bloody gloved hand to cup your cheek and you flinched away as fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. 

He sank to his knees in front of you. His gloved hands resting on your thighs. “I did this for you,” he spoke softly “He wasn't good for you,” he reasoned, “You should have heard the things he said…”

“You killed someone!” You sobbed, your voice braking with emotion as you pushed his hands off your thighs and you got to your feet, desperate to put space between you. 

Your breath caught in your throat when his bloodied hand closed around your equally bloodied wrist. You ripped it free from his grasp and took a few more steps backward as he got to his feet. 

“You, are insane,” you cried trying to inconspicuously make your way towards the door. “The thing I need protection from is you!”

His shoulders dropped and he looked visibly hurt by your words. It almost made you laugh out loud. 

“What?!” Your anger getting the better of you “You wanted me to be grateful that you kidnapped me?!” You screamed, not giving him a chance to answer before you continued. “That you've been holding me captive here for God knows how long?!” 

When he still didn't speak you continued. “What did you want to hear?! That I love you?!” Your voice cracked again with effort as you strained your vocal chords. “You're sick,” you swallowed hard, taking a breath. “You need help” your voice had dropped to a shaky whisper. “I hate you”

That had been like a knife to the gut. Everything he had done had been for you. To protect you and keep you safe from people like that Facebook guy. And you had just lumped him in with the likes of them. 

His blood boiled at the thought; how dare you accuse him of being anything like that.

He stalked forward, quickly closing the distance you had tried to put between you, but still kept his distance. 

You glared at him, standing your ground; your heart still pounding in your ears. You parted your lips, taking  a slow deep breath. 

“You’ll never be like him,” you spoke; surprised your voice was coming out even and steady. A single tear slipped down your cheek. “You’re not half the man he was” 

“You don’t mean that” he shook his head slowly, continuing to close the distance. 

You grit your teeth, your eyes laser focused on his movement “Like hell I don’t” 

In a flash, his hands grabbed both your wrists, slamming you against the door, knocking the wind from your lungs, pinning your arms over your head, your knuckles rapping against  the wood. Again, you fought to keep your voice even; you were certain your heart pounding in your chest was going to give you away regardless. He leaned closer, his bloody body pressed against yours; his breath hot next to your ear. 

You winced in pain as his hands squeezed your wrists, but kept quiet. 

His nose pressed against your cheek. “Did you let him touch you?”

You took a sharp breath in through your nose. “N-no” 

He let go of your wrists, his open palm slapping against the door. Making you jump, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“You're lying” his voice was harsh, but only loud given its proximity to your ear. 

“So what if I am,” you snapped 

He slapped you hard across the face and before you could think twice about your actions, you struck him back. 

He gripped both your aching wrists in one of his hands; the other shoving between your legs as his knee forced your thighs apart.   

Your cheek burned and his was bright red. His fingers work the soft fabric of the pyjama pants against your naked clit. 

You bit your lips together and immediately released them; both were swollen and sore. 

“Does he tongue fuck you well enough for you to brag to your friends about it?” 

“Better,” you grit your teeth, fighting back the moan that threatened to spill from between your lips “He didn't need me to tell them’

You slammed your head back against the door with a loud thud as his bare hand slid inside the loose fitting pants around your waist. You hadn't even realized he had taken his gloves off. 

Without so much as a breath of warning, his fingers plunged inside you, making your knees buckle, your hand instinctively grabbing his shoulder for support with a gasp. 

You tried to squeeze your thighs together to no avail. 

“Did he tell you how beautiful you look when you're fighting not to come unraveled?” He whispered, leaning forward to scrape his teeth along the line of your jaw 

You squeezed your eyes shut, bucking your hips into his hand. “You’re fucking pathetic"

“And you're dripping down my hand” he whispered “I bet he never saw you like this”

Your eyes locked on his and he raised an eyebrow and you whimpered loud, going limp in his arms as he curled his fingers deep inside you. 

Your hands wedged between your bodies, yanking the button on his jeans open, shoving them off his hips. A guttural moan as his cock sprang free, his fingers never stopped moving. 

Your hand streaked with the sticky, drying blood on the waistband of his jeans, the open zipper biting into your own raw bleeding skin of your wrist, palming his pulsing length. 

You whimpered, breathing hard, crying out against his mouth as he bit down hard enough on your bottom lip to draw blood. 

You gasped as he pulled his hand from the confines of your pants before pulling them off. His short fingernails biting into the back of your thigh as he wrapped your leg around his waist. Before he pulled your hand from inside his jeans, slamming your wrists against the door; his fingers lacing together with yours. 

He thrust forward, making the door rattle in its frame, again your head banging against it as you threw your head back, screaming towards the ceiling.  He caught you before you could fall to the floor, both your legs now wrapped firmly around his middle. 

He pulled away from the door, his arms wrapping around your back as your arms dropped around his shoulders. Your hips thrusting, desperate to feel the friction between you. 

His weight came down on top of you as you landed on the bed, your legs came free from his hips, your heels digging into the mattress as you thrust your hips up into his, moaning shamelessly as you braced one hand against the headboard. The entire bed shifted as he thrust harder. 

You screamed as he bit down hard into your neck. He moaned against your skin, his cock twitching inside you. 

The hand not braced against the headboard, fisted in his hair, pulling hard before he moved to look down at you underneath him.  

“You're a sick fuck” you breathed hard. 

“And you're not going to have to finish yourself on the bathroom floor” he smirked. 

The hand pushing against the headboard flew to slap him hard across the face. 

He had hardly flinched, his blue eyes flared; a deep growl in the back of his throat sent a shiver through your body. Your shrill scream filled the room as his teeth sank into the other side of your neck. Arousal jolting through your entire body. 

“You’re mine” he growled against your ear. “No one else's”

His hips snapped against yours as your hand dropped from his hair, only for him to immediately lace your fingers together, pinning your hand to the mattress. 

You didn't answer, just whimpered and writhed underneath him. Your hand squeezing his; you gasped as his lips smashed against yours, your tongue twisting together with his as you moaned against his mouth. 

He peeled his lips from yours and you gasped for air. “Say it” 

You shook your head and his hand reached to  squeeze your throat firmly.  

“Now”

You glared at him as his hand squeezed, easing only enough so you could speak. 

“No”  His weight was heavy on top of you as he shifted. That hadn't been the answer he expected, or wanted. 

He tipped his head with a frown

His entire body felt like you had set him ablaze. 

His hand landed heavy on your cheek and you winced before letting out a heavy breath running your tongue between your swollen lips with a raised eyebrow. 

You grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as your body jerked with the force of his efforts; his cock still buried inside you. 

You were fighting everything inside you to keep your orgasm at bay, purely out of spite. You weren't in the best position to make him angry, but fuck. The jealousy practically seeping from his pores over an old high school boyfriend who lived firmly in senior year where he'd peaked was stirring something in your gut, wanting to see just how far you could push. 

He pinned your arms over your head, using your own body as his leverage, his full weight on your wrists making your arms ache down through your elbows. The sting of your wounds familiar at this point, simply adding to your arousal. 

You hated him, this complete fucking stranger. 

The hot neighbour

He had kidnapped you and ripped you from your life. 

But this is your fantasy….isn't it? You’ve watched him for months.

Not like this; you had just observed him when the opportunity presented itself; he had stalked you. Kidnapped you. 

And yet….

You whimpered as he growled next to your ear, his teeth biting hard enough to pierce skin. The sharp sting quickly soothed by his warm tongue, making you shiver. 

He was absolutely fucked in the head. This wasn't normal. 

Normal is overrated

He had murdered someone. Probably more than once…

You don't know for sure….

There was no denying it. He was covered from head to toe in someone else's blood. 

And now so are you…and he's SO good at-

A shudder rocked your entire frame as you fought the urge. It was getting harder and harder. 

You gasped, fingernails biting into the palms of your own hands as you felt yourself being filled with his hot, thick release; his tongue filling your mouth as he rode out his orgasm and you broke, nearly biting through his lip as a strangled, muffled moan came from you. 

“Tell me” he whispered, his lips moving against yours.

Still you shook your head, your lips moving against his. “No”

You cried out as his fingernails purposefully dug into your raw flesh before he pulled from inside you, forcing your legs apart before putting himself between them. You barely had time to recover, your breath catching in your throat as he thrust two of his fingers inside your throbbing core. 

Immediately pumping in and out, making you twist in the sheets, trying to escape the onslaught. Both your hands reached between your legs, fighting to pull his hand away. His free hand closes around both of your wrists with ease, keeping them still as his fingers thrust harder. 

You threw your head back against the pillow letting out a desperate cry. “G-god p-p-please”

Your bottom lip trembled as you fought against your primal instincts trying not to come unraveled again. But then he-

“Finish” he snapped, the two fingers buried inside you as far as he could get them, curled with a precision that made your orgasm jolt through your body, your hands flying to fist the sheets underneath you as you arched off the bed; a loud, desperate “FUCK” cracking from your throat. 

And still he kept going. 

He lowered himself between your thighs, looking up as you tried in vain to push him back. Your last orgasm had barely subsided as he pushed your weak legs apart. 

He leaned forward, his warm breath on your over sensitive core making you jump before he locked eyes with you. 

“Say it” he commanded

You opted for silence; much to his delight. 

He licked a hot stripe up your centre, making you cry with pleasure. If his weight hadn't had them pinned, your legs would have snapped around his head. 

You panted desperately as his warm skilled tongue lapped between your folds; his fingers bruising your thigh as he kept your legs spread wide. Your hands fisted his blond hair, your nails intentionally finding purchase in his scalp as you pulled hard on the fine strands between your fingers. 

He moaned loud, it echoing between your thighs, vibrating against your overstimulated core, making you whine, thrusting against him. He liked it; of course he did, he was a fucking masochist. 

You pulled harder on his hair, simply to elicit that delicious hum that made your legs feel like jello. Still though, you refused to give him what he had wanted; you whimpered, and gasped, and hummed, but those two words…

Again, you thrust your hips, shameless noises spilling from your lips. Your breath hitched in your throat as his tongue circled over that bundle of nerves. You moaned in the back of your throat, as you felt your bottom lip split open, trapped between your teeth. The coppery tang of your blood pricking your tongue as he fucked you with his. 

He licked and sucked like you were the most delectable thing to ever touch his taste buds. He came up for air, giving you the briefest second of relief. His lips were wet and bright red, his chin glistening with your slick. You shivered, your body recovering only slightly before he started again, making you grit your teeth as you jerked forward; a knee-jerk response, but you wanted more, you needed more. Your abs clenched as he looked up, fixing his eyes on you as his tongue continued its assault. Another shiver quaking through your body, your next orgasm threateningly close. He was like a starved man eating his last meal. You squeezed your eyes shut, as your core clenched; like it was straining to reach your peak and it was just out of reach. You filled your lungs with oxygen, not realizing you’d been holding your breath. Your whole body instinctively relaxed and all at once, your orgasm shot from your core like an explosion right through to your fingertips. His hair in your hands subjected to the onslaught of your pleasure as you gasped out sobs; a mixture of pleasure and of sheer relief as tears streamed down your cheeks and he feasted on everything you gave him. 

You collapsed on the mattress, desperate to take a full breath but your lungs refused; your body simply shaking uncontrollably with the aftermath as you released his hair from between your fingers. 

You had never been absolutely ravished or worshiped like that ever. The thought made your cheeks burn hot as you still fought to catch your breath. He had been peppering your entire body with kisses; like something in him had flipped like a switch. 

He braced himself over you as you shuddered, swallowing hard. The intensity of his gaze making you avert yours. His strong hand gripping your jaw firmly, forcing it back before he leaned forward, his tongue gliding slowly over the split in your lip before claiming your mouth in a possessive kiss…and you let him; melting into the sheets underneath you as his weight came down heavy on top of you; your arms to weak to push him off, your body too weak to protest…not that you would have. 

You’d be lying if you said his undivided attention didn’t stir something inside you. He made you feel wanted. He made you feel desired. The thought alone made your aching core throb with a seemingly insatiable need. 

When he had finally climbed from on top of you, you swallowed hard, your body finally able to relax. Forcing your eyes to stay open felt like the hardest task, but you had managed long enough to take notice that you were streaked with blood. Your t-shirt, your thighs, your hands; especially the one you'd had down the front of his jeans. Your eyes slipped closed as you succumbed to your exhaustion, trying hard not to think about what you'd just done…or worse, that you had maybe enjoyed it.