#i treasure drawing every last hair

[an-actual-floof]

i uhm i- yeah

[wileys-russo]

forget me not II l.williamson x reader

forget me not II l.williamson x reader

"only me lee!" you called out, slipping out of your coat and hanging it by the door, tugging your beanie off and running a hand through your hair. you sighed happily at the much warmer temperature in the house compared to the brutal winter wind bellowing outside.

but there was nothing that could wipe the grin off of your face, having just wrapped up your final day of your degree and handing in your final thesis, you were on top of the world.

and at that moment, leah had been determined to keep you there.

"leah?" you called out for your girlfriend, eyebrows furrowing in concern when there was nothing in return, though you could smell the orange blossom throughout the house where she'd had the diffuser on, and her car had been parked right next to yours when you pulled in.

"babe?" you yelled a little louder, unwinding your scarf and slipping off your sneakers leaving them by the door, frown deepening as you wandered further and further into your home with still no sign of the blonde to be seen.

but you melted as you rounded the corner and laid eyes upon a perfectly set dining room table, takeaway from your most treasured italian restaurant plated up beautifully with a glass of champagne poured to accompany it, an expensive looking bottle sat in a bucket of ice in the middle of the table.

you could see the food was still steaming which must have meant that-

"congratulations!" you jumped almost a foot in the air at the booming voice behind you, jolting around for a split second before leah engulfed you in a bear hug, lifting you off your feet and cheering.

"leah!" you laughed, clutching onto her shoulders as the defender spun you around and carefully placed you back down on the ground. "i am so so unbelievably proud of you." her hands fell either side of your face, palms rough and callous but her touch warm and comforting as you melted into it.

"hold that thought." leahs finger smooshed against your lips for a second as she let go and stepped away, disappearing for a moment but returning with a huge bouquet of flowers in her arms.

"oh leah, you didn't need to do all this! i'd have been happy with a takeaway and a cheap bottle of wine." you exhaled with a soft smile, leah rolling her eyes affectionately and placing your flowers down on the table.

"only the best for the best. we can get wine drunk and have a greasy chinese any day of the week my girl, but its not every day that you graduate university with top marks, honors and three job offers!" your girlfriend reminded, shaking you proudly as you threw your head back with another laugh.

"i love you." you sighed, shaking your head and wrapping your arms around her neck, her own hands settling on your hips and drawing your body closer into hers, the scent of her perfume intoxicating as you drowned in it.

"i love you, i love our life, i love our home. and i love that i don't need to fight a big dusty stack of text books for your attention anymore!" the blonde teased as you grinned, leaning in to press a few short but sweet kisses against her lips.

"i knew that was coming." you sighed with a shake of your head, leah pulling a face and nodding, stealing another kiss and moving to pull your chair out for you, gesturing for you to sit down.

"i hate when you pull my chair out for me." you reminded as leah shrugged, pushing it in and stealing another kiss. "at restaurants, you didn't say anything about at home." leah winked taking her own seat as you rolled your eyes fondly.

"to you my love!" leah raised her glass with a beaming smile across the table, a fond grin on your own as a gentle clink sounded around the kitchen.

in that moment you felt loved and supported, as leah showered you with praise and hung off your every word as she asked you question after question about your finally completed thesis and how you were feeling.

if only you'd known it wouldn't last.

~

leah and you met through your cousin alessia.

the pair of you both the only girls in your immediate family and only a few months apart in age you'd grown up thick as thieves, adopting one another as the sisters you weren't given, both instead having older brothers.

you only grew closer as the years flew by, you making your way across the world to visit her when she was in college in america and the two of you vacationing together time and time again in italy with your families.

when alessia moved to manchester for football and you stayed in central london you saw less of one another, but still you did your best to make it to as many of her matches as you could, never gifted with much of a sporting ability which all three of your cousins had teased you for growing up.

you'd seen leah around in passing at the international games but never really had much to do with many of your cousins teammates bar the ones you saw more often that she played with at united or on the youth teams.

you had first been properly introduced to leah on a night out, arsenal playing united meant several of the england girls were going for dinner and given you'd gone to the game and hadn't seen alessia in well over a month she'd invited you to join them.

you hadn't interacted with leah all that much that night, spending most of your time glued to your cousins side making the most of your time with her, your exams now done for the semester you were making plans with her to go to ibiza after the season wrapped up.

but unknown to you, you'd stuck with leah a little more than she had with you.

you hadn't had anything else to do with her until a couple of weeks later, you were in between lectures and desperate for a coffee which actually tasted like coffee and not something from a gas station pod machine.

so you'd ducked out to a little cafe just down the road from the university, it was a fan favourite amongst studnets and often quite busy so you weren't surprised to see all the tables occupied and people stood shoulder to shoulder awaiting their takeaways.

you'd ordered your usual and a ham and cheese croissant to snack on along the way back, moving away from the counter to wait for your order, smiling apologetically at a blonde you'd accidentally backed up into.

you assumed that would be it, off in your own world as you started to daydream, which is why you missed the girl speak to you, only zoning in once she tapped you on the shoulder and you turned toward her with a curious frown.

"sorry, what?" you blinked realizing she'd said something and you'd missed it. "i said you look really familiar, have we met before?" the stranger asked and you let out a small puff of air in amusement. "is that supposed to be a pick up line?" you questioned with a raised eyebrow as the blondes eyes widened.

"no! honestly. i would never try to pick you up-" she started but with a small scoff of offence from you her eyes widened further. "no! not that i wouldn't try to pick you up at all you're not ugly, but i wouldn't do it like that?" she cringed at herself as you hummed, turning back toward the counter and crossing your arms over your chest.

"hey no please, i'm so sorry this is all coming out wrong." the girl huffed with a shake of her head as again you only hummed and she seemed to give it up as there was a few beats of silence.

"oh! i know. you're...someones cousin." the girl seemed to light up, seemingly quite happy with herself as you threw her a side eye. "aren't we all technically someones cousin?" you questioned still facing the counter as the girl rolled her eyes.

"well yes but i swear i've seen you somewhere before." the blonde huffed in frustration and you sagged a little in relief as your name was called.

"let me guess. in your dreams?" you chuckled, stepping forward to grab your coffee and the small paper bag, good mood returning at the overwhelming scent of the croissant which was toasted, warm and calling your name.

"look. you're not unattractive but the whole 'oh i know you!' thing? it doesn't work. really, do yourself a favor and get a new tactic!" you shook your head with a slight smile, leaving the blonde gobsmacked as you moved past her and shuffled your way out of the cafe.

only if you'd just waited another thirty seconds, you'd have heard her own coffee's called out, all under the name leah.

again a couple of months passed and the coffee shop interaction disappeared from your mind, alessia laughing about it with you a week later teasing that even if you didn't date boys you couldn't avoid shitty pick up lines.

you didn't run into leah again until the very first friendly leading up to englands home euros run where they beat belgium 3-0. you'd been sat with everyone in the family and friends section, wedged between gio and your own older brother leo. the rhyming names in which you and alessia had teased them for for years.

naturally after the game and the crowd had cleared everyone was mingling with their families, and you'd been so busy laughing at alessia's brothers taking the piss out of her for having kept count of how many times she tripped over in the game you missed a familiar blonde spot you across the room.

however you were made aware of her presence around a half an hour later as your family had started to break off into groups, all headed to a local restaurant for a nice meal to celebrate alessia and everyone being together again.

"want a lift?" alessia offered twirling her keys around on her finger as she finished saying goodbye to a few of the girls. "yes but i'd also like to arrive to dinner alive." you sighed as the girl scoffed and hit you on the shoulder.

"well i'm your last option so you can walk if you'd prefer piccoli ravioli!" your cousin cooed teasingly, pinching your cheek as your eyes narrowed and you shoved her taller form away.

"alessia. you promised you'd stop calling me that." "i did, but i've changed my mind now. it brings nonna so much joy...i'd like to also feel that joy." "would you also like to feel my fist against your cheek?" "aw you're so cute, piccoli ravioli!"

"i hate you." you sighed in defeat unable to muster the energy for a proper comeback as your cousin only grinned and waved goodbye to mary over your shoulder.

exchanging goodbyes with ella and promising you'd come visit manchester soon you turned to follow after your cousin and her long legs which were already halfway across the room when there was a tap on your shoulder.

"you look really familiar. have we met before?"

"you." you realized quickly, eyes widening at the smug grin on the familiar blondes face who stood before you, clad in the same england tracksuit your cousin was wearing which could only mean one thing.

"you mean you're-" "yes i am, and you are someones cousin. alessia's!" the girl grinned victoriously as you winced a little at your previous interaction.

"told you it wasn't a pick up strategy." the blonde beamed even brighter, rocking back and forth on her heels and shoving her hands into her pockets.

"well you could have just asked!" you rolled your eyes at her smugness. "i did and you bit my head off!" the blonde huffed in defense. "i mean directly. like 'oh i think you might be related to someone i play football with'." you mocked in an attempt at her accent.

"i don't talk like that!" "thats what you took away from that?"

"well i didn't want to freak you out." the girl rolled her eyes as you snickered. "and how well did that go? i've been calling you coffee shop creeper when i tell that story, and let me tell you it gets some laughs!" your voice dripped with sarcasm but that just seemed to cause her lips to curl up into a more prominent smile.

"well then you're welcome for the ice breaker, maybe now you'll have some more success reading cues of when someone is trying to chat you up or just asking a curious question. not everyone wants to date you right off the bat, sorry for the let down." the blonde pouted though the sarcasm was obvious in her own tone.

"leah." your own response was cut short as the girl held out her hand, grin still plastered on her face and damp hair pushed to one side of your head as you sized her up for a second before sighing and exchanging your own name.

the interaction was paused as alessia yelled out for you, gesturing from the door and tapping her wrist making you scoff given she was one to talk forever the last to show up at any family event and notoriously known her lateness.

"well leah, i'm glad we cleared this up. good game!" you smiled sincerely for the first time and leah felt her stomach flip as you turned to head over to your cousin.

"wait! can i get your number?" you glanced back in surprise to the blonde who shrugged at your raised eyebrow. "only following your advice and asking directly!" leah teased with a smirk that you couldn't lie and say wasn't a little endearing.

"fine, but just so you know i will be saving your contact as coffee shop creeper."

~

years down the track and the coffee shop creeper charm had won you over, you were very happily in a long term relationship and a few months ago had taken the next step of moving in together.

with alessia now living in london too it meant the pair of you were near inseparable much to both leahs delight and frustration that your cousin loved to invite herself over, often interrupting date night.

you'd been by leahs side throughout her injury, sticking by her through the highs and lows, the lashing out, the icing out, the apologies and the crying and eventually, the peace and the healing.

you'd be lying if you said that despite how clearly proud of her you were, you missed having leah around as much now she was medically cleared and back fit and fighting for her beloved arsenal.

date nights were often forgotten, leah hanging back in the gym to do some extra work or to meet one on one with the physios ensuring her recovery was still right on track.

despite your own studies you made sure to be at every single game each weekend if leah was playing or not. but when she used to greet you afterwards with a bear hug and a sneaky kiss, whisking the pair of you away back home for a night of takeaway and horrendously cheesy rom coms, had disappeared as she instead spent time looking back on game footage with the head defensive coach or watching at home on her own ipad, normally requesting some space to do so.

but as always, you knew what this meant to her. football wasn't just leah's passion it was her life, and you wouldn't be the person to stand in the way of her achieving everything she wanted to and more, you were always her biggest cheerleader.

there was an international camp coming up and you knew that was her next goal, her focus narrowed down to have her name on that squad list her sole vision for the next few weeks, and of course as usual you'd been nothing but supportive of her.

but you had your own milestones incoming, your own goals to lock in on and finalizing your thesis was one of the last. leah had of course showered you with praise and attention and affection that night and you felt like things had started to slip back where they left off.

but then a few days later and again you were left sat at the dining room table alone on date night, reading a book and looking longingly over to the door awaiting the jingle of your lovers keys in its lock, but by the time it came you were long asleep in bed, leahs dinner left wrapped in cling film in the fridge, untouched and discarded by you that next morning.

as much as you put on a brave face, there was always someone who saw through any attempt at a wall you threw up for your own defense, and that was your cousin.

it had taken a little bit of clever reverse psychology and a mountain of carbs in the form of your favorite pasta dish but eventually alessia had you opening up about feelings you'd pushed down and down and down.

having known you longer and family meaning everything to alessia you knew the blonde would take your side, not that there was even an argument or 'sides' to be taken at all. but also always level headed and your go to for advice your entire life you took on board what she had to say.

she encouraged you to open up to leah and talk everything out, urging that the older girl was clearly head over heels for you and likely didn't even realise her actions were making you feel like this.

alessia cautioned that the longer you let these feelings sit the bigger chance they could begin to turn into resentment, to fester away and become much more negative, eating away at you piece by piece, the more likely that leah would continue on forward blindly, unaware of your feelings of neglect and you could both wind up hurt.

you wished you'd listened to her.

finally a week later your final hurdle arrived, your graduation.

given it was quite the extensive class you'd been apart of you only had a small handful of tickets to extend, but of course your cousin and your girlfriend had received their invitations weeks ago.

alessia had taken you out shopping a few days ago to find a dress, leah very kindly offering to come but you could see the slight grimace on her face at the thought and dismissed it with a smile, thanking her with a soft kiss for offering.

you needed to arrive earlier than your family, so alessia had texted leah the night before offering to pick her up and carpool. your girlfriend however assumed the blonde had meant a lift to training that next morning and declined, advising she would make her own way.

you'd also of course spoken about your nerves for tomorrow, leah only half listening as she studied the training footage she'd requested on her ipad, assuring everything would be fine and kissing your forehead as you hummed and settled down in bed beside her.

you were used to falling asleep first, back turned to your girlfriend as her fingers drummed away against her screen, wishing for nothing more than the nights where leah would be pressed up against you.

where she was present, involved, attentive. but again you chose not to mention it, afraid she'd take your feelings of neglect for neediness and the voices in your head warned it would mean your blonde lover would pull away even further out of reach.

it wasn't unusual for you to be up and gone when leah woke for trainings some mornings, the early bird out of the pair of you you often loved a morning run to clear your head, having long given up trying to convince your sleep loving bed hogging girlfriend to join you.

so she thought nothing of it when the time ticked by and still you hadn't returned, chalking it up to you maybe going for breakfast afterwards with a friend.

if she'd been paying attention when she raced out to her car, piece of toast hanging out of her mouth and her shoes in hand she might have noted your car was gone too.

leah was so wrapped up in training preparing for this weeks game, knowing sarina would be there to watch, she hadn't even tweaked your cousins absence, missing the flittering conversations that alessia had a family commitment.

never having her phone on her during training, leah was surprised to check it after showering to see an abundance of missed calls, messages and facetime attempts from a handful of different people.

"what the fuck?" the blonde mumbled, muttering her goodbyes to her teammates as she made her way quickly out of colney and sat down in her car, deciding to just start from the last missed call she had which was from her mum.

the girl couldn't even get a word in to ask what had happened before amanda was speaking, exhaling in relief at her daughters contact popping up on her phone.

“finally! I understand you might not have been allowed your phone for a face time during the ceremony but you better have some photos and videos to send me." amanda laughed, leahs frown only deepening but again she couldn't get a word in.

"god i bet she looked beautiful, she's such a gorgeous girl i've always said that! but now with a doctorate. oh leah did you cry? i bet your brother you'd cry!" amanda laughed as leah opened and closed her mouth in confusion.

"sorry, mum what are you on about?" leah finally managed to speak, a brief pause of silence on the other end. "fine so you didn't cry! you are a softie though bubba you can't deny me that. but i'm with your grandma so send me some photos at least to show her!" amanda encouraged as leahs eyebrows furrowed.

“sorry i'm a bit lost here. photos of what mum?” "the graduation of course, what else?" "whose graduation? you're not making any sense."

there was a few beats of silence, amanda having moved away for a moment to somewhere a bit more private.

"leah if this is a joke, it isn’t funny.” her mum warned seriously, tone shifting as leah scoffed. "of course its not a joke! i don't know what you're on about with this gradua-" but the words died in her mouth as finally things seemed to click.

"oh no no no fucking hell please no!” leah panicked, putting the phone down on her centre console as her chest tightened and her heart began to race.

"leah catherine williamson. please tell me you didn't forget your own girlfriends graduation ceremony." amanda spoke much more quietly, disbelief evident in her voice as leah fumbled around, knowing it was in here somewhere.

then she found it, the invitation.

you'd both been in the car when you'd shown it to her, leah having picked you up from a friends house where you'd had a few too many drinks for her to want you in an uber, smiling in amusement as you toddled your way down the driveway to her.

she hadn't seen you all day but the moment she'd gotten you safely in the car you'd presented her with the small slip of paper, leah's eyes widening in pride for a moment before her lips were showering every inch of your face in kisses as you'd laughed and shoved her off.

but the melodic sound of your laughter was a stark comparison to the stuffy horrendous silence which filled her car now as leah stared in both horror and disgust at the date on the paper clenched tightly in her fist.

"mum i need to go."

[fayes-fics]

The Secrets We Keep: Pt I

Part II >>

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you…

Warnings: none yet… fluff and angst. Childhood friends, yearning, arranged marriage, kissing. Pt II will contain a warning/rating change.

Word Count: 5.1k (this part)

Authors Note: Part 1 of 2. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. I won't post your ask yet, as it contains spoilers for the second half. Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. I’m in the process of writing Pt II, so there will be a gap between instalments. Enjoy! 🫶

-i-

For as long as you can remember, you have loved one man secretly. To the point that you cannot imagine your life without a deep, burning affection simmering in your very core, as fundamental to your existence as drawing air into your lungs.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Your families have been neighbours in Mayfair and Kent for many generations—two aristocratic dynasties that, despite enduring friendships, have never seen intermarriage. There have been attempted matches down the years, according to family lore, but nothing came to fruition. 

So when you were brought to Aubrey Hall as a mere babe in arms, the eldest daughter, there were many good-natured jokes that Anthony’s future wife had been born. But the Viscount, wonderful as he is, was not the man who stole your heart just a few short years later. A bright sunny day in June that you suspect Benedict may not even be able to recall, but you can with perfect clarity, even now, some fifteen years later. 

He picked you as the first person to join his team for a round of garden games. Paying you heed and ensuring you were included, patiently showing you the ropes and applauding your achievements, ignoring the ridicule from the other twelve-year-old boys for letting a girl - and a little five-year-old at that - join in their games. 

Ever since that day, all you have ever seen is his enormous heart and steadfast empathy: always the one to reach out to those excluded, to be supportive, and to love harder and more expansively than his siblings. Thus, unsurprisingly, he became the focus of your singular devotion—a childish adoration transmuting into something more profound and complicated as you matured.

On your fourteenth birthday, your mother gifted you a thick notebook. And it became your refuge, the private canvas on which you outlet your innermost secrets and thoughts. The beautiful but now slightly battered, silk-covered tome is still your most treasured possession even now, more than six years later, so close to filled now, with only a couple of blank pages left. Never long from your hands, but when it must be, carefully stashed under the floorboards of your bedroom. Its pages the reflection of a naive, growing heart. There is one person who features frequently on its crammed, jumbled pages. Sketches of his handsome face, mostly from memory, interspersed with ardent notes and poems that, while they may not mention his name, are written for him. Adoration writ large in every pen and pencil stroke.

Little were you to know that the secrets you keep within its hallowed pages would one day alter the course of your life…

-ii-

It's the evening of the Bridgerton Ball, and usually, you would be brimming with anticipation for such an occasion, a chance to see the man who holds your most ardent admiration. Instead, you find yourself glum, mechanically stepping into the dress your ladies' maid Rachel assists you with, staring blankly into the vanity mirror as she adorns your hair with jewels. Still reeling from your father's shocking announcement the previous day.

The inheritance of a European title had seen him spend eighteen months abroad. In his absence last spring, you were able to persuade your more indulgent mother to delay your societal debut—a yearning to be free in the ways you know no woman really can be for long. A compounding factor was spending the summer in the Highlands with her sister, your Aunt Eliza, a spirited, independent woman who taught you many things and encouraged your artistic whims. And when you were back in London, your mother’s somewhat inattentive running of the house meant you were often able to slip away in the evenings, spending your time deepening your passion for art. Frequenting galleries and conversing with artists led to you being drawn into the bohemian, artsy underbelly of Bloomsbury, a beguiling, exotic contrast to Mayfair. Another secret you keep.

Upon his return to England, your father was not best pleased to learn that not only had you been allowed to skip the previous Season, but Eliza had also taught you to fish, fence and hunt—most unladylike pursuits in his opinion. He, therefore, made it his mission to ensure not only would you debut this year but also a swift match should be made, lest you “get other fanciful, dangerous ideas”.

Perhaps that is why, yesterday, nary two weeks into your first season, he abruptly announced over afternoon tea that he had secured a match for you and the man in question would be dining with you all that evening. A deal no doubt brokered in a private gentleman’s club as if you were merely chattel to be traded.

Revulsion filled your every fibre as you were introduced to Lord Farringdon a few hours later. A wiry man twenty years your senior with a hawk-like countenance and a disdainful disposition. Apparently, a brilliant intellectual mind but accompanied by a mercurial, malevolent reputation. You had read in Whistledown rumours about his mistreatment of his household staff and his previous wife. A forlorn figure who became a recluse long before she died of consumption tragically young. The idea of being betrothed to this cold, abusive man turned your stomach—a seemingly outsized punishment for your rebellion. Once the man left, you had begged and pleaded with your father to reconsider the arrangement, but sadly, your appeal fell on deaf ears. 

And so here you are. Going to a ball at which your father plans to announce your engagement. The stately beauty of Bridgerton House is not as heartening of a sight as it typically is. Tonight, it feels more akin to a gallows.

As soon as you arrive, you are scanning the crowds for the only friend you know will understand just how ghastly your predicament is—Eloise Bridgerton. A kindred spirit whose interest in marriage is as scant as your own. Bonding over your similar yearnings for freedom, you have been good friends since you were little, many a day spent together as children running through the Kentish fields, escaping expectation and flouting convention.

Acutely aware of time running out until your father speaks up, you fiddle distractedly with your fan, impatiently awaiting her entrance.

“For heaven's sake, y/n, please cease your fidgeting!” your mother chastises under her breath, snatching away the item. “I do not see why you are so agitated. Tonight is to be a wonderful occasion for you!”

A myriad of caustic comments are on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down. The last thing you want is to draw attention, and you certainly don't want to be gossip fodder; these ballrooms are a veritable hotbed of eavesdropping if Whistledown is anything to go by. 

When the collective Bridgerton family finally enter their ballroom as hosts, however, your eyes can't help but drift to Benedict instead. A reflex from years of longing, even though it is his sister,  arm looped into his, whose counsel you seek tonight. You excuse yourself to fetch a lemonade as soon as you spy a window of opportunity—Eloise standing alone, looking excessively bored. Abandoning your glass, you hurry over to her.

“I have news…”  You try to keep your voice neutral but grab her arm and practically drag her away from anyone within earshot.

“Well, it cannot be good if you are willing to rip my arm off to impart it,” she remarks dryly as you lead her down a hallway.

“It is not,” you pull a face that you know will convey to her the gravity of what you need to divulge.

With a nod of understanding and a look to a nearby footman, she leads you beyond him into an area of the house off-limits for guests. 

“Tell me…” her tone is sincere as she ushers you into the library and closes the door.

“My father has seen fit to arrange a marriage for me. He is planning to announce it tonight, right here at your family ball!”

She says nothing, only a sympathetic noise as she pulls you into a consoling hug. The emotions you have been tamping down for hours escape as a couple of bitter tears, her arms banding tight around you. You are not sure how long, but you stand in a hug, just grateful for her steadfast support.

“What am I to do?” you whisper.

“I do not know,” she confesses. “Have you tried to reason with your father?”

“A hopeless cause…”  

Her mouth twists in understanding, knowing you will have put up a spirited defence as much as she would have. She detangles from you and goes to a nearby brandy decanter.

“It's the very least you deserve, frankly,” she points out, handing you a glass and pulling you into a loveseat with her, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, clinking her glass against yours in a silent but bittersweet toast about your seemingly futile situation.

-iii-

Half an hour later, your parents are distracted across the far side of the room with friends when a large hand grabs yours out of the blue. You startle when you realise it is Benedict, your heart suddenly in your mouth. Before you know it, you are wordlessly being pulled out of the French doors behind you and into the night air.

“Where are we going!?” you demand when you recover from the initial surprise, his gloved hand tugging yours along through the darkened gardens. 

“Shh, make haste, we must not be seen,” he hushes you but keeps moving, furtive and fast, your feet having to take extra steps to keep up with his long stride over the lush, dewy grass.

“Benedict…” you try again once you round a thick hedge into the rose garden.  “What is going on?”

He slows a little but does not relinquish his tight hold. Gravel path now crunching under his boots as the honeyed scent of damask hangs heavy in the air. 

“Eloise told me,” is all he offers. “So we are escaping.”

“W-we are?” you stutter, frowning, a claggy tumult behind your ribs at his use of ‘we’. 

“Yes! Or at least we would be if you would keep quiet… please…” he amends, sounding a touch contrite about his initial brusqueness, but speeding up again, headed straight for a small wooden door in a high stone wall, almost hidden behind long, draping ropes of ivy, glowing silver in the moonlight.

When you reach it, he releases his grip on your hand and shoulders the door open with considerable force. The weathered wood creaks loudly, almost splintering under the duress. He signals to the inky blackness of the deserted mews behind Bridgerton House.

“It is now or never, y/n,” he warns as you look back at the house, lit up with the life of the ball inside. “So what is your choice?”

He may be presenting it as an option, but really, you know there would only ever be one answer. You would accompany him to the ends of the earth if he so much as asked. And so wordlessly, you step through the doorway and into the narrow street beyond.

“Good choice,” he compliments as he follows suit and closes the door behind him. “You may stay at my friend Granville’s tonight,” he offers sagely, “I have not seen him in a while, but I will explain when we arrive; I am certain he can provide shelter.”

“Benedict, I already know Henry… Quite well, in fact.”

He looks taken aback as if it had not occurred to him that you may move in the same clandestine circles as he does. To be fair, you have always been discreet in your outings, and it’s not something you have divulged to anyone, including Eloise. Still, what confounds you more is why he is suddenly so seemingly invested in seeing you escape from your predicament. It doesn't entirely make sense.

“Well, then,” he cuts into your brief reverie, “you know Henry is a generous host and discreet about the affairs of others. Your father will not come looking for you there. It will buy some time to figure out what to do next. To ensure your freedom.”

“Freedom?” You scoff. “Benedict, as much as I may wish it, there is no other path open to me. Tonight is merely a delay tactic at best. The only way to stop my father’s pursuit of this union is if I marry another….”

The admittance of this truth out loud makes you restless, belatedly realising that it truly is your only way out. You stalk towards the main road, the faint glow of the street lamp guiding your way over the cobbles. You soon hear Benedict’s footsteps behind.

“That is ridiculous!” he exclaims as he attempts to catch up with you. “There are other options available to you…”

“Such as?” you whip around, raising your hands, countering his assertion. When he falters, you return to walking, throwing a tart addition over your shoulder: “Unlike you, a man, I do not have the freedom of choice.” 

“You should always have a choice…” he counters earnestly, still catching up to your furious pace.

“Should and do are different things, Benedict. You do not even know how lucky you are!” You add bitterly, rounding onto the main street.

A gust of wind causes you to pause and a shiver to run down your arms, your gauzy dress not enough to ward off the unseasonable chill in the air tonight. Ever the observant gentleman, Benedict shucks his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. Uncharitably, your ire makes you attempt to shake it off, even while knowing it is intended purely as a chivalrous gesture. You are surprised when he seems to grasp your shoulders tighter, holding the heavy velvet in place. It is cloaked in his woodsy, citrus scent, your vexed state turning into an entirely different type of flush as he crowds closer to you.

“My birth has allowed me certain privileges, I concede,” he replies, his stare seemingly far away as you are unable to look anywhere but the dampness of his bottom lip, shimmering slightly in the lamplight. Then he tilts his head down to meet your eyes. “But that does not mean I am able to have everything I wish for in life, y/n…”

Your tongue burns to ask what it is that he wants but cannot have, yet you do not allow yourself to pry. But seeing the wistfulness in his gaze deflates your irritation, your long-held adoration for this man taking over, making you sigh.

‘You deserve the world, Benedict….’

His face morphs into one of breathtaking intensity, and you realise, horrified, you spoke those thoughts aloud. 

“As do you, y/n,” he murmurs, eyes sincere, your heart beating wildly as his chest vibrates against your own. 

The upheaval of the last day, the man you secretly adore abetting a somewhat daring escape, your heated exchange of words, the lateness of the hour, and the feel of his tall, lithe body pressed against yours…. It's all a dangerous cocktail that culminates in you being utterly impetuous, pushing up onto your tiptoes and mashing your mouth against his with no thought.

His lips are plush and warm, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. It's like a cannon firing in your chest as his warm mouth opens yours. Suddenly, you are urgently taking from each other. A sweeping tidal wave through you obliterates any kissing experiences you have ever had before. It’s a desperate slide of tongues, a passionate continuation of your sparring. His hands are like a hot brand through your thin dress as they sweep around to your back, tugging you into him, his heat, scent and taste overwhelming.

But all too soon you are pulling apart, a need for air in your lungs overriding the spontaneous, reckless moment. For a few seconds, you stare at each other, breathing each other's panted air, hands still grasping onto each other, almost confused by what just occurred… until the whinny of a passing horse carriage has you springing apart as if burned. 

Realisation engulfs his entire being. “Oh god! Please, please forgive me!” he stutters, backing away, holding his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, almost tripping in his haste to put space between you, even though it was you who kissed him. “Please, just go to Granville,” he counsels rapidly before turning heel and disappearing into the night, leaving you standing alone, unmoored and breathless, utterly turned upside down.

-iv-

You drift home in a daze, your family’s London residence only a few hundred yards away. Your escape plans are forgotten in the haze of tumbling thoughts about that blistering kiss. How fervently and immediately Benedict had kissed you back, how wonderful it felt to be caged in his arms….  Climbing into bed and passing out, still bewildered. In fact, it’s only the rude awakening of your bedroom door slamming open the following morning that brings you crashing back to your senses.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Your father roars, holding aloft what looks like the latest copy of Whistledown. “You have brought shame upon our family and likely ruination to your prospects!!”

Utterly alarmed, you sit bolt upright, blinking, taking a few moments before you can find your voice. “What are you referring to, father?”.

He glares at you, then throws the paper onto your bed and stalks out of the room without another word, puce with outrage. You know there will be crossed words at the breakfast table. The sight of your name on the crisp ivory page immediately draws your eye, and your stomach plunges as you read the paragraph:

The annual Bridgerton Ball last night was, once again, resplendent. A triumph that the dowager Countess can be rightfully proud of. Although less contentment could likely be gleaned from the behaviour of her offspring. The second eldest of whom was allegedly seen escaping into the unlit gardens hand in hand with none other than the most reluctant of this season's debutantes, the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. Perhaps the rebellious Miss will not have to endure many more of society’s events that she so patently abhors, should a proposal from the most wayward of Bridgerton sons be forthcoming? I, for one, however, Dear Reader, am not holding my breath…

Hiding in your room as long as you can, hunger drives you to join the frosty lunch table, apologising for inadvertently ruining your father’s plans to announce your betrothal and meekly explaining the incident with Benedict as a complete misunderstanding. It was merely an old friend helping you to gather some air before the big news was to be proclaimed. His taking your hand was out of benevolent concern, nothing more, and when you suddenly felt unwell, he chivalrously saw you the few hundred yards home. The lies feel odd on your tongue, your thoughts only of Benedict’s mouth and body moulded hotly to yours as your father lectures about appropriate behaviour for a young lady and your family’s long-standing friendship with the Bridgertons not being an excuse for a lackadaisical attitude to impropriety.

“There is nothing else to be done now—I must secure you a special licence to be wed tomorrow before Lord Farringdon hears about this,” he decrees with finality, his tone brokering no argument.

You slump silently into your chair, dread creeping through every cell, silently chastising yourself for not following Benedict’s advice and running away. If only you hadn't been impetuous and kissed him, you might have been in your right mind to do so. It feels cruel that the one moment you chose to throw caution to the wind is the one moment that sealed a worse fate.

-v-

That afternoon, your mother ushers you to the Modiste, paying handsomely for a very rushed wedding dress. Something simple that can be finished at such a late hour. It will only be your family in attendance anyway; so much else seems unnecessary. As you stand forlornly upon the raised dias, ivory silk tacked up around you with pins; your mother announces she needs to depart to secure other last-minute arrangements, leaving your trusty ladies' maid to accompany you home once alterations are complete.

“You do not look a happy bride…” Madam Delacroix mutters after the tinkle of the bell above the door signals her departure.

“Your observation skills are certainly not lacking,” you respond quietly, craning to double-check that Rachel, your maid, is out of earshot, sitting listlessly in the front of the store, staring out of the window.

“I do read Whistledown, my dear,” she remarks delicately, “and this does not appear to be a dress someone marrying a Bridgerton would wear.”

Your stomach vaults at the implication; the thought of marrying Benedict has your heart going haywire, even as you know it would never happen. The crestfallen look as your mind flits to the awful man you will be marrying instead is one you cannot hide as she meets your eyes in the reflection.

“It is not indeed,” you sigh, “but Whistledown has rather accelerated my unfortunate fate. Hence the rushed dress…” you gesture to your outfit.

“Mr Bridgerton is a friend?” she digs delicately.

“Lifelong,” you admit, “but Lady Whistledown could not have been more erroneous in her assertions…”

“That you and Mr Bridgerton are together? Or that he would marry you?” 

You look away from the mirror and down to where she is crouched by your hem on your left side, taken back not only at her astuteness but her drive for information. Almost as if she were Whistledown herself.

“I do not mean to pry,” she modifies, “merely to understand your predicament. Maybe I can be of assistance? I have privately counselled many a young lady on the eve of their wedding. Be it a happy occasion or not. And have kept many a secret of the Ton. ‘Tis the reason my business is so successful, Miss y/l/n. A good modiste can be a trusted confidante.”

“W-we are not together,” you stumble out without meaning to.

“But you wish to be? Or perhaps something has happened between you?”

Your eyes dart furtively, and your cheeks heat at the memory, but you say nothing. 

“You need say no more,” she chuckles and offers a knowing smile that appears as much reminiscent as sympathetic.

You rapidly attempt to deflect. “I do not wish to be married to anyone, really. I do find it so unfair a man is free to pursue his passions in life, but merely due to my sex, I am not.”

There is a nod of understanding, and she stands up with her hands on her hips. “I keep a certain array of refreshments for special clients such as yourself.” She nods to what looks like a liquor cabinet partially obscured behind a curtain at the back of her shop. “If you can dismiss your maid, I can assist you on your last night as an unmarried lady.”

The suggestion is too intriguing to refuse. And Rachel will greatly appreciate your pin money.

A few hours later, you are sat upon a circular conversation chair, Gen, as she insists you call her, pouring you another snifter of brandy.

“Tell me, what is your passion?” she inquires, her polished French accent slipping a little, sounding far more East End than Parisian. Something about that makes you like her more.

“Art,” you answer wistfully, “not that I have many opportunities to practice beyond a private notebook. But it is my most prized possession.” You gesture to your pelisse, hanging on a nearby hook. “I have it with me always. I have sewn a secret pocket into all of my coats myself.”

“Ingenious! ” She declares. “You shall have my job one day!”

You laugh, feeling light for the first time in what feels like days, as Gen leans in, raising an eyebrow. “I can also see well why you may have bonded with Mr Bridgerton…”

You giggle and lower your eyes, taking a fortifying sip.

“But it is not just that, is it?” Her tone is thoughtful, delicate even, as she continues: “A life outside the boundaries of so-called polite society can be so very beguiling, can it not? I have seen you, Miss y/l/n, at parties in Bloomsbury…”

A panicked bile rises as your head snaps up.

“As I said before, I am always discreet,” she reassures, “your secret is more than safe with me,” she winks before taking a generous sip from her glass.

Possibly, it's the alcohol, but her understanding of your predicament and the fact she has, unbeknownst to you, moved in similar circles brings an odd sense of relief. Having a confidante, someone to finally share your secrets with, albeit a somewhat stranger, lifts a burden from your shoulders. Wonderful as Eloise is, being the sister of the man who secretly holds your heart is not without complications in many ways.

“Another?” she chimes animatedly, holding aloft the bottle.

You cannot resist that offer.

-vi-

It’s close to midnight when Gen loops her arm in yours as she guides you, quite inebriated herself, away from the hackney cab to the familiar abode of one Henry Granville. Her declaration that a party is what you need on your last night of freedom is definitely not one you would dispute. A myriad of heightened emotions roil inside as you await the door being answered: contentment at your newly cemented friendship with Gen, bewildered every time you think of your kiss with Benedict and abhorrence for tomorrow. 

As you wander into the debauched tableau of a party in full swing: the air thick with smoke and merriment, the sounds of pleasure, people consorting together, a hedonistic swirl of self-expression unfurling all around you—it all consolidates into a yen to be reckless. Take part this time rather than just observe as you have before. Alcohol mutating the simmering rage about the injustice of your circumstance into a yearning to experience pleasure, especially physical. To get lost in sensation on your one last night of liberty.

So when you encounter Sir Simms - Matthew - friend to your older brother, renowned rake, but quite handsome, you throw caution to the wind. He seems delighted to see you, instantly flirtatious and familiar in a way you would rebuff any other night but this one. Whispering in your ear how very bold you are to be at such a bohemian event and pondering what other adventurous experiences you might be willing to indulge in. At one point Gen pulls you aside, her breath sweetened with fermented fruits, as she leans in and counsels you to be cautious. But you rebuff her concerns, swatting away her hold and returning to Matthew, allowing him to pull you into a kiss. 

It’s not the same as with Benedict; your mind screams at the altogether more jarring experience. A wet invasion of tongue that is less pleasant and certainly doesn’t fire anything inside you the way that he had. Merely kindling a defiant resolve to rage against the dying light of your freedom. And so when he slurs into your ear, you consent to his invitation upstairs, knowing fully the implications of what will transpire—feeling vaguely detached from yourself as he pulls you along by the hand towards the staircase. 

Suddenly, your field of vision is filled with dark blue velvet, a strong arm wrapping around you, caging you into a warm body mass, disconnecting your hand from Matthew’s—crossed words in two male voices. A momentarily confusing blur that only begins to make sense when you tilt your chin up… and the breath is quite stolen from your lungs.

Benedict.

At first, it feels like a cruel mirage, the man you most desire here to stymie your last gamble at impulsivity. His hold is strong as you sense Matthew shrink away, defeated by Benedict’s threat to expose some dalliance or other. But as he whisks you to an empty room within the house, all you feel bubbling up is anger.

“Stop trying to rescue me!” you rail, reeling out of his grip and stamping your foot to emphasise your point, uncaring that you may be behaving more akin to a petulant toddler.

“Stop making foolish decisions!” he lobbies back after a fleeting wounded look.

You glare at him momentarily before turning your back and staring out of the window into the inky blackness of Granville’s garden, frustration prickling a tear in the corner of your eye.

Behind you, there is a sigh; then his voice turns softer. “Why did you not follow my advice? I came here this morning only to be informed you never arrived…”

That he came to check on you weakens your bluster, although you still have no earthy idea why, once again, he is so invested in your actions. But you are not done saying your piece. 

“What does it matter now?” you bite bitterly before spinning around to face him. “Benedict, we are in Whistledown. My father would have arranged a special licence for tomorrow regardless of whether I had come here or not…”

“He did what?” he splutters, shock almost choking the words.

You square your shoulders and cross your arms defensively. “I am to be married in the morning. 11am at St George’s.” When all he offers is floored silence, you uncharitably dig the knife in. “No thanks to you...” 

Your words are like a body blow, a world of hurt in his quiet tone as he stares at the ground. “I was only trying to help.” 

Regret floods your every cell; why you would choose to lash out at him, even you don't know—so many conflicting feelings and strong liquor coursing through you.

“Please… let me return to the party,” you sigh wearily, after a beat, gesturing to his blocking your exit from the room.

“You would regret what you were about to do until your dying day,” he attests, lifting his head, a vein on his forehead pulsing as his jaw tenses.

“Perhaps,” you shrug. “But that is my burden to endure, not yours.”

“I am your friend,” he frowns, “I will always want to alleviate your burdens…”

“I do not want a friend, Benedict, not tonight. I want a beau.” If you aimed to shock him, you are successful; a cavalcade of expressions warring on his face as you plough on. “So please move so that I may continue with my most inadvisable plan….”

“No.” It's soft but unequivocal, resolute.

When you realise he is not going to budge, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Benedict?” 

There is a gruff noise in the back of his throat, and then, with two determined strides, he is pressed up against you, his breath hot on your face. Then he is kissing you, ferociously, wantonly, opening your mouth with his, his hands encircling your waist and pulling you roughly into him.

And you are lost.

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Benedict taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[alyrasturnz]

can u write a small cute little proposal for matt and reader

EIGHTEEN

❐ summary » matt proposes to y/n at the very spot where he first confessed his love for her when they were both 18. the place holds a special significance in their hearts, making the moment even more poignant and memorable. as he slips the ring onto her finger, memories of their youthful love flood back, intertwining with the promise of their future together.

❐ pairings » fiance!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » the bolded texts indicate flashbacks

❐ a/n && w/c » 800 special cause eighteen • 801

"i know i'm only 18 and there's so much i don't understand about life," matt began, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "but there's one thing i'm sure of, and that's how i feel about you. i've never felt this way before, and it scares me a little, but it also feels right." he paused, taking a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

"will you be my girlfriend?" matt inquired, his voice barely above a whisper, as he turned towards you, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and vulnerability. a sheepish expression danced across his features, and your smile, warm and inviting, was the only response he needed.

“yes,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, before closing the distance between you both and pressing your lips to his. his arms encircled you, drawing you closer as the autumn leaves cascaded around you like a tapestry of nature’s confetti. when you finally pulled away, soft giggles escaped your lips. you glanced upward, watching the leaves dance in the breeze, feeling as though the world had momentarily paused just for the two of you.

the words reverberated through the park, resonating like a distant echo yet carrying the weight of a cherished memory.

“why are we here, matt?” you inquire, gazing upward as autumn leaves cascade gently to the earth. it has been an eternity since you last stood here with him.

“it’s a nice autumn day,” matt said, taking your hand with a gentle yet firm grip, leading you through the rustling carpet of fallen leaves to the familiar tree where he had confessed his feelings. “you know i’d do anything for a stroll on an autumn day.”

you smiled, a wave of nostalgia enveloping you like a warm embrace. “yeah, it’s beautiful. are you sure there isn't more to this?”

matt halted beneath the tree, his eyes a blend of seriousness and tenderness. “there is more, y/n. this place holds a deep significance for us, doesn’t it?”

you nodded, memories of that first confession cascading through your mind like a river. “of course, it does. it’s where everything started.”

he took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket. “and now, i want it to be the place where everything continues.” he said, gently tilting your head, causing your eyebrows to furrow in curiosity.

he reached into his pocket, your eyes darting to it as they widened slightly in anticipation.

“y/n, i’ve been thinking a lot about us lately. about how we’ve grown together, laughed together, and even cried together. you’ve been my rock, my confidant, my best friend. every moment with you has been a treasure, and i can’t imagine my life without you,” he said, his eyes still on yours, his voice a tender whisper as his hand gently brushed a strand of hair from your face.

he paused, his voice softening to a near whisper. “i’ve loved you since we were 18. back then, i understood that to love is to be vulnerable. i was scared of that, but you taught me there was nothing to fear. you revealed to me that love is the most beautiful experience we can have.”

he gazed deeply into your eyes, his stare penetrating the very depths of your soul. “i believe that we’re the missing pieces to each other's puzzles. you complete me in ways i never knew were possible. i want to share every sunrise, every challenge, every joy with you. you’ve made me a better person, and i want to spend the rest of my days making you as happy as you’ve made me.”

you took a step back as he gracefully descended onto one knee, unveiling a ring with a flourish. “y/n, will you marry me?”

your lips parted in astonishment, words escaping you as tears immediately streamed down your face, tears of pure joy.

“yes!” you choked out, matt’s eyes brightening as a radiant smile spread across his face. he delicately took your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger with a tender precision before rising. without hesitation, he enveloped you in a passionate embrace, his arms encircling your waist with a protective fervor, while your hands instinctively found their way to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

your tears mingled with each other's, creating a poignant blend of emotion. an autumn leaf gently descended, landing on your head, prompting a soft giggle. you extricated yourself from the kiss, your eyes meeting his with an unspoken understanding.

looking up, you both watched as a cascade of leaves danced around you, each one a silent witness to your shared moment. the world seemed to pause, the rustling leaves a gentle symphony to your love. amidst the falling foliage, you felt a profound connection, a promise of many more seasons to come, intertwined with laughter and tears.

taglist — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @frozenpeanutbutterr @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668 @slutforsturnioloss @realuvrrr @sturnobsessedwh0re @cerismo

[madamechrissy]

Your series is on toppp, i was always waiting for your new post especially that gojo series lmao. Anyways, can we get a gojo x innocent!reader?? Make them likee childhood friend and gojo takes her virginity lolll.

Thank you sm love, I hope you enjoy it <3 You know I've never given Gojo a virgin in anything, it's his first time for me lmaooo! 🩷🩷🩷

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x virgin reader

Contents/warnings: cute fluff, friends to lovers, first time/loss of virginity, oral sex (M and F receiving), explicit sex, pet names, not much plot lol, just smut fr

Word Count:: 3.7k

���� First Time 🩷

You are sitting next to Satoru on his couch as you all watch one of his silly movies. He has laid out a million snacks and treats for the night, including bowls full of Halloween candy from yesterday. Yes, Satoru was twenty two and yes, he still went trick or treating, you’d been dragged along with him all night last night, running from house to house.

Your feet still hurt, you’re wincing and rubbing them, and Satoru looks over at you with his stupidly pretty eyes, eyes you should be used to after being friends for ten years, but sometimes they… well they did things. Satoru seems to be clueless at his effects on you, how when he tickles you, you gasp, how when he pulls you against him, you sigh and inhale his scent.

You’re pretty bad at hiding it.

Suguru and Shoko make fun of you endlessly, but you are just too afraid to ruin your friendship. But then, you’ve also non stop turned down men, left and right, pining away for him. It certainly was not the best way to go about things, but you’re holding out for him to be your first. Even though it’s foolish to think it will happen, you can’t help but wait for him.

Satoru was not dating anyone, he really had not dated much since high school, he would have a fling here and there, but mostly he spent time working and then with his friends. With you.

“Feet hurting? Bring ‘em to Daddy.” He teases with a smirk, and you giggle, rolling your eyes.

“Oh gosh, Satoru. You really gonna rub ‘em?”

“Sure am, it’s my fault they hurt. C’mere.” You lean back on the couch and prop your feet up on his lap, as his long fingers press into the soles of your feet, you moan a bit, and he pauses, looking at you.

“Sorry.” You say, flustered and overheated, and Satoru looks back at the movie, his tall, lithe body leaning back against the cushions.

“No need to say sorry, it feels good hmm?” He teases, as you try to focus on the movie, but he’s pressing his fingers deeper, and massaging your feet so good your eyes flutter shut.

“Very good, oof thank you.” You say softly, going to pull them back a bit, but Satoru now has raised his massage to your ankles. You gasp. “That tickles!”

“Does it? You’re so ticklish.” He’s running little circles on your ankles then, and your thighs shift as his hands slip even higher, to your calves.

“That feels… really good, mmm.” You whisper, wishing it meant less to you, wishing you did not treasure and drink in every bit of your best friend. His shiny white hair, his perfect straight nose, model cheekbones and pouty lips. Satoru Gojo was the prettiest man you’ve ever seen, but it’s more than that.

His little smirk and how his snowy lashes lower over his eyes, his laugh when he’s being silly, how his body looks in that black skin tight gym shirt, his biceps curling as he’s gently brushing your legs. You bite your lower lip then, as he’s still watching the movie, his touches lighter, little caresses down your legs.

“You have nice legs.” You sputter then, mouth wide, and he peeks at you, a little blush on his cheeks. “What you do.”

“Um… what? I do?” He looks down at your thighs now, and when his huge hands cover them, you can’t stop the little whimper, drawing his attention to you.

“You doing alright over there?” He asks then, raising a brow, and you cover your face now.

“I have to say something.” You shift your legs down, and Satoru pouts.

“I was having fun playing with them, meanie.”

“Satoru…” You lean forward on the couch, touching his shoulders gently. “I really have to tell you something.”

“Go on then, silly girl.” He taps your nose with a little smile. You take a deep breath, looking into his swirling blue eyes then.

“I want you to be my first.”

“What!?” He’s sputtering now, and jumps up, and then you jump up, turning away and covering your face.

“I’m so stupid, of course you wouldn’t. You’re Satoru Gojo, you can have anyone. And you’re experienced. And-”

“Hey, hey.” Satoru’s hands are on your shoulders behind you now, and you tense a bit at the touch, heart racing. “You’re prettier than anyone I’ve been with, it’s not anything like that.”

“Shit, really? You think I’m pretty?” You whisper, looking back at him, and he exhales, hands squeezing a bit, nodding.

“Of course you are, silly. I tell you that you look cute all the time, do I not?”

“Cute. Not pretty.”

“Well, you’re cute and pretty. And… you’re a virgin?” He turns you to him then, and you nod shyly, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Why me the first time, why not a boyfriend?”

You sigh then, fiddling with your hands in front of yourself. “You’re who I want it with. We can stay friends, it doesn’t have to like ruin it, you don’t have to date me.”

He blinks his white lashes then, tilting his head. “Why wouldn’t I wanna date you?”

“Because we’re friends!”

“And I like you, a lot. I always have. I thought… Well, I thought you didn’t like me like that.”

“What!?” It’s your turn now, and he smirks a bit.

“Well, I’m half naked in front of you constantly, and I barely see you check me out.”

“I do! But I look away when you look at me. You don’t check me out!”

“Oh, I do.” His eyes dart down your body now, and it’s as if he’s touching you, as he looms over you, so tall, so sexy. “I look away when you look at me. Now, you really want a first time, you have to be my girlfriend, I’m no hussy.” He states, putting his hand to his chest, and you laugh then.

“I can absolutely do that. How do we seal this boyfriend/girlfriend status then? A selfie? A pinky swear?” You step closer, trailing a hand up his chest now.

“Mmm, all of the above. But first, this.” Satoru leans down now, kissing you for the first time, his soft, plump lips pressing on yours, and you gasp at it, before kissing him back, putting pressure on his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck, on your tip toes. Satoru moans softly, pulling back, his hands on your waist, then his eyes lock onto yours.

“Toru… that’s perfect.” You murmur softly, as you still feel the tingles of your lips, then you realize you have a tear sliding down your cheek. Satoru swipes it away gently, tilting up your chin and bending down, lips against your ear.

“I wanna have you cumming so hard you scream my name, pretty tears falling out of those pretty eyes.” Your body reacts viscerally, your nipples pressed against the little tank top you’re wearing, as he nips your ear then, sending shivers down your spine at the sensation.

“Please.” Satoru’s kissing down your neck now, hands on your hips, feeling your every curve, your hands enwrap in his silky hair, gasping when he picks you up in his arms like it’s nothing.

“Anything you want, pretty girl.” You melt at his words, as he carries you to his bedroom, laying you down and sliding up your tank then, revealing your breasts, he exhales as he sees them, nostrils flaring. “Holy… they’re so fucking pretty.”

“You like them?” You ask shyly, and he nods eagerly.

“Take it off, please, be a good girl for me.” You’re dripping wet already, as you lean up and pull the top over your head, your tits bouncing gently. He’s gripping them in his big hands then, squishing them and running his thumbs over your nipples, your back arches. “Tell me what you like, don’t hold back, I want to learn all of you.”

“That feels good, it feels so good.” You say softly, and he then kisses down to each peak, sucking them into his hot mouth. “S’good, mmm!”

He hums a bit, his big hand sliding down your tummy, making it tremble, as he finds your shorts, pulling them down. “So, do you masturbate Miss Virgin?”

“Jerk, ugh. Of course I do, ah!” He’s kissing and nipping on your rib cage now, looking at you with his eyes dilated, pupils so big there’s just a ring of that brilliant blue now.

“Show me what you do, then I’ll know where you like to be touched most.” He’s taking your hand now, grinning with those white teeth. “Aw, ya blushing?”

“Well, y-yes. Um… I don’t finger myself, I just rub my clit.”

“Of course, those small little fingers, they can’t hit good.” He holds his fingers out, double your length, so long you clench around nothing imagining them, getting wetter when he presses your finger to your clit. “That’s it, pretty, show me.”

You rub your clit in circles, aching for him, as he stands up, taking off his shirt then, and you drink in his body hungrily, as he drinks in yours. “Fuck you’re gorgeous Satoru.”

“And you’re gorgeous, best friend. Girlfriend. Shnookums.”

“Shnookums!”

“Tossing cute names around.” He’s sliding his jeans off now, just in his dark blue boxers, then you see that outline, making you heat up even more with such strong desire. “Go ahead, keep going, you’re doing good.”

“Want you to touch me.” You whisper, as he sits back on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight, watching as your finger is playing between your lips, taking your hand gently and sucking on your finger then. “Oh!”

“Yummy. Need to taste you.” He says then, his voice husky, you are crying out when he rubs his fingers along your folds, down your slit, where wetness is pooling down to your entrance.

“Toru!” Your hips buck up when he runs circles on your clit, eyeing you carefully now.

“Have you had anything inside this pretty pussy at all?” He asks, sliding down to lay between your thighs now, his hands pressing into the plush of them as he spreads them wide. “So perfect.”

“No, I haven’t.” You admit, then gasp out when he slides one of his thick, long fingers inside you. “Ah… ah!”

“Fuck you’re so tight.” He pecks little kisses on your thighs, nipping as he studies you, pressing on a spot now that makes you see stars. “There it is.”

You’re falling apart as he pumps that long finger in, before stretching it to two, which is so hard to take, you can barely get to his first knuckles. “Toru, it’s too much… too much…”

“Aww you can take it, can’t you? Gotta stretch this tight little pussy for me, I’m a lot bigger than those fingers.” You can hear the squishing of your wetness as he kisses closer and closer, and you’re entangling your fingers in his hair, pressing against his scalp. “You’re so needy for me, aren’t you?”

You can’t speak then, when he kisses the hood of your clit, pulling the fingers out to part your folds gently. Your legs shake on either side of his head as he studies your pussy even more, moaning as he does. “Toru, um what are you doing?”

“Gonna eat you out, pretty girl. I can’t just have a treat like this and not eat it, don’t you know I have a sweet tooth?”

“Are you sure, I didn’t expect-”

“Oh this is my favorite. You’ll love it.” Satoru swipes his tongue up your slit then, and you’re moaning so loud it’s embarrassing, and he exhales, tickling you so good, his cool breath blowing on your overheated cunt. “Yummy.”

“Toru, fuck…”

“What a bad mouth, young lady.” He glares, and you laugh, breathless. “And you’re laughing, ah-ah.” He smacks your pussy, shocking you, but you like it, as you’re gushing more arousal out of your little hole. “Freaky little virgin.”

“Toru!”

“Stop talking back missy.” He smacks it again, and grins at your reaction. “Let me enjoy my treat, hmm?” You just nod, and he dives down now, sliding his tongue in and out of you in the most delicious tongue fuck. You’re already pulsing around him as he drinks you up, exploring you with his tongue, lips, teeth.

Your back arches, as he’s fucking you with it over and over, his teeth hitting your clit when he swipes up, finally swirling your clit in circles with the tip of his stupidly talented tongue. You can’t stand how good it feels, the pressure in your tummy, then you realize you’re going to cum, and cum so hard, you feel everything on fire, every nerve ending lit up.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum!” You pant out the words, and Satoru’s moaning against you, leaning up, half his face covered with you.

“Cum all over my face, let me drink you pretty.” He’s not goofy, silly Satoru, he’s some damn sex demon now, as he flicks his tongue once more, and you’re shattering for him, pulling him against you as you cum.

Satoru rides it out with you, continuing to flick his tongue so fast, sipping up the wetness out of your soppy cunt. You feel so good you’re blinded, eyes blinking rapidly to try to focus, to try to cling to this earth. He’s more serious now as he exhales, fingering you again, sliding two in with ease at how wet you are, hovering over you.

“Such a good girl, came that much for me? Wanna taste it?” He asks, and you nod nervously, then he’s kissing you, letting you taste your sweet arousal. Your hands slide down his hard abdomen, over the ripples of muscles and sinew, until you find his boxers, tugging. “Oh fuck, wanna touch me?”

“Yes, please.”

“I wasn’t sure your first time.” His care melts you, melts any worries you have away, but when he takes off his boxers and you see him, you panic.

“Oh that will never fit!” You watch him chuckle then, his soft hair falling over a brow as you touch it, your tiny hand not covering hardly any of it.

“It will fit, I promise.”

“Will it hurt?” You ask, brows together, stroking him, watching his eyes flutter shut, biting his lip.

“I haven’t been with a virgin. Um, I hear it hurts a bit, but you’re so wet and warmed up, I hope it won’t for long. I’ll go easy on you, the first time.”

“The first time!?”

“Then we’ll get freaky.” You giggle again, stroking him up and down.

“Can I suck you too?”

“You want to?” You nod and he exhales, getting on his knees then, gently positioning you on all fours. “Fuck it’s like my four pm nap.”

“Huh?”

“I nap after work, and you are always in some position. Some new one. Legs spread, ass in the air.” He wraps your hair up, pulling it gently into a ponytail, his pretty cock so thick and intimidating, twitching as you flick your tongue on the pink tip. “Oh fuck, that feels good.”

“What do you like?” You lap at the pearly liquid weeping from his tip, tonguing it and tasting it, sweet and a little salty, before sucking a couple inches in your mouth, earning his little whimper, so sexy it makes you impossibly wetter.

“Anything you wanna do, fuck. At your mercy here, the tip is the most sensitive. Can you take more?” Satoru’s voice is soft as he presses in further, and you’re moaning around him, nodding. “Good girl.”

“Mmm.” You’re sucking more of him then, as you look up, seeing his perfect form, that happy trail of white hair under that flat belly button, his hard body tensing as you stroke him where your mouth can’t reach.

“Okay, too much, I want to last for you. Mmm.” He pulls you off gently now, pushing you back to lay down, settling between your thighs, fingering you with his two fingers again. “Are you sure about this? We can wait.”

“I want this, I really do. I have for so- ah- long. Toru! Close!” He’s sliding his fingers out then, leaving you whining, as he now presses his thick tip in your entrance, and your eyes lock as you gasp.

“Want to feel you cumming around me, love.” Love that little pet name is destroying you. “Relax, please, don’t tense, just trust me. I got you.”

“I trust you, Satoru.” He exhales then, head resting on yours, then presses in, and you whine out at the pain of the first stretch, and he pauses, groaning.

“Oh fuck you’re so tight. Are you okay, pretty?” You nod a bit, as he eases back, and you’re gripping his back so tightly your nails are leaving crescent marks. “Oh fuck…”

Satoru moans as he presses further in, and you’re full, too full, it’s like nothing you’ve known. He sinks in so deep you feel him in your stomach, feel him everywhere, burning the skin as it stretches to accommodate. Satoru studies you carefully, his brow scrunched up, cupping your face with one hand.

“Baby, you all right? Gotta tell me.”

“I’m so full. It’s just… a lot.” He nods, kissing you again, rocking his hips, and then his tip drags on that spot he’d just fingered, and it feels so good, you’re clinging to him. “There, there!”

“Here?” He does it again, and your eyes roll back, feeling him roll those hips, you’re wetter and wetter with every shallow thrust, and he’s whimpering again, his cheeks flushed pink, his lips parted. “Cum on me, please?”

You need no further urging, you’re soaking Satoru’s cock as you cum, and his lips drink your moans, his hands now holding your thighs, sliding them up further, starting to fuck into you now. You’re falling apart under him, moans ridiculously loud, pleasure is coursing through your body while he fucks you into another orgasm.

“Toru, Toru! Mmm!” Satoru’s pretty eyes look into your own.

“Can I go harder, love?”

“Yes, please.”

He laughs just a bit. “You can take it, huh?”

“I can, fuck I can.” He fucks you harder then, pressing your thighs up, and you’re struggling to take more and more of him, as he’s so deep he’s hitting your cervix.

“Feel me here?” He takes your hand, pressing it on your tummy, and he has a wicked grin as he slides in slow, and you feel him there, making you squeak. “You’re so cute.”

“Cute, still, while mmm… fucking?”

“Cute anytime. Cutie.” He smacks little kisses on your cheeks, somehow he’s dirty and sexy one moment, then sweet and adorable the next. “Mwah!”

“Satoru!” You giggle when he leaves a loud kiss on your lips, but then he presses in so deep and grinds, and you lose all sense. Everything is fading, floating.

“Call me Toru when you cum.”

“Toru!” You cum all over his cock, arousal dripping down his length, down his balls that are smacking your ass, and he sucks in a breath when he feels your walls fluttering around him.

“Trying to milk me, she’s greedy already.” You have no clue what he means, all you know is it feels even better, as he’s thickening inside you. “Question.” He huffs out then, panting over you, his chiseled body dripping in sweat.

“G-go ahead.”

“On birth control or I gotta get plan B?” You nervously bury your face into his throat, and he’s laughing softly, stroking your hair as his strokes slow. “Baby gotta let me know, I’m not gonna pull out, wanna fill you up.”

“I’m on the pill. And t-take it on time.” He sighs, tilting your chin up then, smirking deviously, eyes bright fucking blue and insane.

“I’d cum in you anyway, you’d be cute pregnant.”

“What now!?” He’s slammed his lips on yours again, pressing your thighs up, and then he’s fucking harder, sounds of your skin smacking mixing with your wetness, as he fucks you so hard your tits are bouncing, the headboard is smacking. “Taking it easy, huh!?”

“This is easy, love. Oh fuck… gonna cum…” He moans then, his hands cupping your face, and you feel him throbbing inside you, thickening, you are filled with hot ropes of cum, coating your walls, and you cum just from that, earning his groan. “Oh you’re such a good girl.”

He’s gently pumping, gasping as he pumps even more cum, and your muscles are already pushing it out. He sighs then, smacking kisses on you over and over, every inch of your face, making you so blissful, as he’s fucked any thoughts out of your head, you feel like you’re floating, clinging to him, nails digging in.

“This better not be just once.” He says with a glare, and you grin, shaking your head and brushing his hair back.

“Absolutely not just once. Oh! Ouch.” You hiss a bit as he eases out, and you go to look down, but he tilts your chin up, shaking his head.

“Don’t look, you’re always scared of blood. Gonna faint.”

“It’s that much!?”

“No, but you’re sensitive about that. I’ll be right back.” Satoru hops up and you look at the ceiling, you hear a shower running, see the steam rolling into his room, and then he’s back and cleaning you up, before picking you up in his arms. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Yeah, I would love that, Toru. Sounds so good.” He has you under the scalding hot water then, sudsing you up with bubbles everywhere, forming little puffy clouds on your breasts then rinsing them, laughing like he’s having a blast. You shake your head as you watch him.

“I used to jerk off when you’d take showers here.”

“You what now!?”

He just grins, pushing the shower head even lower. “Picturing you, did you ever… you know…”

“Satoru!”

“Did you!?” You look at his shower head nervously, then him, and he’s grinning even wider now. “Oh, you’re a bad girl.”

“Oh stop it, silly. Maybe once or twice. You have great water pressure. Ah, Toru!” Satoru is now on his knees in the shower, looking up at you and rushing that hot shower water against your clit. You gasp at it, as he wraps an arm around your hip to steady you.

“I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

Gojo Drabbles/ one shots - Masterlist

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʟᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ..."

Word count: 3,800.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

MEETING — 1. Her.

Her legs, without any command and with an unstoppable perseverance, set off through the labyrinthine corridors of the red keep towards her mother's chambers long before the phrase fully reached her ears, the one she had so longed for: "The baby has been born, my princess."

Her family was her most loved treasure and when her mother announced the big news, time seemed to slow down. She couldn't wait to have that baby in her arms and cherish every second the gods, those she fervently prayed to, would allow her to spend with him.

Every night, in silent supplications, she repeated to any who would listen: "Please, let him be born healthy. Please, take care of my mother."

Rhaenyra painfully held in her heart the memory of her mother Aemma's early departure from the world. She wanted to shield her little ones from all fear and anguish, so she didn't dwell on details about that traumatic episode, one that, despite the years, remained as a deep and open wound. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop the whispers, those that seeped into her daughter's ears, creating such intense fear that she barely had room to breathe during those long nine months.

She felt a smile so wide it would ache her cheeks later and feet that weren't fast enough. Upon reaching the large wooden door, she took a few seconds to take a deep breath, calm her racing nerves, and finally push it open with determination.

Her entrance went unnoticed, as all eyes in the room were on the small human being now peacefully resting in her father's arms.

Except hers, no, those were on the woman sitting on the couch. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, her hair tousled and a tired expression adorned her face; yet never, in her short years on this earth, had she seen her so beautiful.

"Mother" she murmured almost voicelessly, taking her hands in hers and seeking her gaze. She felt her eyes sting, tears threatening to spill, and a lump forming in her throat. She wanted to speak again, but her voice got lost along the way. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary; Rhaenyra knew her as well as herself and could read her like an open book.

"My love, please, have no fear, we are okay" with those simple words, her lungs filled with air, swelling her chest. She let out a sigh, laden with relief, laden with love. She could only nod in response.

"Sister, look!" Jacaerys exclaimed, drawing her attention. He lifted the lid of the large steel chest, releasing steam and revealing a dragon egg. 

"We choose an egg for the baby" Lucerys added.

"That looks like the perfect one, brothers" she said with a smile, though a bittersweet taste filled her mouth. Unlike her brothers, her own egg had never hatched, a disappointment she carried permanently with her, though she tried not to show it in these moments of happiness.

"I let Luke choose" he said, she messed up the younger one's hair and planted a kiss on his head.

"Thank you, Jace."

"Not every day an egg leaves the dragonpit, my princess, I thought it best to escort the lads" intervened Harwin Strong, adorned in his imposing armor and golden cloak. It didn't surprise her seeing him there; in fact, despite having a different last name, she considered him part of her family.

He was her protector, who always escorted her to her room, pampered her with luxurious books, and listened attentively to every word she said. She had more memories of him than of her own father, but she didn't complain; she knew he was a busy man. Harwin had tried to teach her the art of the sword, insisting on the importance of knowing how to defend herself, but she always found herself more interested in books. Besides, she had the feeling that he would never neglect watching her back.

"Laenor and I thank you, Commander" she heard her mother say.

"Father, may I see it?" she asked. Laenor knelt down, allowing the three of them to meet the new member of the family. It only took one look for him to completely captivate her. She mentally swore that nothing would ever harm him as long as she breathed. "What a fine knight you are going to make, eh?"

"Another boy, I heard" Harwin cleared his throat. "Might I?" he asked, seeking her mother's approval. She thought she saw a glimpse of the same relief that filled her eyes.

"Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey" she said, smiling. Upon hearing that name, her lips formed another smile. Of course, she would have been equally happy if it were a girl, but she was glad to still be the only one. It had its advantages.

"Of course" Laenor agreed. Rising, he gently placed Joffrey in Harwin's arms.

"Joffrey, is it?" her father nodded in agreement to the question.

"Mother, please may I hold Joffrey?" she asked excitedly, reaching out her arms towards him. A futile attempt, of course, the man in front of her easily doubled her height.

"No, mother, let me go first! I'm the strongest, I won't let him fall!" her twin brother vociferated.

"I won't let him fall either!" she countered.

Her younger brother joined in the pleas, arguing that he had the right because he was the youngest. Soon, the words melded into an indistinguishable uproar, as all three clamored in unison.

"No, no, no" her father hastened as Harwin turned his back to them, trying to prevent the disturbances from reaching the ears of the newborn.

"I think you left your septa waiting, my little lady, and back to the dragon pit for you two, before they send out a search party" he ushered the three younger ones out of the room, and gently pushed their shoulders, guiding them down the hallway. First, towards the room she had left only minutes ago, where her septa awaited along with Helaena, her mother's younger sister.

Her father left her at the door, and the expression on her face, the one she believed she was successfully hiding, betrayed her. Laenor crouched down to her height, gently taking her cheeks in his hands, making her look at him.

"You know, Leana had an egg that didn't hatch... and she didn't ride a dragon until she was five and ten. Now she rides Vhagar," he tried to cheer her up, "your time will come, dear daughter, I promise."

She was filled with hope at her father's promises. He always had the right words. She thanked the man she loved so much with a kiss on the cheek, and now with renewed energy, she entered the room.

Despite the repeated complaints from the septa, they remained on the floor; she leaned her back against the wall, while Helaena rested her head on her legs. She explored the pages of the book while playing with her hair, and when a passage caught her attention, she read it aloud to her aunt, who entertained herself by watching a long insect walk on her hands. They didn't share the same interests, not even could it be said that they understood each other, but they enjoyed each other's company and were grateful of having another princess of almost the same age as a confidante.

"This one has 60 rings and two pairs of legs on each. That's 240" remarked Helaena.

"Yes, you're right, I think... Did you know that Vhagar is 170 years old?" she responded, her eyes widening at the new information. "That's exceptional."

"The last ring doesn't have legs," Helaena pointed out, overlooking her niece, more interested in the insect "it has eyes, though I don't believe it can see."

She furrowed her brow. "Why is that so?"

"It's beyond our understanding."

She didn't know how much time they had spent in that position, but when she shifted her attention from the book due to noises approaching from the corridors, she noticed that the septa had already left and in her place was Alicent. The new companion was sitting a few meters away from them, holding a cup of tea and with her gaze lost in the window.

Suddenly, two king’s guards burst into the room, each holding one of Aemond's arms, alarming her.

"Your Grace" they left without waiting for any response, closing the doors behind them.

"Aemond, what have you done?" Alicent approached him quickly, scrutinizing him, and exclaimed exasperatedly while gripping his shoulders firmly, "after how many times you’ve been warned, must I have you confined to your chambers?"

"They made me do it!" the young prince shouted in his defense.

"As if you needed encouragement. Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding" she furrowed her brow again upon noticing the same phrase that had come out of Helaena's mouth minutes ago.

Returning her attention to the argument in front of her, she noted that the prince's platinum hair and his green garments were stained black. Realization fell into her, she widened her eyes, astonished. Had he really ventured into the dragon pit? Alone?

"They gave me a pig!"

"A what?" the queen asked.

"They said they found a dragon for me, but it was a pig" detailed, his voice breaking slightly.

She knew Aegon and she knew her brothers, and even though she was certain the last two had only been pawns used in the prank, a mixture of anger and disappointment washed over her. How could they tease and deceive the good prince in such a way? Worse still, with something that was also the cause of her tears.

"If he wants one, he'll have to close one eye" the princess beside her said, her gaze still fixed on the tiny entity. She spoke loud enough for only her to hear.

Her words were puzzling, and she didn't know how to interpret them. They could either indicate that she was still in her little world or suggest something deeper; it wouldn't be the first time for either option. She had heard her say... things before; at first, they seemed like mere nonsensical words, and suddenly something happened, something that reminded her of her words, something that led her to believe that her aunt had some kind of magic. No one had paid much attention to her when she shared her theory, dismissing it with disdain, saying they were just coincidences. But to her, it seemed like more than mere chance connections.

"Everyone laughed" Aemond murmured, trying to hide his sadness. Her anger now replaced by deep empathy. Alicent wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back.

The prince looked just as distressed as he left the hug and walked away as he did when he entered. It reminded her of her own feelings of desolation and loneliness, and she thought that there was no one in the kingdom who could understand her like he did. Not really.

She always had a special connection with Jace, a twin connection, as they enjoyed calling it. They understood each other with just looks, laughed at the same jokes, and shared the same tastes, except for the obvious; he loved his sword, she preferred her books. On the other hand, Luke had always been her little and spoiled one, her sweet and innocent child. That's why the situation had affected her so much. She didn't believe her brothers had meant to hurt Aemond, but they did anyway. They were insensitive, and she didn't want to see them grow up like Aegon, who with his character showed that he didn't know the true meaning of consequences.

It had been a few days since the incident in the pit and the birth of her brother, who was under the care of Diana, her mother's lady-in-waiting.

She tried not to lift her gaze from her plate and ate in silence, ignoring her brothers, offering them only monosyllabic responses. She was furious and intended to make it obvious. She huffed in frustration, trying to get her mother's attention so she could bring up the issue to the table.

"My dear, what troubles your mind?" she heard her mother ask as she gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

"Mother, have you heard about the incident in the dragon pit?" noticing her mother's concerned and confused look, she hurried to reassure her, "no one is hurt... not physically, at least."

"What happened?" her mother looked inquisitively at her sons, their heads looking down, ashamed.

"Jace, Luke, and Aegon played a prank on Prince Aemond. They told him they had a dragon for him and gave him a pig with wings, they even named it! Pink Dread." The children couldn't contain their laughter at the memory, which only made her angrier.

"Is that true?" her mother asked, wiping the smile from both their faces. It wasn't common to hear her upset or see her with a serious expression.

"It was just a joke!" Jace tried to justify.

"Aegon planned it!" Luke interjected.

"I don't want to hear justifications" she silenced them. "What if that joke had been towards your sister? Would you still be laughing?"

"It's different" Jace muttered, while Luke's lip trembled in a pout.

"No, it's not. Tomorrow during training, you will offer the appropriate apologies. From the heart. Aemond is family, and we must look out for each other. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, mother" they chorused, serious and repentant.

"Now you may retire to your chambers and think about what you've done," their mother pronounced, and before they could respond, she added, "no complaints." They nodded and left in silence.

"I think Aemond could use some kind words, don't you agree?" Rhaenyra suggested minutes later, breaking the silence. She responded with a smile, thanking her for understanding the importance of this to her. "Who better than you to do it?" She rose from her seat and embraced her gently, for she could see her still in pain. She planted a kiss on her forehead, the kind she cherished so much.

"Rest, mother. I'll ask the maester to make you some tea."

She smiled after hearing her daughter, thinking that any pain felt and to be felt would be an insignificant price to pay considering all she had gained. Jace, the next heir to the throne, who would reign with peace and intelligence; Luke and Joffrey, who would be the greatest and most honorable knights; and her daughter, her eternal and sweet companion.

There was no need to ask questions; she knew where to find him. A few floors up was the library, her second room, her refuge, where the world became a little quieter and she could transport herself to other times, places and lives.

She ascended the long stairs quickly, and within minutes, she stood at the door. This hallway had always been one of the least traveled, practically deserted, except for them and the king’s guards. It seemed there weren't many avid readers in the keep.

They used to be at opposite ends of the table, immersed in each of their books. She had always wanted to talk to him, ask him what he was reading and maybe ask him to teach her High Valyrian. However, she never did; she had been too shy in his presence, and Aemond's distant form didn't help. Perhaps he was shy like her.

Or perhaps he simply didn't want to talk to her.

She tried to push those thoughts to the back of her mind as she entered the library. She smiled to herself when she saw she hadn't been wrong.

"Good morrow, uncle" she announced her arrival as she headed to the usual shelf and picked up the book she had left halfway through a few days ago.

"Good morrow, niece" he responded with his usual seriousness.

She walked to the table and hesitated. Should she sit closer to him this time? She didn't want to invade his space, but she also didn't believe that a conversation should start at a distance.

She arrived at the table before deciding and stood there for a few seconds. She ended up placing her book at the usual spot and sat down, feeling uncomfortable.

Why was she feeling this way? She wasn't the one who played a distasteful joke, besides, he was family; they had grown up together in the castle, it shouldn't be so difficult.

Suddenly, she felt warmth engulf her when she noticed Aemond looking at her, puzzled. With the book still closed, her cheeks turned red as she realized she had been staring at him all this time, lost in her thoughts. She mentally cursed herself and searched for the page she was on. He looked away, not saying a word.

Her mother had asked her to talk to him and she had really wanted to, so she didn't understand why she found it so hard to approach him.

She audibly sighed and abruptly closed her book. He did the same seconds later. As always.

It was curious; every time they were here, they seemed… united, connected in their readings; when she finished, he did too, shortly after. They put away their books, and he walked to the exit, hurriedly, and then held the door, patiently waiting for her to exit. They parted ways upon reaching the floor of their chambers, all without exchanging a word other than greetings or thanks.

The king and the queen did a good job with him and Helaena. She couldn't say the same about Aegon, unfortunately.

She knew it was only a matter of seconds before he got up from his chair, so, with her book in hand, marched towards him.

Aemond furrowed his brow; he didn't seem upset, rather bewildered by the new proximity when she took the seat to his right and opened her book again, an action he imitated seconds later.

She found it impossible to read; she observed the page, but the words blurred together as her mind was occupied with something else. How should she start? It was clear they had something in common. Two things, in fact. Long conversations weren't necessary to know it, so she ventured there.

She cleared her throat, trying to get his attention, without success. Then, timidly, she placed her hand on his, causing an immediate reaction.

He remained still, stunned by her movements. He just looked at her, with eyes wider than usual. It was then that she realized how different they were from the rest of their family. Her grandsire, her mother, Aegon, Helaena, they all had eyes as clear as the sky on a sunny day. But not him, his were darker, bluer, with a trace of purple in them. As deep as the sea, and as beautiful as a sapphire. His hair was straighter, platinum, and even softer, she would dare to say.

How she wished to have the Targaryen attributes, just as distinctive as they were beautiful. Another one of her biggest insecurities and sorrows. It wasn't uncommon for people to be surprised when they saw her and her siblings next to their parents, as they hadn't inherited such beauty. They were equally pale, but with a tumultuous mane, full of curls, of the darkest black and eyes sometimes green, sometimes brown.

Once again, she felt the red fill her cheeks, her gaze lost in him as her thoughts swirled.

"Do you know that my father's sister also had an unhatched egg? Just like us," she said, softly, looking him in the eyes and trying to comfort him, "now she's the rider of Vhagar, the oldest, largest, and most feared dragon in the entire kingdom." 

She waited for a response that didn't come. "I like to believe that our wait will be rewarded, don't you?" then added. He only nodded, almost imperceptibly, without taking his eyes off hers, "I wanted to apologize."

Now with a confused look, Aemond finally decided to respond, "why?"

"They shouldn't have done it... It was cruel." Understanding dawned on him.

"No need to apologize for something that you did not do, niece." She couldn't help but smile at his words. Was he always so serious and formal? She thought he was like an adult trapped in the body of a little boy. An old soul.

"Can I ask you something?" she inquired.

"Yes, of course."

"Did you really enter the dragon pit? Alone?" she asked, curious. She noticed his face changing, a smirk of pride forming, his lips curling up into a small smile as he straightened up in his chair, now more upright.

"Yes, I did."

"Did you see any?"

"Yes, but it was too dark to know which one..." he began, with a spark in his eyes, and noticing her attentive gaze, he decided to continue "it throwed fire in my direction" he added, her eyes wider than before, conveying her astonishment.

"Gods! You must have been so terrified."

"Not really" he simply responded.

"That was... you're incredibly brave, my prince. I wouldn't have had the courage" she said and received a wide smile in return. She had never called him "my prince" before and she had never seen him smile.

She continued to listen attentively. No history book had ever excited her as much as the prince's adventures, and seeing him so enthusiastic about telling them filled her chest with something she didn't know how to name. Something warm. She liked it.

Despite it being their first real conversation, and the first time they looked each other in the eyes, there was a mutual understanding, a connection, different, special. One that went beyond being dragonless riders or relatives raised under the same roof.

It seemed to her that only a few minutes had passed when she felt a knock on the doors and a voice announcing that it was supper time and Alicent awaited for her son's presence. Both of them showed disappointment at the interruption; he seemed to have so much more to say and she hadn't had enough of his words. She thought she could listen to him for the rest of her days.

"Forgive me, niece, I must have tired your ears," he said before standing up, "and I didn't ask about your stories; you must think me rude." His words elicited a laugh from her lips, as it couldn't be further from the truth.

"Not at all, I would have liked to keep listening to you. Besides, I don't have stories as brave as yours, and I wouldn't want to bore you to exhaustion" she replied.

Once they had put the books back in their place, they walked to the door.

"I do not think that's possible" Aemond communicated with his hand on the doorknob. There was silence as they descended the stairs with the guards behind them.

"Goodnight, my princess" he said once they reached the floor, calling her that way for the first time.

"Goodnight, my prince."

"Perhaps tomorrow we could... continue?" It came out almost as a whisper from Aemond's lips. A smile on hers.

"Nothing would make me happier."

[theoxenfree]

LUCID

sleep paralysis demon x reader | 3k | 18+

you've never known a true, good night of sleep in your entire life. when your doctor and best friend, dr. sujay patel, offers to vouch for you as the perfect candidate for a "last resort" sleep study and medication trial, you don't have high hopes. the first night of the trial, things go sideways very quickly.

warnings; technically somnophilia, dubcon, hair-pulling, restraint, some eerie/unsettling details, breech of patient-doctor boundaries, alcoholism, implied addiction/addictive personality, academic cheating, some culturally sensitive discussion, roughly proofread.

this is the first concept piece for my upcoming sleep paralysis demon x reader story!! to help me shape the story, pls answer feedback questions + reblog!!!

Children at your daycare liked to draw you fanciful pictures of the other lives they lived in their dreams during afternoon nap time. You were shown orange tabby cats with green eyes garbed in full-plates of knight’s armor, brandishing a fish sword against a foe to save the world. Most often, they dreamed of their families and drew bright, brave versions of themselves holding hands with a parent, a sibling, a bipedal family dog with an electric collar. A few of the children never smiled in their self-portraits.

The proportions of everything were always silly: gigantic tree trunks with tiny, green bundles sitting atop of them, three enormous fruits supported by brittle vines and growth in bushes, cats and dogs with ears as tall as their bodies, Mom with purple skin instead of brown, Big Sis looking particularly volatile with a theratrically large snarl. Despite this, the children beamed in pride whenever yesterday's drawings would come down off the wall to be replaced with the new.

For some of these kids, this was their own equivalent of having art hung on a refrigerator; to you, it evoked dull, thready jealousy because they were in possession so simple, so biologically normal to them and everyone else around them that to be incapable of the same thing was, surely, a major defect.

Sleep was already a treasure you were seldom allotted the pleasure of greedily surrendering to, but to dream sounded like a terrifying experience to you altogether. It took work; a stringent routine of warm showers (hot and scalding water was forbidden), with an array of chalky, dissolvable tabs and shower gels and shampoos and moisturizers and essential oil dehumidifiers and soy candles and hot tea and special pillow sleep spray you’d seen in an online ad while thumbing through socials.

It took pajamas that were loose, soft but not silky, it took a satin bonnet and a satin eye covering (the kind with pockets for your eyelashes to move), comforters soused in lavender spray meant to magically work out the tightness in your shoulders and calves without the need of paying for a masseuse’s bony elbow. It took purchasing a battery-operated alarm clock to wake yourself for work so you could shut off your phone and leave it plugged into the wall downstairs.

You'd nearly forgotten—you couldn't have sugar after half past six, you had to stagger your water consumption after that time as well because the urge to piss would keep you awake for hours after the fact. The television needed to be off once you finished putting away dishes after dinner.

If you were lucky, this would work and you'd sleep a total of two or three hours uninterrupted—never fully tipping over the edge of wakefulness into deep sleep, but enough to keep yourself going during the day, grocery shop, wrangle the small children, scrape at a bar, get dicked down into your mattress every now and then, and visit Sujay for your usual appointments.

“How do you feel about trying something different?” he always gestured to one of the modern-looking armchairs upholstered in teal polyester before bringing you a tea of some sort. Today was a floral white tea with a spoonful of honey. “Ah, my friend, I worry for you. We've done so many studies, we've tried so many different things. Does none of it help? At all?”

“Not really.” you admitted after a sip, singing your tongue once and placing aside the cup and saucer pair. “I don't know if I can keep doing this until the day I die, Sujay. What do you recommend next?”

Dr. Sujay Patel was your neurologist, an utterly brilliant man, and a close friend from your early university days. Despite the rest of your friend group falling apart, pulled in separate directions by the strings of fate and temptation of money, you'd managed to stay in contact with Sujay throughout grad school. There'd been an intermission, probably a period of two years, where you'd forgotten he even existed.

You were out making a disaster of your life on sleepless, drunken benders because you hoped enough alcohol would either knock you out or kill you. The normal distractions came with it: your entire family dynamic corroding and combusting, an ex getting too big for their britches, and a roommate suspiciously eager to rally behind that ex.

Sujay came back into the picture following a nasty incident of alcohol poisoning that left you bedridden in the hospital for a week. You had decided then, in that uncomfortable bed with their starchy, crunchy white sheets and the bathroom being too far away to simply get up and walk to, that you'd abstain from alcohol forevermore.

He'd seen you in a state of soul-weary disarray not long after you were discharged and had decided to take you on as a patient.

“Now, you have a choice here, just remember that.” Sujay sat adjacent to you in the exact chair you were in. He wasn't daunted by the heat from his tea and took some time with it, whether to savor the subtle notes of it or to consider his words, you weren't sure. “But, a colleague of mine at a… pharmaceutical company has been working to get an experimental sedative into some studies. Testing periods, I guess you could say.”

You're convinced by his dedication to his tea to pick up yours again. “Does it work?”

“As of now, one-hundred percent of those who have participated have reported high-efficacy, or at least have claimed it to be effective in some manner.” His mustache moved as he sipped. You drank as well. “I think you should submit to the study and if you're accepted into one of the control groups—commit to it. We're running out of options otherwise. I don't want you to start mixing up your own cocktail of things. All it takes is the wrong thing once, y'know?”

The chair groaned while you adjusted your weight in it. You sighed. “Would that once be such a bad thing, though? At least I could sleep.”

“I'm a doctor,” Sujay looked over his square-rimmed glasses at you, forehead wrinkles enormous, whites of his eyes showing more than the hazel of his irises. “Behave yourself.”

“Fine.” Mesmerized by the stray tea leaves that had managed to escape the metal ball steeper, you said, “tell me what I need to do.”

Sujay had sent you away that day with a whole host of follow-up appointments and a glowing review to his colleague in hopes of skipping the line as much as possible. Sometimes, it was beneficial to have friends in high places, especially when that means you get a call two days later for preliminary, formal interviews and an offer to participate in said study once clearances came through and your blood work came back as desired.

A month to the day when Sujay first mentioned the possibility of a magical cure all to your relentless insomnia, you were brought into a minimally furnished room—the standard, bland cookie cutter type that hadn't an ounce of personality—dotted from head-to-toe in stickers for neuromonitoring, heart rhythm, and whatever else they fancied, you supposed.

It was only after you had changed into your soft, but not too soft, pajamas and covered in wires that you were handed a tiny purple pill. The color of it was obviously a dissolvable casing and food coloring, but what amazed you was the fact a drug this small was meant to induce the best sleep of your life.

“Take the pill, drink at least four ounces of water, and lie supine.” The technologists outside your room, speaking into an intercom, elaborated afterward that they wanted you to stay on your back while you slept. You didn't bother to point out that you weren't stupid—just tired. “We understand that not everyone finds this position comfortable, but to receive adequate results and to measure your vitals at all times, we ask that you try your best.”

You weren't going to hassle them about this and did precisely as they instructed. Shoved the pill down the back of your throat, drank the bottled water, and tried to get comfortable on your back.

You closed your eyes.

A part of you wondered why you had assented to Sujay’s suggestion so easily, especially where everything else had failed. He was one hell of a friend, and had always been that way for you, but as a doctor, you wondered if two years of cheating through medical school, so as to not royally piss off his parents and be disowned for failing, was finally catching up with him somewhat.

You recalled being startled when he told you he hadn’t married yet and didn't intend to as some deep-rooted act of spite against his family and the traditions they had held over his head all his life. Traditions that had been weaponized against him, rather than supplement his life as an extension of his history, of the things he loved, of a chance to explore more of himself.

You had listened wordlessly the entire time he spoke about it, still sipping on his tea, the results from your latest brain scan clamped to a clipboard on his lap—

This wasn't working.

This was so stupid.

You opened your eyes and sat up in the stiff bed, carefully maneuvering your fingers around your orbital bone to force away the puffiness and exhaustion still lingering behind them. It was only as you rubbed your eyes that you noticed your face was empty of cold stickers and a thousand wires. You didn't hear distant blips in the machine measuring your heart rate, nor track the voices of anyone outside your door.

The room was still the same—the outdated, bulky dresser with claw feet, a few gray chairs you could buy on display in a window somewhere, a low oval table, a bedside table for your glass of water and a crisp, neatly folded change of clothes for the next day.

It was only unusual that you were bare of the technologist’s monitoring equipment and sitting amid an unfaltering, deep silence that amplified the sounds of your very existence. Your slow breaths with a quickening heartbeat, blood pumping in your ears, and the coarse rustle of bedsheets as you shifted around the mattress to bring some sense to what was going on.

Would the technologists have come into the room and removed everything from your body without waking you? More miraculously, without you rousing and throwing your hands on them for touching you first?

“Maybe the drug worked?” you had to consider the possibility, even though it still felt as far-fetched as the holistic medicine practitioners online telling you that an herbal cleansing juice could regenerate organs entirely. “Did I actually sleep? I don't remember dreaming, though. Aren't I supposed to dream?”

You looked to the one, single-paned window across the bedroom to spy how far along the morning had progressed, but found yourself sucking in and holding in a breath instead.

There, standing in your view of the outside, was the silhouette of a tall man. Everything about him was indistinguishable aside from the depth of darkness that made him up. Within the confines of the dim room, alight by a single lamp with an amber bulb that seemed to weaken by the second, this man stood apart from the shadows as something deeper, blacker, but corporeal.

He was every bit a part of the dark as much as he wasn't. And you couldn't tell if he was fading you or turned to look out the window at the parking lot two stories below.

“Hi—hello. Are—are you one of the techs?” you had finally let out that breath, now focusing on gauging the guy’s level of sociability, and by extension, his friendliness and the likelihood of him lunging at you. “I, uh, just would've really appreciated it if someone had woken me up before taking off the stickers.”

You were able to see out the window from the gaps around his body, taking note that it was still dark. Very dark. Beyond that, nothing else was discernible from where you sat and what he blocked.

The study wouldn't have finished yet.

Those techs would've taken precaution to wake you up if something had happened.

“Am I asleep?” you asked the wordlese man. “Am I dreaming now? Are you a dream? Is that what it's like?

You never imagined that there could be so much lucidity within a dream, a level of consciousness so similar to a state of wakefulness. When you thought about moving, you could perfectly flex your fingers, curl your toes into the high-pile carpet underfoot, touch the airy fabric covering your body and feel it touching you in turn.

How normal was this really, though? No one had ever told you about dreams like this. Theirs were always fragmented and discombobulated, just like the kids in daycare who drew pictures of pig astronauts and flame extinguishing spatulas. You knew of a rare few in the population capable of controlling their dreams, steering the outcome in the direction they pleased, but even those people were overrode by their own brains.

This was something completely different.

You became especially convinced of this when you thought the stifled air suddenly shifted with a light breeze, a soft whoosh in your ear. A chill erupted over you, making your skin burst with goose flesh, your brain chasing a shiver down your spine as if cold fingers stroked you all the way down the length of it. Those same fingers stayed low, hovering across your lower back before pushing into you, arching you down onto the mattress.

That freedom you thought you had only moments ago was gone, stolen by this invisible hand on your body that was rounding to you and reaching for your chest. Until now, you thought this had simply been a part of the dream—something you had believed to be in control in when the reality was much different—but, as the buttons on your sleep shirt unfastened before your eyes, the thin layers opening you to the cold, inky air, you weren't sure what to think, to do.

Another hand joined the first with long, heavy fingers to knead at your body and take your pants off of your hips until you were fully exposed to the darkness and the thing still dwelling within the room. It hadn't moved an inch since you'd noticed it a while ago; it never became any clearer, any more defined in the clothes or wore, and trying to look upon its face only filled you with puzzlement and dread.

The large hands were so cold despite all their movement on your hot skin, all of the work they did to start riling you up and making you moan. One of them groped your chest, felt your throat, squeezed your jaw as though to force your gaze at one point in particular (the ceiling), pushed apart your lips to dip into your mouth and wet its fingers on your tongue.

You did so as it was the only thing you could do freely right now.

Those fingers, covered in your spit, caressed you between your legs, stroking you in motions neither gentle or harsh. The muscles in your thighs flinched, stomach tightening, your throat vibrating to produce a moan smothered by the second hand circling your throat, gripping firmly enough where you could breathe, but just barely.

The thing couldn’t stop your thoughts, as much as it seemed to try, so it took to interrupting them—distracting you but squeezing your neck, yanking your head back into the pillow by your hair, adjusting itself to thrust multiple fingers into your body, burying them to the knuckle.

You tried to win this war of willpower by thinking about Sujay and his mustache and his stupid glasses. They were green, sometimes blue; seldom did he like the tortoiseshell look.

The thing lunged at your neck again, this time taking you underside the jaw and forced your head back into the pillow while it fucked you deeper on three fingers.

You wanted to make a sound; a moan, a scream, a torturous whimper or pleasure for the way your body was rocked on the bed, creaking with the weight of a pair combined and not just how it appeared. Your nostrils flared, heart rate at an uneasy high, breaths stuck in the column of your throat behind the hand holding it.

The pressure continued to stack higher and higher, building to such a point where you knew you were about to lose it, unravel, praying that this thing would grant you the kindness of fucking you out of your orgasm.

Your abdomen was wound tight, your groin ached terribly, and your thighs started to shake. Behind your eyes, the kaleidoscopic wheels of color intermingled with the darkness and it all slowly burned to white.

And then—

“Good morning!” you were being shaken awake by one of the technologists, a middle-aged woman with blue eyeliner. she didn't expect for you to jolt upright, stick straight, and launch the covers off of your body. “Oh—hey, honey, you alright? We’re done until tonight. How do you feel?”

You were slow to respond to her, occupied by the morning light filtering in through the window across the bedroom. She gave you some time to gather your bearings and took her time removing the stickers and wires from your skin, suggesting you spend some time really scrubbing in the shower later to get off all the adhesive.

“How about now, honey?” she pulled the last sticker and wire combination off of your shoulder. “You with us?”

You didn't know how to answer that, especially not with how damp you felt inside your thighs.

a/n; thank you for reading and choosing to help me shape the story further!! this is all inspired by the fact that I have frequent bouts of sleep paralysis myself and on three consecutive occasions, after taking some questionable drops from an ex-friend, I saw something. I want to make this very clear that this story is intended to be pretty extreme psychological horror. anyway, here are the questions

sujay will be a major supporting character in the story, so what would you be interested in seeing more: 1) sujay and mc further blurring that boundary and possibly becoming a pair, but their "relationship" becomes thwarted by SPD 2) sujay, possibly, ends up with more yandere tendencies as the story progresses and with the development of the plot, could result in a terrible ending for him—but interesting 3) sujay and mc are inherently a toxic duo, but he tries his best to support mc (platonically or one-sided romantically) as they spiral out of control?

in terms of SPD's appearance, what idea do you like better: 1) him, eventually, having a definitive, solid form and features across the span of the story 2) he remains like a "black silhouette" with the invisible hands, but he has the sort of voice that's lulls and lures and manipulates 3) he takes on features that mc (you) find attractive, but they're all wrong and progressively becomes more monstrous 4) he has a physical appearance that's "all wrong", but you can never figure why or what he actually looks like despite SEEING him. if you want to choose multiple, you need to get VERY specific.

I intend for this story to be incredibly dark in terms of sexual content bc SPD is a demon/monster. he is not good. he is not loving. when you think of "dark" for smut, what would you want to see??

[iloveacaibowls111]

Convenient (Angst Vers.)

synopsis: life as sukuna’s forgotten wife, angsty but nothing changes. 

A/N: There’s originally two different versions that I wrote. One that ended as a fluff while this one ended as an angst. This one I like more so I thought to post this one :)

Moans filled your room, accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of skin meeting skin. It felt like something straight out of a sordid fantasy. But it wasn’t you beneath him, breathing hard and lost in passion. No. It was your husband and one of his concubines in the room directly across from yours. You threw a pillow over your head, trying to block out the sounds entirely. You knew he was doing this to get under your skin—retaliating because you’d made him angry, and this was his punishment.

“Ugh, shut up!” you hissed to yourself, fighting the urge to slam your fists against the chamber wall. But you knew he wouldn’t like that.

The girl’s moans grew louder, her voice rising to that high-pitched crescendo, no doubt to draw him further in. You couldn’t bear another second. Grabbing a silk robe, you wrapped it around yourself, messily braiding your hair into a plait. You slipped from your room, away from those sounds, thankful that your handmaiden had gone off to bed. Moving quickly, you slipped on your slippers and darted into the garden.

The moon cast its soft glow over the garden, illuminating the cherry blossoms nearly in full bloom, their pink petals dancing lightly in the breeze. The moment you stepped outside, your fury seemed to dissolve into the night air, replaced by a kind of quiet sadness. You settled onto a stone bench, letting the cool breeze brush against your skin. The noise from the next room had cost you any hope of rest, keeping you from the fragile peace you craved. Still, you refused to cry. Not for him. Not tonight.

He may have been the King of Curses, feared and renowned, but none of that mattered. He was your husband. Yours—not theirs. You were his only true wife, yet he paraded around with women who could never give him the loyalty or devotion you had. He always called you his own, his claim. But in truth, he was never really yours. As the first tear formed, you held it back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not anymore.

Your gaze drifted to the cherry blossoms swaying softly, as memories tugged you back to when he had first held your hand, back when you were his world, his queen, his confidante. When his touch sent thrills through you, and his voice was the balm to your every sorrow. But somewhere along the line, you became little more than a treasured relic to him: admired but neglected, a remnant of his affections.

A faint laugh escaped your lips, hollow and brittle. You looked at your hands, hands that had once ached to touch him, to pull him close when the world grew too cold. Now, they lay empty in your lap, unfamiliar even to you. The cherry blossoms above seemed to sway in pity, each petal drifting like fragments of lost hope.

“You were my everything,” you whispered into the night, your voice barely a breath. “And to you, I was… convenient.”

The words felt heavy and painful yet freeing, a truth spoken at last. Maybe they were real, maybe not, but in that moment, they felt like the only truth. You had loved a man who saw you as a possession. And even now, after everything, a part of you still ached for him, for the love that had once seemed so sure.

The chill of the night seeped into your bones, but the thought of returning inside filled you with dread. In that quiet garden, you felt both empty and whole, as if the solitude allowed you to remember who you were before him. Surrounded by cherry blossoms and moonlight, you found peace in your own presence, a place where you were allowed to feel.

A single tear slid down your cheek, and this time, you let it fall. Here, under the moonlit sky, you allowed yourself to mourn the love that had faded, the loyalty that had never been returned. He’d never see you cry, never know the weight of your sadness or the depth of what you had sacrificed. But here, alone, you could finally release the years of quiet heartbreak.

You sat beneath the stars, eyes tracing constellations as if searching for something beyond reach. You let your mind drift to a life you could barely imagine: one where you were free, loved, cherished. A soft breeze ruffled your hair, and you closed your eyes, letting the wind embrace you.

Because, after all, that was all you could do.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Ocean’s claim

Pairing: Lifeguard!Bucky x Amateur!Surfer!Reader

Summary: Seeking a thrill, your friend Natasha convinces you to go surfing during stormy weather conditions - a bad idea as you come to experience.

Word Count: 5.9k 🌊 🫧 💧

Warnings: Reader is a non-professional when it comes to surfing; vivid descriptions of near drowning; mentions of death; slight hypothermia

Author's note: Felt like some angst since my last fic was fluff city. (There is still some fluff in it because it’s me) I'm also already taking notes for a possible second part, so if you like this and would like to see some more, please let me know. 🩵

Masterlist

“Nat, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time in the past half hour, voice trembling with urgency.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your heart pounding in your chest as you draw closer to the beach. You barely hear the playful groan of the redhead in front of you over the howl of the wind whipping around you, making your ears ring uncomfortably and your eyes water slightly.

Natasha struts forward, strands of her hair dancing wildly in the gusts, but she doesn’t seem fazed by the worsening weather. She has her surfboard casually tucked under her arm as if it’s just another sunny day at the beach.

“Come on, buzzkill,” she calls back, her voice light, teasing. “This is the perfect time! Nobody out here to hog the waves.” She glances over her shoulder at you, grinning, eyes bright with excitement that only amplifies your anxiety.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your footing steady as a strong gust nearly knocks you off balance. Your own surfboard feels heavy in your arms, the wind tugging at it like it wants to rip it away from you. Grip tightening, the rough texture of the wax sticks against your palms as your fingers dig in, fighting for control.

The wind picks up as you feel the sand underneath.

Glancing at the sky there are dark, doomy clouds over the horizon, swirling like an angry beast ready to pounce. The ocean beneath them churns restlessly. The waves are massive, their white crest crashing unforgivingly against the shore, louder than normal, almost angry.

Jagged shards of shells skitter across the beach like lost treasures and the wind tugs the sand into tiny tornadoes. The beach is deserted, foreboding, and your heart squeezes at the way the waves crash with unruly vigor.

There is a warning in the air, heavy and electric and your body aches to listen. The hair at the back of your neck stands on end. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to turn around, to leave before it’s too late.

“Nat!” you shout, your voice barely carrying over the deafening whistle of the wind. It comes out almost as a scream, your desperation clawing at your throat as you try to get across how badly this could end.

But Natasha just throws a glance over her shoulder, her face just as bright as moments before - resolute and unfazed - as if the danger you can practically taste doesn’t exist.

“Come on, Y/n, it’ll be fun!” she shouts back, her voice carried away by the wind before it fully reaches you. Her steps quicken as she nears the water, eagerness fueling her, despite the gusts pushing against you two. She’s practically running, buzzing with adrenaline, her surfboard bouncing under her arm as the storm closes in.

It had been Natasha's idea to come out here, of course. She loves chasing a thrill, convincing you that surfing under those weather conditions would help you two get skilled. “No crowds, no waiting, just us and the ocean.” It’s what she said.

Though the ocean doesn’t seem welcoming at all right now.

You knew she would have gone either way. If you agreed or not. That’s basically the only reason you’re here right now, because as reckless as she could be, there was no way you were going to let her walk into danger alone - or her grave as it seems.

You’re not a professional surfer - neither of you are. The two surfboards you’re clutching onto for dear life are borrowed, a generous loan from the instructor who had run the beginner’s surf class just last week. He’d been a laid-back guy, happy to hear you and Natasha were interested in keeping up with the sport.

Unfortunately though, when he let you take the boards, he couldn’t possibly have any idea that you’d be sneaking out to the beach in the middle of an impending storm.

How could he? This is crazy. The wind tears at your clothes forcefully and your stomach churns, knots replacing your insides.

You’re not ready for this. The boards surely aren’t made for such waves - neither are you for that matter. Your experience amounts to a few rides on gentle waves under the perfect conditions. But this? This is something else entirely.

You watch in dread as Nat wades into the water. She pauses briefly to recheck the leash wrapped around her ankle, the heavy surfboard snug against her body. Your heart races as you hold your breath, bracing yourself for what comes next.

For a fleeting moment, you survey the beach again, hoping against hope to spot someone, anyone, who might help knock some sense into her, to pull her back from the brink of this reckless decision.

The stretch of sand is empty save for the lifeguard’s wooden stand in the distance, its white rescue board secured to the side. You squint, trying to make out if there is someone inside, but the fog of the approaching storm blurs everything, and it’s impossible to tell. Even if there is someone, you’re sure he’d have difficulty to even catch sight of you and it’s too far to run.

You turn back toward the water but the second your eyes meet the rolling waves, a stone lodges in your throat, pushing your heart to the depths of your body. Panic flares up inside you.

She’s gone.

The spot where Natasha was just moments ago is empty, swallowed by the towering swells. The dark water rises and falls, chaotic and aggressive, and your friend is nowhere in sight. Terror seizes you, cold and sharp, tightening your chest as your mind boils over.

The ocean looks so alive, merciless, and indifferent, pulling her deeper, under, with every second that passes.

“Natasha!” you scream, voice raw with fear.

Your body moves before your mind can tell you otherwise, and there is no longer hesitation, no second-guessing as you run to the shoreline. Your legs pump through the sand, lungs protesting and you fight against the force of the wind with everything you have. It feels almost personal.

The freezing cold instantly numbs your legs as your body hits the water. You charge forward, the surf breaking against your thighs. The water threatens to knock you down with each shaky breath but you push deeper, ignoring the icy shock and the way the current pulls at you, fighting your balance.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart hammering so loudly that it drowns out the roar of the ocean for a second.

Every pulse of the water feels like a living force, hurling you in every direction, a relentless barrage that leaves you gasping for control. The waves slam against you from all sides, tossing you like a leaf caught in a storm.

You grit your teeth, trying to remember what your instructor had taught you. “Don’t fight the waves, use them, move with the water. It’s your friend, not your enemy.”

Well, fuck that, because friendly feels different.

You try to stay calm, arms trembling as you cling to the board, the slick surface cold and uncomfortable under your fingertips.

With a desperate effort, you manage to stay on the board long enough to scream Natasha's name again, your voice strained and choked by the salty wind. Just then, another monstrous wave smashes into you, enveloping you in a wall of water. You’re plunged into darkness, swallowed whole by the chaos, and for a disorienting moment, this doesn’t even feel real anymore.

But then your head breaks the surface again and you gasp for a breath, lungs burning. You clutch the board with a grip so tight it sends sharp stings all the way to your fingertips. The rough surface digs into your palms but you’d be damned if you let go of that thing.

With every ounce of strength you can muster, Natasha’s name leaves your lips again but the sound is ripped away almost as soon as it leaves your throat, swallowed by the howling wind and the whizz of the waves. It feels like screaming into a void, hopeless and hollow.

Then another wave slams into you - so hard, you feel the entire impact - and you’re under again.

Cold water surrounds you, suffocating your head. Your vision is nothing but an unfocused blur and salt stings in your eyes. All sense of direction is once again lost on you, your body twisting in the currents. You feel like a ragdoll, losing all control you have.

Each wave drags you further from the shore, further from safety, and the cold grip of despair tightens around your heart.

Breaking the surface, you gasp like you’ve never breathed before. Each gulp of air is a frantic, panicked effort as if the wind might steal it from you at any second. Each breath that follows fills your body with urgency, littered with the stifling sensation of the sea.

A few waves and more salty water later, you manage to regain some sense of balance, moving back up on your board and scanning the horizon, head whipping around hastily and eyes wide. You would be proud of the second of control you have but your heart sinks lower the longer the water lacks any sign of her.

The panic spreads like ice, the cold seeping into your bones, but the fear for yourself and your best friend burns hot.

You try to focus, to do what you’ve been taught - stay on the board, ride the wave, don’t let it pull you under - but it feels like a losing battle.

Another wave crashes and saltwater fills your mouth and lungs, scorching your throat, gurgling with every ragged breath. You’re still on the board. That’s a surprise you let sink in for a moment.

A voice cuts through the storm - Nat’s. Desperate and terrified. Your name. It sounds like it’s coming from the shore, but it feels impossibly distant like she’s miles away instead of just down the beach.

The realization hits you like a crash with as much power as the waves around you. How far off are you? You twist your neck to look toward the beach, but the looming waves obscure your view, and the horizon is just a blur of grey, indistinguishable from the sea itself.

You have no idea how far you’ve drifted, but it feels like the beach might as well be a world away.

You scream back desperately. This isn’t just fear anymore. It’s a raw, primal terror that digs into the fabric of your being, knitting utter despair tightly with the frantic rhythm of your heart. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever known - this paralyzing panic that roots itself deep inside your bones.

It’s the kind of fear you always imagined would come with the knowledge that death would follow. That slow, creeping certainty that there is no way out, no escape. It wraps around you like the icy water that threatens to pull you under and your clothes that cling to you pressingly, only weighing you down.

You’ve heard of drowning, read about it, seen it on TV, but never once did you think it would happen to you. Not like this. But is this how it ends? The thought flashes through your mind, bitter and cruel. You never envisioned going out this way - suffocated by the ocean, your last breath stolen by the waves.

Sometimes, you’d like to imagine that drowning would be a quiet, perhaps even peaceful descent into darkness. But this is a cacophony, a battle of breath and will, a struggle against an unforgiving beast that demands tribute.

Drowning isn’t an elegant surrender. It’s ruthless and visceral and you’re defenseless in the face of its power.

You cling to the surfboard as if it's the only thing tethering you to life, your muscles blaring in protest as the water laps at you greedily, eager to pull you under, to claim you as its own.

The water is relentless, an unfeeling, unstoppable force. It doesn’t care about your fear, your pain, your will to live. It just keeps coming, wave after wave, crashing into you with a ferocity that feels almost personal.

Your strength is ebbing, but the sea shows no sign of slowing. It’s a living thing, testing your resolve. It’s waiting for the moment when you will lose your grip, when the board will slip from your fingers, when the leash that binds you to it will snap, and you will be claimed.

The dark water beckons, yawning wide, promising oblivion - a cold quiet grave beneath the surface where you would lie, not as a person, but as a forgotten droplet, swallowed by the depths. Because that’s all you are - a speck; a drop of water in its vast, uncaring expanse. The thought terrifies you. The image that the sea will take you and forget you in the same breath.

There is tightness in your throat, a swelling of emotion so overwhelming it feels as if the ocean itself has seeped into your heart. You can’t tell if the salty water on your face is mingling with your tears, can’t tell if you’re actually crying.

You feel like you’re unraveling, piece by piece, your strength, your hope, your very sense of self slipping away with every wave.

Perhaps the water has already masked your sorrow, each rush of water a reminder of your frailty - the fight for one more breath, one more heartbeat.

Numbness creeps through your limbs, a heavy fog settling over your consciousness. It’s strange how empty you begin to feel, devoid of sensation. Not just your body, though that too is beginning to lose its fight against the cold, the chill sinking deeper into you, making it harder to move, harder to care.

But there is a nothingness inside you, like part of you has already accepted what’s coming - an abyss that waits with patient malice and a gaping mouth.

You fight it. Of course, you do, but in the back of your mind, a small voice whispers that it’s only a matter of time. The sea is stronger than you, more patient. It’ll wait for you to falter, to let go, and then it will take you.

There are more wails and screams coming from the shore, all faint and distant. They became as constant as the waves around you. Though the deeper you are engulfed in the surf, the fainter the screaming feels, slipping away like grains of sand between your fingers desperately reaching out for solid ground.

For a moment you imagine letting go. Letting the deep, dark silence of the ocean swallow you, pulling you down to its unreachable and endless depths. A cold, quiet grave, the kind you never expected but that now feels so close you can feel it on your tongue.

Another towering wave rises before you like a mountain, its treacherous crest poised to unleash its ferocity. In a single, brutal shove, it hurls you from the board, and for a heartbeat you’re airborne, a marionette cut from its strings, suspended in an agonizing moment of uncertainty.

But something deep within you ignites, a primal need - a will to live - stronger than anything you’ve ever felt and it pulls you to the surface and up the board again with a strength you didn’t know you had left.

You gasp for air and every single part of your body wants reprieve, but your mind sharpens with a clarity that sears through the chaos. You won’t let the ocean take you. You need to find Nat.

Determination fills your veins like fire and you whip your head around to pinpoint where her relentless screams come from. Her cries, frenzied and panic-stricken, echo from everywhere suddenly, piercing through the tumult like a siren’s wail.

But as you strain against the tide, attempting to hear her better, something halts you for a dangerous moment.

It’s not just Natasha’s voice.

There’s another voice, calm and steady, weaving through her frantic cries, almost soothing in its cadence. The words are impossible to make out over the sound of the storm, but you can tell it’s a man. He’s speaking to her, perhaps trying to calm her down.

You don’t have time to process that before something else grips your attention. A third voice; deep, more resonant - another man - drifts in and out between the wafting waves. It’s closer, much closer than the others.

Your heart pounds so loudly, you can hear it over the storm. You strain your ears, desperate to catch that voice again, to make sense of it, but the wind tears the sound away before you can latch onto it.

With every ounce of focus you can muster, you whip your head around frantically, eyes scanning the water, and then you see it. A flash of white, cutting through the churning grey of the sea. A board?

Your breath catches.

Nat’s board is blue. Yours is still beneath you. The only white board you’ve seen was back on the beach, strapped to the lifeguard’s post.

Could it be?

Is your mind playing tricks on you? Are you that far gone?

But then it appears again. A flash of white and then red between the flooding currents, coming closer to you.

Hope flickers in your chest, fragile but bright. You squint your eyes, willing that shape to appear again, your heart racing in anticipation. But the sea remains relentless, making it impossible to get a clear view.

Your concentration costs you.

The next wave blindsides you, slamming into you with a blow that knocks the breath from your lungs. You yelp in shock as the water swallows you whole again, dragging you down beneath its unforgiving surface once more.

Your body tumbles, twisted by the current, and for a moment, you’re lost in the dark, cold world beneath the waves.

You are weightless. The ocean’s embrace is absolute. You can’t tell where the surface is anymore, can’t feel which way is up or down. Yet, there is that voice again. It’s blurred by the water filling your ears but it seems to surround you.

An urgent shout, muffled and distorted, yet oddly comforting, like it’s reaching through the water just for you. You can’t make out any words, but the tone is strong and deep, cutting through your panic, grounding you for just a moment.

You feel the leash around your ankle tugging, pulling you as your board drifts with the current, but you no longer have the strength to reach for it. You let it pull you along, your limbs flailing uselessly in the water.

Your body is beyond exhausted, each muscle burning with fatigue, your arms and legs barely responding to your desperate attempts to swim. You’re too drained to fight anymore. You feel the air still trapped in your lungs, but your body’s energy is slipping.

Slowly, you let your eyes fall closed and everything blurs. The only thing in focus is that voice. It almost seems like a part of the water, surrounding you, enveloping you. You want to hold onto it, but you’re so tired.

Then, suddenly there is a slight splash nearby - different from the waves. It cuts through the water like a jolt, a ripple of something deliberate. For the first time, you think you might know where the surface is.

Before you can do anything to react, a firm hand clamps onto your arm.

The grip is solid, unwavering, and with a sharp pull, you’re yanked upwards, your body dragged through the water with a sturdiness you couldn’t summon on your own.

Another hand grasps your other arm, and now you’re being lifted, hauled out of the water, breaking the surface.

Your body moves limply, like it’s no longer your own, the weight of exhaustion too much to fight.

Air hits your face, cold and bracing and you feel your lungs expand in relief of it. The sound of the ocean and the wind rushes back into your ears as you’re pulled up onto something hard - a board beneath you.

The tug on your ankle leaves you but you don’t have it in you to question it. Panic ebbs as more air floods into your chest, aching and yet so sweet. You feel the warmth of skin at your back, around your body, keeping you from slipping back under.

But you’re too weak to open your eyes. Too drained to look back at your savior, to see who has pulled you from the water’s grasp. You can only feel the firm grip, the solid presence behind you, and the way the board keeps you afloat.

The world feels so distant, the sounds around you muffled, your body so heavy it’s almost like you’re still submerged.

Fingers are pressing down on your wrist, as steady as the rest of him, perhaps feeling your pulse or just to balance you.

A thought strikes through your weak frame, igniting a flicker of energy fueled by adrenaline. Natasha. Worry surges within you. Is she even safe? Sure, you’ve heard those voices but what do they really convey?

With a sudden burst of resolve, you push away from the muscled body behind you, choking on the saltwater that clings to your lungs, gasping wildly for breath, your throat feeling like sandpaper.

A sharp exhale of relief sounds out from your rescuer, his grip loosening just enough to give you the space you need to find your breath, but your focus is somewhere else entirely.

“Thank god,” he mutters under his breath, but you don’t even register it.

“Nat!” you rasp out, voice trembling and barely more than a croak. “Where is she?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him, yourself, or pleading with the vindictive ocean still around you. The question is ripped from your chest with a feral need to know. She has to be okay.

“Hey,” your savior tries but you shake your head fervently, panic closing in and you snap your head around for a glimpse of her, only feeling his arm tighten around you, pulling you back against his chest.

“You need to get Natasha! She’s somewhere out there, she-”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts, his tone firmer and louder by your ear, yet still soothing and gentle, and you let it ground you for a second just like in the water moments earlier.

“Your friend’s alright. She’s safe. Sam is looking out for her,” he sweetly explains to you, his thumb brushing tender circles against your arm while his other arm works to maneuver you two back to the beach.

You barely hear him, your gaze still flickering across the waves, but then he turns your head gently. “There, look.”

He nods to the shoreline that’s slowly coming into view. There, through the haze of wind and saltwater, you see her. Natasha is waving frantically, her face pale as a ghost, her mouth moving as she shouts something. Her voice is hoarse, barely audible.

Next to her stands a tall, dark-skinned man, his arm securely around her shoulders, making sure the blanket wrapped around her stays in place at her distressed movements. He is speaking to her in low tones, his hands rubbing warmth into her skin.

She looks wild with fear, the strands of her hair looking dark as they are pressed to the sides of her head. And she is shaking. But she is visibly safe.

Relief crashes into you like another wave, but this time, it doesn’t knock you down. Instead, it lets you breathe again. The tension in your chest that had kept you moving and looking for her, releases. Your body grows heavy, muscles giving in to the exhaustion that had been building since you hit the water.

Your body slumps back against the chest behind you, and you feel the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. He only tightens his arm around you, pulling you closer, letting you breathe in his warmth.

Your head rests against a sturdy shoulder, your cheek brushing his wet vest. And for the first time since you entered the water, you feel safe.

As you reach the shore, your body betrays you. A violent shiver takes over, teeth clattering uncontrollably, as the wind continues to bite into your soaked skin. But all you can focus on is Nat’s words finally reaching your ears.

“Y/n!” she screams, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh my god, Y/n!”

You’re barely aware of the man behind you guiding you up to your feet, now both of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as you stumble forward.

The ground beneath you feels wobbly, the world still swaying like you’re trapped in the rhythm of the waves, but his unyielding grip keeps you from collapsing.

Natasha breaks away from Sam, or at least you assume that’s who he must be, and runs toward you with so much hurry, you’re scared she might knock you over. But again, the strong presence behind you balances your wavering body as she crashes into you.

Her arms sling around you in a tight embrace that makes you forget about your current situation for a second. You feel her sobs against your chest as she pulls back just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face filled with regret and agony.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her hands gripping your shoulders, afraid to let go. “God, Y/n, I’m so sorry!”

You try to shake your head, to give her some semblance of reassurance, but your face is too numb, muscles too drained to manage more than a faint twitch of your lips. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

But Nat shakes her head so fast, it overwhelms you, her eyes wide. “No, it’s not okay. Don’t say that. It’s not.” her voice cracks and you see the guilt warring in her eyes. “I should’ve never asked you to come with me. I should’ve never done this. Fuck, I’m so stupid.”

This time, you’re able to shake your head with more conviction, pulling strength from the man’s touch at your back. “Stop, okay? Please!” you ask, your voice more certain. “I’m just… I’m just glad you’re okay.”You offer her a real smile, though your lips tremble from more than just the cold.

Natasha curses under her breath, shaking hands pulling you into another tight hug. You close your eyes, sinking into her.

You hug for what feels like an eternity, her grip never loosening, and you realize your rescuer doesn’t even attempt to leave your side. At some point, he drapes a warm blanket over your shoulders, which Sam must have given him, and the slight weight of it makes you blink, pulling you back to reality.

The shivers don’t stop, but it’s a comfort to feel the warmth seep into your skin.

When you finally pull back from Nat, strong arms immediately wrap the blanket all around you from behind, his hands unshakable as he rubs in the warmth of it. Sam returns Natasha’s blanket over her own shoulders and you watch the curt nod he shares with the man behind you, a silent acknowledgment that everything went well.

You don’t make a move to do anything, mind still a hazy maze, exhaustion heavily wearing down on you, so you’re thankful to hear the gentle voice again near your ear. “Let’s get you warm, yeah?”

All you do is nod, but it seems to be enough and you let him guide you to the wooden lifeguard post down the beach. Wind is still whipping around you, but you don’t register that anymore.

He gently walks you up the ramp and you notice the missing white rescue board, the one he used to pull you from the water. Another shiver whacks your spine.

He pushes open the door and you step into a small room that seems to be well-organized. The air inside feels warmer, a welcome change from the biting cold you had been under way too long, though it still carries that smell of salt.

There is a wooden bench in front of you with a neat stack of folded towels and blankets in bright red and yellow. He sits you down, layering the blanket over yourself so it is completely enveloping your shivering frame.

He kneels in front of you, moving slowly and deliberately, as if careful not to startle you too much too soon. His presence is calming and you don’t shy away at the intense way he searches your features, the soft expression he wears soothing your aching muscles.

The warmth that radiates from him makes your heart flutter in a way you don’t quite expect.

“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? Have to make sure everything’s alright.”

His voice. God, you love his voice. There is that slight rasp in it and a boyishness that makes it so soothing, so grounding. It’s as enveloping as the blanket that already surrounds you.

He only makes you feel reassured, and the quiet curve of your lips turns into a small smile as you nod in agreement. His gaze sweeps over your face, checking for any signs of pain, discomfort, or lingering fear. The way he studies you is careful, but not invasive.

“Alright,” he whispers, blue eyes not leaving your face. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

You can’t help the stretch of your smile at the almost bashful way he runs his fingers through his tousled and slightly wet hair. It’s endearing, considering the fact that he just saved your life. The confidence and the sureness he carried while saving you from the water seem to melt into quiet humility now that you’re safe.

You tell him your name and age after he asks. Watching his facial reactions to your words feels so calming, it’s all you can do to slow your heart rate down a notch and stop the involuntary shaking of your body.

There is a small tug at his eyebrows, and a frown threatens to overcome his features, revealing a hint of underlying worry and he keeps drifting his eyes over you, watching the way your shoulders are still shaking.

A little hesitantly he moves his hands up to your knees and rubs the blanket over them softly, hoping to warm up your legs.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you have any trouble breathing? Anything that hurts?” The concern you see on his face is evident in his voice as well and a swell of warmth rises within you, spreading through your body. You relish it.

Sam, who attends to Natasha a foot away, raises an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction, a question in his eyes, but teasing in his smirk.

“Normally, you wait for your patient to answer, before moving on to the next question man,” he chimes in with playful sarcasm. He looks up to you for a second before his gaze moves back to Bucky.

Bucky straightens up before you, the teasing from Sam seemingly lost on him as he clenched his jaw. His face flushes slightly and he looks down at his hands, still gently rubbing circles on your knees. “Yeah, right,” he mutters under his breath, but you pick it up.

A small giggle rises in your stomach and you let it pass, coming out a little breathless and weak, but genuine enough for Bucky’s head to snap back up. His eyes soften, a sparkle shining in them you are able to make out because you watch him so intensely. A smile brightens his face and his momentary embarrassment is lost.

You answer Bucky’s questions one by one, recalling the disorienting moments of your rescue after he almost hesitantly asks you to do so. His hands still soothingly rub your knees.

Bucky listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face, nodding softly at your words. You see him trying his best to remain calm but you notice the tension in his stance, the tick in his jaw, and the slight frown never leaves his face - the weight of his concern lingering in the air.

Sam, who has been standing nearby, leans in slightly. “Gave us a pretty good scare there, sugar.” His tone is light, clearly trying to cut through the tension with a bit of humor, but the moment the words leave his mouth, Bucky’s head snaps up. His gaze hardens drastically as he shoots Sam a sharp look, his voice laced with frustration and irritation.

“Now imagine how she must feel, you fucking idiot.”

His tone catches you off guard. It’s the first time Bucky’s words carry an edge, so different from the gentleness he’s shown you since. Sam raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, licking his lips as he tilts his head slightly.

“Alright, grumpy pants, my bad. You’re right,” he concedes. His demeanor shifts and he becomes more serious, sincere as he steps closer, crouching down to your height and laying a hand on your shoulder. “No, but really,” he says with a nod of his head, “I’m glad you’re okay.” His words hold weight, and the smile he gives you is genuine, toothy even.

You offer him a smile in return, and Sam nods back, satisfied. You can feel Bucky’s gaze still on you, but it’s Nat’s soft, broken voice that cuts through the moment.

“It’s my fault this happened,” she whispers, barely audible. She is hovering nearby, her eyes red and swollen, shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt and her fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket. Her words hang heavy in the air, filled with regret and self-blame.

You react immediately, not letting her fall into that pit of guilt. “Nat!” you say firmly, facing her. “It was my decision to come along.”

Your best friend looks almost childlike in her distress, eyes glistening again with unshed tears. ��You came along because you didn’t want me to go alone,” she counters, voice thick. “You and I both know I would have gone without you. I basically pressured you to follow me because I knew you would. You always just want to make sure I’m safe and now-”

Natasha’s voice falters, the words catching in her throat before a heart-wrenching sob leaves her. The sound pierces your chest, and you can’t handle it longer, feeling tears sting behind your eyes.

Without thinking, you push yourself up from the bench, your legs shaky but driven by the need to embrace her. Bucky, still kneeling before the bench, opens his mouth as if to protest, clearly concerned for your state.

You’re sure he was about to remind you that you should be sitting down, but the urgency in your movement stops him.

Nat clings to you immediately, her fingers gripping the blanket around you, sobs muffled into your shoulder. You start to gently shush her, whispering words of comfort as her body trembles in your arms.

You basically feel Bucky and Sam share a meaningful look behind your back.

Sam clears his throat softly, not wanting to intrude on the fragile moment. “Hey,” he says quietly, his voice gentle. “You two are going to be okay.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but you can feel his quiet support behind you, like ever since he saved you.

“To feel safe around someone's energy is a different kind of intimacy”

- Petra Rush

[whereforarthur]

Tummy Obsessed Much?

A/n: George said in a tik tok that he loves a girls tummy and I just couldn’t get the idea to write about that out of my head, so here it is

Pairing: George Clarke x reader

Category: Smut and Fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

*****

The human body is the best work of art. -Jess C. Scott

"You know what, George?" She giggled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "You're obsessed with my stomach."

George looked up from his phone, his other hand absently tracing circles on her belly. He hadn't even noticed he was doing it. "What? No, I'm not," he protested, his cheeks flushing a gentle pink.

Y/n sat up in bed, pushing her messy hair out of her face. "Yes, you are. Every time we're together, you're always touching it." She took his hand in hers, bringing it to her lips for a soft kiss. "It's sweet, really."

George's smile grew sheepish. "I just like how it feels, I guess." He paused, his thumb ghosting over the smooth skin. "It's like...I dunno. It's comforting."

Y/n's eyes searched his, a warmth spreading through her. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

He nodded, his gaze dropping to their intertwined fingers. "It's just...I've never felt this way about anyone before. It's like your tummy is this perfect little island of us." He took a deep breath, the words tumbling out. "Every time I touch it, it's like I'm grounding myself in you."

Her heart fluttered at his confession, the sincerity in his voice making her feel cherished. She leaned into him, pressing her forehead against his. "I'm happy you feel that way, George. But why just my stomach?"

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with affection. "Because it's so sexy and revealing when you wear those crop tops." He sat up, placing his hand over hers, his fingers drawing patterns across her bare skin. "Every time you wear one, it's like a secret treasure map leading to this spot."

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, but couldn't help the blush that spread from her neck to her cheeks. She loved wearing crop tops, especially when they went out. They highlighted the small butterfly tattoos she had gotten on a whim last summer.

As George continued to trace her stomach, she leaned back into the pillows, feeling the coolness of the fabric against her bare skin. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the streetlight outside their window, casting long shadows across the bed. The city sounds of London hummed in the background, a familiar lullaby that soothed them both.

Y/n felt a thrill at his words, a shiver running down her spine. She had always felt confident in her own skin, but knowing that George found her belly so alluring added a new layer to her self-image. It was a simple act, but it spoke volumes about his attraction to her, his love for the way she looked, and the comfort she brought him.

*****

The next time they went out, she picked out a crop top that was particularly revealing, one that made her stomach look toned and inviting. She paired it with high-waisted jeans and her favorite pair of ankle boots. The fabric was soft, almost silky, and hugged her body in all the right places. As they walked down the bustling streets of London, George couldn't keep his eyes off her, his gaze lingering on the sliver of skin peeking out from beneath her shirt.

They decided to grab a bite at a cozy pub they had been meaning to try. The scent of roasting meat and yeasty beer filled the air, making their stomachs growl in unison. They ordered a couple of pints and a plate of nachos to share, their laughter echoing in the warm, dimly lit space. As they talked and laughed, George's hand found its way to her stomach again, his thumb tracing the outline of her belly button.

The conversation flowed easily, the comfortable silence between them filled with gentle touches and soft smiles. Y/n felt a sense of belonging, as if her stomach was indeed a map to a place only they could find together. The way George looked at her, the way his eyes lit up every time he touched her, made her feel like the most beautiful person in the room.

As they sat in the pub, enjoying their food and drinks, she couldn't help but feel a thrill every time his hand touched her skin. It was as if they were sharing a secret, a silent language that no one else could understand. She leaned into his touch, her body responding to his affection with a warmth that radiated outwards.

"You wore this on purpose, didn't you?" George murmured, his eyes never leaving her stomach. His voice was low and teasing, a smirk playing on his lips.

Y/n pretended to look offended, but the glint in her eye gave her away. "What? This old thing?" She plucked at the fabric of her crop top, feigning innocence. "It's just what I grabbed from the wardrobe."

George's smirk grew wider. "Yeah, sure it is." He leaned in closer, his breath tickling her ear. "But I'm not complaining." His hand slid under the hem of her shirt, his fingertips dancing along the waistband of her jeans.

Y/n felt a rush of excitement, the warmth in her cheeks spreading to the rest of her body. She placed her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Well, if it's working, then maybe I'll have to make it a habit."

George's eyes darkened, his voice dropping an octave. "Just don't say I didn't warn you." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck. "I might not be able to keep my hands to myself."

Y/n shivered, the anticipation building. She knew that look in his eyes, the one that promised a night of passion and love. But she also knew George well enough to understand that his self-control had its limits, especially when it came to her. She smirked, feeling a thrill at the thought of pushing those boundaries. "I'll take that risk," she whispered, leaning into his touch.

Her hand began to wander up his thigh, her fingertips lightly grazing the fabric of his jeans. George's breath hitched, his grip on her stomach tightening. The pub's atmosphere was forgotten as their eyes locked, the air between them charged with a magnetic pull. The music and chatter of the other patrons faded into the background, replaced by the thud of their racing hearts.

"You're playing with fire, you know," George warned, his voice thick with desire.

Y/n giggled, the sound sending a delicious shiver down his spine. She knew exactly what she was doing and reveled in the power she had over him. "I like the heat," she whispered, her hand sliding up his thigh a little further.

The tension in the air was palpable, the energy between them crackling like a live wire. George swallowed hard, his hand moving to the small of her back, his thumb brushing the bare skin just above her jeans. The touch was electric, sending jolts of desire through her body. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body leaned into hers, seeking more contact.

With a final squeeze of her hand, George leaned back, tossing some bills onto the table. "Come on," he murmured, his voice a gruff whisper that sent a thrill through her. He didn't wait for a response, standing up and pulling her to her feet. Y/n didn't resist, her heart racing with excitement.

*****

They stepped out into the cool London night, the alleyway just a few paces away. It was dimly lit, the flicker of distant street lamps throwing shadows across the cobblestone path. The air was thick with the scent of rain, the promise of a storm hanging just out of reach. George's hand was firm in hers, pulling her into the shadows.

The moment they were out of view, he spun her around, pressing her back against the brick wall. His eyes were dark with desire, his breathing ragged. "You're driving me crazy," he growled, his hand sliding back up to her bare stomach.

Y/n's eyes danced with mischief. "Is that so?" She reached up, looping her arms around his neck, her fingertips grazing the short hairs at the base of his skull. "And what are you going to do about it?"

George's hand slid up her side, his thumb grazing the edge of her crop top. He leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was both fiery and tender. His other hand found her hip, pulling her closer, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. The feel of her against him was intoxicating, the softness of her skin a stark contrast to the roughness of the wall behind her.

Y/n moaned softly, her body responding instinctively to his touch. Her own hands roamed his back, her nails digging in as she pulled him closer. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as their breaths mingled in the damp air. The anticipation was exquisite, the promise of more making her knees weak.

George's hand slipped under her shirt, his calloused fingers exploring the warm, soft skin of her stomach. His touch was gentle but firm, as if he was worshipping the very essence of her. Y/n arched into him, her body begging for more. The coolness of the wall was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, the chilly air raising goosebumps along her exposed flesh.

But just as their passion threatened to spill over into something more, George pulled away, his breaths coming in short gasps. "No," he murmured, his voice strained. "Not here. Not like this." He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes searching hers in the dim light.

Y/n's own breath hitched, surprised by his sudden restraint. But she could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between desire and respect. "Okay," she whispered, her voice shaky with anticipation. She knew he was right; the alley was not the place for this.

They broke apart, their chests heaving. George stepped back, his hand dropping to his side, his eyes still locked on hers. "Let's go home," he said, his voice low and rough. The need in his eyes was unmistakable.

Y/n nodded, her heart racing with excitement. She took his hand once more, and together they hurried down the alley, the cobblestones cool under their feet. The rain had started to fall, light droplets that kissed their skin and melded with their shared heat. The air was charged with the scent of damp earth and the electricity of their desire.

*****

By the time they reached their flat, the rain had picked up, soaking their clothes and plastering their hair to their faces. But neither of them cared. They stumbled through the door, breaking apart only long enough to kick off their wet shoes and shrug off their damp coats. The warmth of the apartment was a stark contrast to the chilly night outside, wrapping around them like a welcoming embrace.

George led her into the living room, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned down, his hands sliding up her sodden shirt to expose her stomach once again. His fingertips traced the path they had so often followed, his touch feather-light and reverent. Y/n's skin was goose-pimpled with cold and desire, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

He kissed her stomach, his lips lingering on the soft curve. "I love you," he murmured against her skin. "Every inch of you." His words sent a shiver down her spine, the warmth of his breath a stark contrast to the chilly rainwater that clung to her.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head. The sight of his bare chest, the muscles defined from his work outs, made her pulse race even faster. They had spent countless hours in this very room, exploring each other's bodies and sharing their deepest secrets. Yet every time felt like the first, a thrilling dance of discovery that never grew old.

George's hand slipped behind her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her in for another kiss. It was deep and hungry, a silent declaration of his love and lust. His other hand trailed down her back, finding the button of her jeans. With a deft twist, he popped it open, the zipper following with a metallic whisper.

Y/n's breath hitched as she felt the coldness of the room dissipate with the warmth of his touch. Her own hands found the buttons of his jeans, her fingers fumbling in their haste. They stumbled towards the bedroom, their kisses growing more urgent with each step. The rain outside grew heavier, the sound of it a soothing backdrop to their passionate reunion.

Once in the bedroom, they shed their remaining clothes with a desperate urgency, the wet fabric sticking to their skin as it fell to the floor. The room was lit only by the occasional flash of lightning, casting a stark, white light across the room before plunging them back into darkness. It was a dance of shadow and light that mirrored their own tumultuous emotions.

The bed was a beacon of warmth and comfort in the stormy night, and George pulled Y/n down onto the soft mattress. She straddled him, her hands exploring his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. His eyes never left hers, the love and desire in them as potent as the scent of the rain-drenched city outside their window.

Their kisses grew deeper, more frantic, as they rediscovered each other's bodies. George's hands slid up her thighs, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the coolness of hers. He cupped her hips, his thumbs brushing against the damp fabric of her panties. Y/n gasped into his mouth, her hips rocking against his touch.

He slid the wet fabric aside, his fingertips dancing over her sensitive skin. She was already wet for him, her arousal a slick invitation that had him groaning into her neck. His touch grew bolder, one finger slipping inside her, his other hand gently caressing her clit. Her breath hitched, her body tightening around him.

Y/n’s hips began to move, riding his hand in a silent plea for more. Her nails scored his shoulders, leaving half-moons in his skin. George’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in harsh pants. He could feel her building, her muscles clenching around his finger, her breaths coming faster and faster.

With a final, desperate kiss, he positioned himself at her entrance, feeling the slick heat of her arousal. He pushed into her, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle that had been separated for too long. Y/n’s eyes widened with pleasure, her back arching as he filled her completely. The storm outside mirrored the tempest within them, the thunder a drumbeat to their passion.

They moved together, their rhythm syncing as if they had been doing this for an eternity. The rain lashed against the windows, a natural symphony that accompanied their intimate melody. George’s hand found her stomach again, the skin now slick with sweat and rainwater. He traced the taut muscles, feeling her body respond to his every touch.

Her breath grew ragged, her eyes never leaving his as she rode the wave of pleasure he created. His thumb circled her belly button, the sensation sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. She felt her orgasm building, a crescendo that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The storm outside grew wilder, the thunder clapping in time with their hearts.

George watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth fell open in silent cries of ecstasy. He felt her tighten around him, her body a symphony of sensation. His own climax was approaching, the pressure building like a dam ready to burst. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his hand moving to her hip, guiding her movements, urging her closer to the edge.

Their bodies were slick with sweat, the sound of their skin slapping together in time with the storm's tempo. The rain pounded against the windows, a cacophony that only served to amplify their passion. Y/n's nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks that would linger for days. They were both lost in the moment, in the fiery dance of love that had become so familiar yet remained so intoxicating.

Her breath grew shallower, her hips moving faster against him. George could feel the tension in her body, the tightening of her muscles around him. He knew she was close, her stomach muscles quivering under his hand. With a final, deep thrust, he watched as the pleasure overtook her. Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth forming a silent scream as she climaxed, her body shaking with the force of it.

The sensation of her release was too much for him to bear. He followed her over the edge, his own orgasm ripping through him like a thunderclap. He pulled out just in time, his warm seed spilling onto her stomach. The sight of it, the proof of their union, was incredibly erotic, a visual representation of their love and desire.

Y/n's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt him come, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax. She watched, transfixed, as his hand moved to his cock, his thumb catching the last drops of his essence. He leaned down, pressing his sticky fingers against her skin, painting her belly with the evidence of their passion.

The warmth of his release was a stark contrast to the coolness of her stomach, and she gasped as the sensation sent a new wave of pleasure through her. "George," she breathed, her voice still shaky from her orgasm. He chuckled, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he traced the pattern of his desire across her abdomen.

He leaned in, his mouth capturing hers in a gentle kiss that spoke of love and tenderness. Y/n could taste the faint saltiness of him, and she felt her heart swell with emotion. The storm outside had reached its crescendo, the rain pummeling the windows like a million tiny fists. Yet, in the quiet sanctity of their bedroom, they were the only two people that mattered.

George pulled away, his eyes never leaving hers. He admired her stomach, now adorned with the evidence of their passion. The muscles quivered slightly, a testament to the intensity of their lovemaking. He reached for the bedside tissue box, pulling out a soft wad of paper. With a gentle touch, he began to clean her up, wiping away the sticky remnants of their love.

His eyes were full of adoration as he took care of her, his movements deliberate and tender. Every stroke of the tissue was a silent declaration of his love, a promise to cherish every part of her. Y/n watched him, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. The intimacy of the moment was as potent as the storm outside, the quietness of their actions speaking louder than any words could.

When he was done, George couldn't resist leaning in to press a soft kiss to her stomach, his lips lingering on her skin. "You know," he said with a mischievous grin, "you're going to have to start charging me rent for all the time I spend here."

Y/n giggled, her body still humming with pleasure. "Rent, huh?" She trailed her fingers through his hair, feeling the dampness from the rain. "What do you think I should charge?"

George considered it, his expression thoughtful. "A lifetime's worth of snuggles and kisses?"

Y/n's laugh was breathless. "Sounds like a fair trade." She leaned down to kiss him, her hand still resting on his cheek. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the coolness of her belly, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of completion, of home.

They settled into the warm cocoon of the bed, the storm outside growing more distant as their bodies grew closer. George wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest. Her head found its familiar resting place on his shoulder, his heartbeat a comforting lullaby. The rain had slowed to a gentle patter, the occasional rumble of thunder a soothing reminder of the world outside their bubble.

It was in these quiet moments that George felt most alive, most connected to her.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23

A/n: Tiktok inspiration https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP81S7cEA/

[sewersaga]

YOUR TEETH IN MY NECK- aventurine x foxian! reader

bee's masterlist

9.6k words. sorry (not)

warnings: female bodied reader with she/her pronounce, v v suggestive, mentions of past abuse (aventurine), alcohol usage, sexual cotent BUT NO SMUT, miners dni

Now that you think about it, you can hardly remember the name of that planet.

You remember the rustic hotel bar, the foreign music thrumming in your veins as you savored your drink. The setting was far different from the last planet you’d been on, but the welcome change of scene and the alcohol settled in your veins, leaving you antsy to learn everything the place had to offer. The others were off who knows where, probably sticking their noses in business that didn’t concern them, although, wasn’t it the nature of the Trailblazers to always want to play the hero?  And despite being one of them, and treasuring them like your own family, you preferred to get your kicks elsewhere. And who could blame a creature like you for craving a bit of chaos?

That night, chaos sidled up to you at the bar, ornately dressed and smooth as vermouth, gesturing for your drink to be put on his tab.

You don’t remember what you talked about initially, just that the conversation quickly devolved into one of barely veiled innuendo and mutual debauchery, although it was impossible to ignore the way he devoted his entire attention to you when you spoke. He fixed you with his stunning gaze beneath those rose tinted glasses, and you quickly began to wonder why he continued to wear them even inside the dimly lit room. The exchange felt like a masquerade of sorts, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him startlingly beautiful and even more intriguing.

Although, it could be said that those with the most gorgeously deceiving outward appearances are the most dangerous. Surely, he was no different. Everything about him screamed well-dressed danger, but luckily for the both of you, your body seemed to crave it.

After a few more drinks, you decided to take proceedings upstairs to your room to avoid drawing any curious eyes. After all, a pink haired foxian and an ostentatiously outfitted blond would surely not be overlooked in a situation like this, and considering his deeply refined appearance, the man likely had a status to uphold. Namely, one that didn’t involve getting overly familiar with a petite fox eared woman out in public. Although you fit right in with the other foxes on Xianzhou, your species was rather rare on other planets, quickly allowing their residents to recognize you as an outsider. The man that kissed you hungrily against the door to your hotel room was clearly not a local either, despite sharing some common features with the native people.

Now that you think about it, he mentioned his affiliation with the IPC quite early on in the discussion, and it piqued your interest because he decidedly did not reveal his awareness of your affiliation with the Astral Express. Of course, it was only your first encounter with the man, so he had no obligation to reveal anything to you. Hell, you hadn’t even exchanged names. Still, he didn’t seem like the type to not speak carefully, and every word exchanged between the two of you that night seemed to further the gamble you weren’t yet aware you had a hand in.

Until hours later when you had thoroughly reaped the rewards of your shared win, the heartbeat of this stranger insistent beneath your cheek.  “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret a thing.” You craned your neck up to look at him, the shell of your ear brushing his face. “But you don’t even know my name.”

You felt him hum, amused, his arm lazily draped over your body. “Do you know who I am?”

The pieces had long since arranged themselves in your mind. You’d done your due diligence as an Express crew member to research the top brass of the IPC, and only one person fit this description. “Of course, Aventurine.” Just your luck to end up in bed with one of the Stonehearts, although his position meant nothing in the end. Not unless he wanted something more from you, which they always seemed to do. But the man seemed different somehow from all the others who ended up as blocked numbers in your phone after one breathless night spent together. You decided to chalk it up to the fact that he was by far the most attractive man you’d slept with in a while.

He laughed, a hand trailing ghostlike up your spine and you shivered. “You could’ve said that earlier.” His fingers came to rest between your shoulder blades, and if you were a stupider woman, you’d almost think he was pulling you closer to him. “Now I feel like a fool for not asking your name.” Noticing your sudden fit of chills, he pulled the thin bed sheets to cover more of your bodies, seemingly not realizing your state had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.

“Maybe you don’t know my name, but you know who I am.” You were simply bluffing, but he seemed to take you seriously. His hand drifted back down your body, landing on your hip, the warmth bleeding through to the bone.

“Wouldn’t that defeat the point of being a Nameless?” He asked coyly, and you giggled, ultimately unsurprised, adjusting your position so that you were practically laying on top of him.

“You do know.” He squeezed the ample flesh of your hip beneath his hand as you shifted, and a breathy sound escaped you, one you quickly swallowed upon seeing his smug expression.

It was his turn to shrug as he smoothed the skin with his palm in an insincere apology. “I didn’t. It was a lucky guess.”

You snorted, somewhat incredulous. Still, you’d indeed heard stories of the unbelievable luck of Aventurine, and the various schemes in which he’d lay his life on the line and still come out on top. “Some luck you have.” How bold a person would have to be to bet the ultimate chip, knowing that if they lose, it’s all over. Such recklessness, such utter disregard. What went through his head in those moments? You looked deeper into his radiant eyes, but saw nothing behind them but flagrant amusement and mild enrapturement.

“It’s sort of my thing.” He blinked, offering you a self-assured smile, and you began to wonder how much of that pretty exterior was all for show.

“Sure.” You allowed your body to relax on top of him, unable to stop your own train of thought despite what they say about curiosity and the cat. Perhaps the fox will be the one to be eaten alive this time, although the idea didn’t sound at all unfavorable. Suddenly, struck by an unpleasant notion, you sat up, catching his attention. “Was this all a part of some scheme to wager for our compliance?” You pressed a palm to his bare chest teasingly, and he chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling beneath your hand. “You’ve already gotten everything you’re going to get from me.”

“If I wanted your compliance, I would already have it.” His wandering hand found its way to your chin, tipping your head down to meet his gaze as he looked at you with those dazzling eyes, the kaleidoscopic hue like that of a rare gemstone yet to be named. “And I don’t make wagers that I’ll lose.”

You wondered if he could ever be categorized like a mineral, easily decoded by his most notable traits and studied beneath your curious gaze. They’re usually so easy to read, those lucky souls who get to share your bed. But true to his occupation, this man didn’t get to where he is by being transparent, and his eyes were as showy and incomprehensible as diamonds.

Perhaps he was about to say more, but your little exchange was rudely interrupted by the bothersome ringing of his phone, which sat face down on the bedside table. He sighed, his annoyance palpable, as he allowed you to dismount him, untangling himself from your limbs to reach for the device. Now shamelessly bare and suddenly cold, you rose from the creaky bed to grab your robe from where it lay discarded upon the chair in the corner. Funnily enough, you hadn’t noticed how noisy the bed was earlier, although you were likely far too occupied with other things to pay it any mind. You made a silent apology to the neighbors as you crossed the room, praying your crewmates were still out trying to save the world.

You didn’t bother listening to his conversation as you draped the cheap pink fabric around yourself, securing it with the thin band around the middle before making your way back to the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as he hung up the call. You weren’t here for more information about the IPC after all, and you’d both gotten what you came for, literally and figuratively. You’d be the last one to care about whatever pressing business he had to attend to at this hour, although you supposed corporations like his own never really slept. Such was the nature of business, and those boring topics were of little interest to you.

It was quite hard to ignore, however, the way he began to dress, recovering his clothes from where the two of you had carelessly discarded them at the bedside. “Already tired of me?” You stood on the bed, making your way over to drape your arms coquettishly around his neck. “And here I thought it would be more fun if we went again, this time using each other’s names.”  You were only teasing, evidenced by the little sway of your tail behind you against the sheets, but if he agreed, that worn little robe of yours would be tossed back on the chair in an instant, and you’d be his for the rest of the night.

“It would be, wouldn’t it?” He laughed off your advances, but made no move to evade your loose hold on him. “But business calls, I’m afraid.” You figured this was likely routine for him, slipping out of strangers’ rooms in these ungodly hours to attend to whatever business he had to handle. Coming from any other man, it would almost certainly sound like an excuse, although you never let them stay long enough to brush you off. That wasn’t your style.

And thus, a desire to make him stay was ignited in you, an unfamiliar urge to be different from all the women he’d had before. “In the middle of the night?” Your voice was almost a purr, inching dangerously close to the shell of his ear. You were well versed in your craft, after all, and sure enough, you felt him tense momentarily beneath you, seemingly considering the idea before he relaxed, casting it away.

Unwilling to give up, your hand traveled across his chest, coming to rest in the spade shaped opening that revealed the bare skin of his chest. He sighed, seemingly reluctant to let you go, and you got the sense that this little victory was yours. “This job has its perks, but I’m on call at all hours.” He turned slightly to press a kiss to your jaw, and despite the hollowness of the gesture, you froze momentarily, coming to terms with the fact that you’d actually lost. “Where’s your phone?”

You removed your arms, sitting down on the edge of the bed, effectively defeated, and a little inexplicably shaken. “On the desk.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, picking it up and staring at the home screen for a moment. “Password?” You shot him a glance that hopefully conveyed how stupid the question was. He raised a hand in surrender, passing the device for you to unlock before pulling on his gloves with his now free hands. You handed it back to him, watching as he entered his phone number.

“Here’s my contact.” He pulled on that garish fur coat of his, throwing you a wink as he made for the door. “I look forward to our partnership.”

“Partnership?” You followed behind him, tail swishing with your movements as he lingered in the doorway. “Is that what this is?” How pathetic you probably looked then, a confused little vixen trying to convince a stranger to stay the night with her. This wasn’t how you usually operated, and the way he looked at you then made you realize that he could tell.

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” With that, he leaned down, kissing you chastely on the lips, lingering for a moment longer than a goodbye warranted. He pulled away, smiling almost fondly at your uncharacteristically stunned expression.  “I’ll be in touch.” You didn’t have anything else witty to reply with, so you watched him go, suddenly dizzy and weak in the knees despite what you’d let him do to you just hours earlier.

Yes, dangerous was certainly the first word that came to mind as he threw you a wave halfway down the hallway. Perhaps you were unable to categorize him like the rare and beautiful stone he is, but that fact was certain. That, and if he didn’t call you up again, you would find him yourself and demand answers. And you’d never felt that way before. And ever persistent, fate had its own plan for the two of you, and his good luck might rub off on you soon enough.

Sure enough, fortune weaved its fickle design, and your clandestine, if not brief, meetings continued for some time, in various hotel rooms. Of course, there were a few instances over the phone as well, ones you would coyly and unconvincingly deny if brought up by a fellow crew member who heard something they’d rather they didn’t. But you were always known for being quite shameless, and you didn’t mind the reputation. People could think whatever they wanted to think about you, for you were the only one who truly knew who you were. It was always that way, you supposed. No one brought up your past, for it was never relevant to the various smaller disasters your crew handled on a daily basis.

And if anyone noticed your occasional disappearances while docked on a random planet, or the way you’d return smelling of expensive cologne, or even the time March 7th stumbled upon an untouched pristine gold watch in your room, they never said anything. Knowing you, they probably assumed you’d spill the dirty details if prompted. And they wouldn’t be entirely wrong, although these tokens ultimately meant nothing to you, and sometimes made you feel cheap. You couldn’t stop him from buying you things, though, and if you got rid of them, he’d just send you a replacement. You supposed it was a nice problem to have, but you were certainly the wrong person to have it.

And despite your experimentation on the various other planets you stopped on, no one else made you feel that sense of vertigo he provoked when he kissed you. So until you figured out what that was all about, he wasn’t going anywhere. And if his affections towards you were anything to go by, he didn’t want to. Rather risky, indeed, but you’d always loved playing with fire, or so a certain general told you a long, long time ago.

But the past didn’t matter, nor was your future set in stone, and luckily for you, that damned gambler had found his way back into your life. Seeing him among your crewmates in the hotel lobby as you checked in rather than in a dimly lit room was a bit jarring, considering the fact he hadn’t exactly made a favorable impression upon the group. “You know this guy, [Name]?” March had asked then, confusion knitting her brow.

“We’re old friends.” He had responded immediately and naturally, and who were you to deny him? Perhaps your future was indeed preordained, for you realized that rather than wanting nothing to do with him, you wanted to see him more and more.

The day Alisa went missing was one of the worst days of your life, and in a lifetime as long as yours, there were plenty to choose from. You were docked upon the Planet of Festivities, Penacony, a stop that you were particularly excited for because of the pure indulgence that awaited you upon it. When Alisa failed to join the rest of you in the lobby that day, alarm bells quickly rang, for that committed and devoted girl would never neglect her responsibilities, much less leave you all to worry in her absence.

Delicate, white ribboned, and naively beautiful, you couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities of what Alisa was being subjected to. You couldn’t help but feel like the sweet dream of Penacony allowed for the most depraved minds to thrive undisturbed in the shadows, and an angel like her would be swallowed whole in the dark syrupy quicksand of immorality. A self-proclaimed sinner like yourself would know these things from personal experience, understanding how easily your past can lead you down the path of an unfavorable future.

The relentless worry wrought your mind to no end. The girl went through enough in her life, and the last thing she needed was to be taken by someone who didn’t have her best interests at heart. As much as you liked to tease the girl (really, she was so easy to get a rise out of) you’d grown very fond of her, and her disappearance weighed heavily upon you.

You confessed this to Aventurine at the hotel bar, the interaction a twisted mirror of the night you first met, although this time your unrelated unease was palpable. Your fear for your friend’s life made it impossible to keep the walls up that you typically reserved for your dalliances with strangers, although the man beside you could surely no longer be considered such considering the extent of your relationship. Nevertheless, you felt like the heart you typically kept so shielded was now stitched to your sleeve. He watched you while you spoke of your concerns, his expression unreadable as usual, brilliant eyes glimmering beneath his glasses. “I can help, if you like.”

“You can help?” You were unable to stop yourself from scoffing, for what reason did he have to offer his help? Any loyalty he had toward the Express was due to some sort of yet to be revealed shared interest, and his not so covert extracurriculars with you. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Aventurine, but what sort of command do you have over the Dreamscape that would allow you to find my colleague?”

He raised an eyebrow, adjusting his sunglasses. “Mr. Aventurine? Your friends aren’t around, so you don’t have to address me as such.”

You tilted your head, almost mockingly. The stress had seeped far into your bones, and his inability to speak directly, although alluring in the bedroom, was presently getting on your last nerve. “Why? Does it bother you?” He simply smirked handsomely, and you plucked his glasses from where they rested on the bridge of his nose, momentarily stunning him. “Answer my question, Aventurine.” You placed them on your own face, praying they conceal your true emotions like they did for him.

He raised an eyebrow at you, amused, but making no move to take them back from you. “None.” He shrugged, sipping his drink. “But I have my suspicions, and you know even my guesses are seldom incorrect.” How dare he be so cavalier when your friend’s life is on the line? You didn’t know if his reckless betting was a part of his true nature or a symptom of a far more concerning ailment, but you lacked the patience to investigate any further at the moment being. “How odd for Miss Alisa’s disappearance to coincide with the death of that man’s sister.”

“You’re awfully confident with that assumption, aren’t you, gambler?” You returned his grin with one of your own, although not without a bit of fang and venom. You tipped the sunglasses down to look at him properly, hoping he wouldn’t call your bluff. “And if you help us, what’s in it for you? I seem to recall you saying you never make deals where you’re on the losing end.”

“Your memory doesn’t fail you, sweetheart.” He spoke with a laugh, his voice dripping with something that made you squeeze your thighs together in remembrance of all the prior times you heard that sultry twinge in his tone in a far different setting. You raised an eyebrow at his audacity, ignoring the urge to take him upstairs to vent your frustrations when there are far more pressing matters at hand. “But don’t worry, I know where I’m not wanted. I’ll leave you and your friends to your own investigation, but don’t say I didn’t offer.”

Your ears lowered with mild displeasure, exposing your feelings about his statement despite your eyes being hidden behind his rose tinted shades. “The others won’t be too pleased if they found out you came to me. They don’t fully trust you as is.” The worst part of your foxian nature by far is your body’s propensity towards revealing your true emotions when it’s in your best interest to conceal them. Surely it would make you a horrible gambler, although it’s only one of many reasons why you would never try your hand at a game.

He cocked his head at you, that stupid lazy grin still at home on his face. “And you do?”

You sighed, a sound laced with self-hatred, because the way he was looking at you almost had you reeling. How weak of a woman had you become that all a man need do is look at you to get you worked up? “I didn’t say I did. But I’m far more familiar with you than they are, and I’m telling you to stay out of it.” Perhaps you could attribute your current state to the alcohol you consumed? More research was certainly needed in order to find a way to become immune to this man, for that’s all he is. He’s just a man.

“Fine, fine.” You’ve known so many men before, but this one infuriated you when he waved you off, and despite trying to maintain a calm facade, your ears lowered even further. He fixed you with a mirthful look in response reaching out to run a gloved hand through your hair, his fingers lingering at the base of your ear. You tried to remain outwardly impassive, but your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch as your ear twitched pleasantly in response. “Don’t let this put a damper on your stay. I’m sure she’ll turn up soon enough.” He raised himself from the barstool, heading off to who knows where, and leaving you sufficiently flustered. “Later.”

Your phone went off a few moments later, and of course the asshole had sent you the price of your drinks and a couple ten thousand credits more. Tip the bartender as much as you like, but I sent more than enough for you to have some extra spending money. You stared at the screen in confused distaste for a moment before another message came through. Oh, and keep the glasses. They look better on you. You didn’t need his charity, and you sent him a message letting him know in no uncertain terms, but he only sent you more money. He was impossible to reason with, and that’s why you found yourself resenting him, despite how undeniably alluring you found him.

And despite everything going on, you had half a mind to not text him back right now to meet you in your room in ten, if not just to return those stupid sunglasses. Although in all honesty, that would be the last thing on your mind were you to be alone with him.

But as sure as the prodigal son’s return, Alisa turned up, having been held gently as a dove in the bleeding palms of none other than Sunday himself. Despite her long absence, she showed no signs of physical or mental trauma, and on the contrary, she seemed just as gentle as before, draped in the finest silks Penacony had to offer. Something didn’t make sense, but of course, Aventurine’s suspicions regarding that man were entirely correct, leaving you to regret brushing off his help so readily. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so quick to cast him away, you would’ve found her quicker, although something told you she wouldn’t have been ready to leave. But despite the complicated logistics of the situation, one fact was certain in your mind: anything Sunday had been forced to let go of was left with claw marks from his controlling grip.

And perhaps control was a form of love? You wouldn’t know, but the notion was entirely ridiculous to you, that the thorns that bound Alisa to him could’ve been born of anything else but a desire to possess. Still, when you looked at Alisa, you saw no sign of claw marks, nor thorny brambles. She was just as unmarred as the day she left, and that confused you even further.

Before you left that hedonistic heaven of a planet, however, you found yourself knocking on Aventurine’s door for answers. After all that had happened, you’d learned far more about him than he was willing to tell you himself, and you became even more convinced that all of the smooth-talking and flaunting of wealth was overcompensation for a deep-seated sense of worthlessness. It upset you deeply, because as much as you told yourself you had no reason to care for this man, for this almost stranger who shared your bed, you still worried for him.

What made him different? Was it his dangerous beauty, his immense wealth, or his cavalier nature? Or perhaps, it was the way he touched you like you were worth every single treasure in the world? It didn’t matter, because that meddlesome little feeling in the pit of your chest wasn’t going away any time soon, not until you got the answers you sought.

Aventurine had really gone and done it now. Destroying a cornerstone was sure grounds to be demoted, if not fired completely, but a break wouldn’t necessarily be the worst thing to happen to him right now. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d do away with him altogether. He could only hope as much.

Penacony was a disaster, sure, but the IPC had gotten what they wanted, and there were certain colleagues who would undeniably be on his side through this flaming pile of shit whether he wanted them to or not. And in all honesty, he hadn’t expected to be around long enough to see the aftermath. So how was he supposed to go about living when he never intended to continue in this twisted labyrinth in the first place? How was he to live in a world that took everyone he ever loved from him? If this was what it meant to be blessed, then he truly was given a shitty hand.

But then, there was you. He hadn’t seen much of you since your friend’s sudden disappearance, and he could tell the event had shaken you to your core. In fact, something told him you were even more torn up about it after her return. Of course, he made sure you were aware he’d be here to comfort you in any way you needed, but was that really what he wanted from you?

That was the tricky thing about being a gambler. You have to always know what you want out of the game, or else your efforts are pointless. And Aventurine could not remember a time that he ever knew what he truly desired. Even when he was younger, his focus was always on survival, on buying and selling, being bought and being sold.

Still, he could hardly consider whatever he exchanged with you pointless. In fact, some of the moments he spent with you were the only times he felt any semblance of meaning in a very long time. You made him feel like a person rather than a trading chip, and perhaps that was what he never knew he wanted.

He’d met up with you once more before the shit really hit the fan, sitting beside you on the couch in your hotel room as you apologized for being so harsh with him when you rejected his help. He wasn’t sure what happened to change your mind, but you seemed earnest, far more than someone like him deserved. He had certainly overstepped in your moment of vulnerability, but he really had wanted to help you for nothing in return, a fact that surprised him just as much as it did you.

Despite your shared proximity, his arm draped lazily around your waist, you hadn’t shared more than a few kisses. The situation felt far more intimate than the typical nature of your relationship, and before he left, you took his face in your palms tentatively. “Be safe, alright?” 

The tender exchange was so unbefitting of the both of you that it took him off guard. There were always moments like these between the two of you— touches that lingered for a few moments too long, shared glances amongst a group. These instances threatened to thaw something within him that froze long ago, and it was scary. He had to disregard everything, to forget you, if he wanted to bring the grand mirage that was Penacony to its end by bargaining the most significant chip he had left.

In the Dreamscape, that twisted version of himself told him to die without regrets, and he thought he made his peace. He told himself that you would be better off without him, that you were simply two planets that orbited the same sun for a time, nothing more, nothing less. Of course he knew it was a fib, but in his world, lying was a form of survival, even if the one he was fooling in the end was himself.

Despite his fortunate foresight, however, he hadn’t expected you to seek him out before the Express left Penacony, considering the way things ended. However, as he sat contemplating what the future he never thought he’d see might bring, there was an insistent knock on the door of his room.

“Why do you do it?” You questioned him the moment he opened the door, his guard still somewhat down. He blinked, surprised, as you waltzed past him into the room, visibly agitated.

“Hm?” He quickly resumed that easygoing air of nonchalance that you were used to from him, watching as you approached the Dreampool, your gaze fixed upon its bubbling surface to avoid his gaze.

“Risk your life for the possibility of zero reward.” You hesitantly turned back to face him, the pool’s aquamarine glow lighting you in a way that made you look divine.  “That’s not a very wise gamble.”

He chuckled softly, unable to conceal the fondness that crossed his face when he looked at you. “The phrase ‘wise gamble’ itself is an oxymoron, sweetheart. If we were wise, we wouldn’t be gambling.” He approached you, hoping his words would be enough to dispel the concern on your face. “In a game of chance, the one who comes out on top is the one who has the most to lose.” You really did have a horrible poker face, and as much as he would love to bring you along to a game or two, you’d probably accidentally reveal his entire game plan with a few poorly timed twitches of your ear.

And like clockwork, your ears lowered as your expression soured. He envied you for a fleeting moment, the way you couldn’t hide a single thing you felt. “That’s just stupid.” He wondered if he would ever be able to live like that, with his heart on his sleeve. But in his experience, being able to express one’s feelings was a death sentence. Better to swallow them down and gamble with his words, doing everything to hide that imperceptible twitch of his hand that threatened to betray his self doubt.

He shrugged, turning away from you so he wouldn’t have to see that expression of yours. “Maybe to you, but it’s my livelihood.” Any moment longer under your gaze and he’d ruin his game, he who never faltered. You were quiet for a moment and he took the opportunity to move to the couch, casually sitting down and patting the spot beside him for you to join him.

You did not move, remaining in front of the incandescent Dreampool like a goddess. “You have so much more to give. Information, money, power. Why resort to the ultimate sacrifice?”

“Those things are worth nothing to others. But my life?” He paused, and you raised an eyebrow. “Well, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” And despite the statement being disguised as a joke, it was probably the most honest he’d ever been with you.

He watched as you blinked at him in mild surprise, your fangs threatening to reveal themselves along with your mild annoyance. “You’re kidding me, right?” You moved purposefully towards the couch, before suddenly taking the opportunity to straddle his lap rather than sit beside him. “How can you look me in my eyes and tell me your life is worth nothing?” At his non-response, you leaned in so you were face to face, your noses almost touching. Your eyes were wide and watery, and he hesitated again, taken off guard by your sincerity. “Go on. Look at me and say it.”

And surely, it had to be you who was joking. There was no reason for you to care about him. There was no reason for him to hold any sort of value in your life, for if he did, he would have let you use him however you wanted long ago with zero question. He would do that for you, and perhaps he would even do anything for you. But he still could not, for the life of him, figure out why you were looking at him like your world would collapse if he disappeared.

He sighed, responding with a question of his own. “Why are you upset with me?”

You snarled, an expression he’d seen you direct so many times at others, but never him. “Why do you think?” You were visibly angry and hurt all at once, although he feared you hurt more for him than for yourself. And he felt it was so terribly unfair that you felt obligated to waste your time on a former slave with a raging inferiority complex despite having so much to offer yourself.

“I’m sorry, [Name].” He hadn’t expected those words to leave his mouth, and it seemed that you hadn’t either, for your eyes widened, and the tears that threatened to fall earlier began to spill down your cheeks.

Despite your tears, you scoffed bitterly. “Why are you apologizing to me? You’re only hurting yourself.”

He took your face in a gloved hand, wiping a stray tear with his thumb. “You’re the one crying.”

“I’m not—” You pulled back, looking at his finger, moistened with your teardrops. Your hand came up to touch your face, and you laughed bitterly, leaning back upon his thighs. “Maybe you’ll finally listen to me.”

“I want you to listen to me.” He spoke gently, afraid of upsetting you further, but still wanting to say his piece. If you continued to worry about him, you’d be the one ending up hurt, and didn’t he promise not to involve anyone else in his schemes, to keep them all concealed to protect the ones he loved? “What happens to me has nothing to do with you. I promise, everything will work out in the end. It always does.” He tried his best to sound jovial, reassuring, but you were a smart woman, and you weren’t buying this gamble. He sighed, thinking of the people who died because he failed to protect them, the lives he’d taken to prove his own worth. He couldn’t bear to add your name to the list.

“Is it so hard to believe that your life has value to someone?” The notion made him falter completely, and you had effectively called his bluff, beating him at his own game. Honestly, he would be kind of proud if the situation weren’t so grim. “Do you want to die, Aventurine? Do you?” You took it one step further, hitting terribly close to home.

When his future self confronted him in that dream, he essentially asked him the same question. Whenever he had to make a gamble, the thing that meant the most to others, and the least to himself, was his life. How was he supposed to think any differently when he’d always been seen as nothing more than something to buy or sell? He was free of those bloody shackles that enchained him, and he would never again be looked down upon like that. But he still wasn’t certain exactly what he planned to reap from life now that he was free.

So he told that man, the one who looked just like him, that he’d know the answer once he got to where he was going. And since that moment, he had been to death’s door and back, and you were still here waiting for him. You sat on his lap now, weeping for him. Perhaps it was a sign from the universe, an omen pointing him in the right direction. But Aventurine no longer believed in the power of the universe, the same one that had taken everything from him.

So what else was he supposed to do except leave you before he destroyed your life even further? His non-response was the only answer you needed, and your annoyed demeanor quickly deflated into one of sadness and defeat before you climbed off of him, smoothing your clothes. “Goodbye, Aventurine.”

Naturally, things didn’t end there when it came to the happenings on the Planet of Festivities. Everyone with skin in the game had their own agenda, and the Astral Express was not an exception. Luckily for you, though, the crew needed someone to stay back with Alisa as her impromptu jailkeeper to ensure she didn’t leave the Express. No one expected you to volunteer, for you had been the most excited to explore everything the planet had to offer. But you had admittedly less important matters on your mind that you had to think through.

And Alisa seemed to be taking her protective punishment quite well, for she still buzzed around the Express doing her daily tasks, and cooked all of your meals happily. She clearly sensed something was wrong, for you were unknowingly horrible at concealing your own sadness, and doted on you as a result, although you couldn’t help but think it should be the other way around. And despite her nature causing her to behave pleasantly, Alisa still wore her sadness upon her back like her own personal cross to bear.

Despite being such a typically talkative woman, you and Alisa often sat in silence those days while your crewmates wrapped up affairs on Penacony, curled into each other on the couch while she gently stroked your ears. It was the nature of a Foxian to enjoy a pet or two, and you lavished her attention, but not before explicitly warning her not to tell a soul.

And day after day, the jailbird still sang sadly, peering out between the bars of her cage with a melancholy look upon her delicate face. The girl was always prone to lovesick contemplation, but for you, this was all so very new, and every sensation was unfamiliar and raw. You found yourself deeply thankful, however, that you weren’t alone, and Alisa’s penchant toward pondering loves of the past and present began to wear off on you.

What made this situation different? You’d ended affairs before, both concisely and messily, but never had you cried over someone who you crossed paths with, and never had you walked alongside someone for so long that you’d grown to care for them. Never before had you tried to nullify someone else’s self destructive tendencies, because never before had you stuck around long enough to learn who they truly were. And despite what his actions had told you, there was still so much more you didn’t know about that man. As you sat beside Alisa, tears silently streaming down your face, you were embarrassed.

Every time you allowed your own heart to cloud your judgment, it led to your downfall. You forsook your own family back on the Yaoqing, and for what? A man who wouldn’t even look your way after he got what he wanted? And perhaps Aventurine had received what he desired from you, and was now willing to throw you to the wolves in favor of clawing his way down to hell, and that had nothing to do with you. Time heals all wounds, and soon enough, you’ll have forgotten all about him, and he will have ruined himself by his own hand. And if the notion made you sob a little harder in Alisa’s arms, it was entirely unrelated to him, nothing but a byproduct of your own stupidity.

As you let her brush through your tail with an antique jade comb, the soothing motion coaxing your deepest anxieties out into the open, a new fear came to mind. Before, maybe you were alone, but you never once felt lonely. But now that you were no longer in contact with the one person you thought you could connect with on a deeper level, you suddenly worried that you would never be able to feel that way about someone else. Once the words left your mouth, you regretted them, for Alisa’s ministrations with the comb halted. “Don’t speak as if he’s dead.”

You scoffed. “He wants to be.” You spoke bitterly through the thickness of tears lingering in your throat. Alisa hummed before continuing to brush your fur.

“He’ll be back.” She reached down to pat your head, and your ears twitched in a combination of annoyance and resigned enjoyment. You turned back to face her, your eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.

“What makes you so sure?” She offered you a small, knowing smile, the expression right at home on her face. You envied her ability to be so hopeful on your behalf despite being in a state of bereavement herself. Despite your own jealousy, it endeared her to you further.

“I know a lot about these things. He won’t stay away from you for long.” She ran a lithe hand through your now smoothed tail, passing you the jade comb. “He can’t.” You wished you agreed with her, but a small part of you prayed she was right, and that much like the quickly escalating situation on Penacony, things between you and Aventurine wouldn’t end here.

And after tensions boiled over, and the rest of the crew had sufficiently resolved the volatile situation, Alisa’s predictions came to fruition. The first thought that crossed your mind just three days later, when you opened the door to your cabin and saw Aventurine standing there, examining the antique fox statue on your nightstand, was that the Astral Express really does welcome all passengers. “What, do you have a work assignment on the Express or something?” Trespassing was certainly frowned upon, although the sight of him amongst the trinkets of your room wasn’t necessarily unpleasant. All of that to say that someone had to have invited him aboard, and it certainly wasn’t you. “Gonna gamble us out of every last credit we’ve got?” There was a hint of mirth to your tone, but it did little to mask the unease that you felt in the moment.

He’d told you that day through his actions that he wanted nothing to do with you, content to throw himself down a spiral of self-hatred and despair. If that was what he desired, it was fine by you, for you refused to stand by while he destroyed himself even further. And when you found yourself sobbing into your pillows for days on end afterwards, you told yourself you were only angry with yourself for feeling this way, not the fact that you mourned his absence or anything like that.

The man standing in your room like a ghost from the past turned to face you, his eyes murky as if snapping out of some sort of trance. He threw you a lazy smile, clearly unable to read your demeanor. “Something like that.”

You sighed as the door shut behind you, making no move to venture any further into the room lest this be another dream. “Why are you here?”

He shrugged, laughing almost nervously as he tentatively approached you. “Well, the IPC did want my head on a platter for a minute there, but everything’s resolved now.” He looked down at his shoes then, biting his lip momentarily before meeting your gaze again with those brilliant eyes of his. “I figured it was high time for me to make some personal calls.”

And how difficult it was for you not to crumble before him right then and there.

You steeled yourself, although you were subconsciously inching closer to him when you spoke. “And this is the first stop on your victory tour?” He swallowed, looking down at you as you stopped just centimeters away from him, so much so that you could smell his expensive cologne from where you stood. “Congratulations, you got your job back, what does that have to do with me?”

He smiled once more at you, although the expression was absent of the usual venomous honey that typically accompanied it. “Those friends of yours called me. They were really worried about you, you know.” He gently placed a gloved hand on the side of your face, and like clockwork, your body leaned into his touch. “I owe you quite a few explanations.” He kept it there for a moment, feeling the heat of your cheek against his clothed palm, before bringing it back to his side hesitantly.

Effectively placated, you blinked up at him. “You don’t owe me anything, Aventurine.” Your tone was missing its usual bite. How many times had you imagined this moment before cursing yourself for being so pathetically hopeful? Whatever happened between you was brief, ending because you cared far too much for a man who couldn’t care for himself. But maybe, just maybe, something within him had changed, with you as the catalyst.

“On the contrary, I think I owe you everything.” He responded sincerely, and his tone was unlike anything you’d ever heard from him before, except in those quiet moments the two of you shared when the rest of the universe was fast asleep. Those multi-colored eyes glimmered at you like a kaleidoscope, and the feel of his hand against your face lingered upon your skin like a phantom sensation.

“What are you saying?” Despite your nature, you had come to accept that you were weak before him, even though he had never asked you to be. And like himself, something beneath your exterior, far behind all the walls you put up to protect your own heart, made itself known whenever he touched you, and stirred a fire in your chest that you thought died out long ago. You decided to give him a chance, taking his hand gently in your own and leading him to sit beside you on the window seat. Once you were comfortable, he didn’t let go of it, instead resolving to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“I’ve thought a lot about our conversation that day. It seems there’s a lot more I need to come to terms with about myself.” He paused then, and you sensed that he was preparing to give you everything he had to offer, this particular gamble oddly innocent. “I’m sorry that I hurt you by involving you with me. It wasn’t my intention.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his apology, but he squeezed your hand just as you were opening your mouth to object. “But I want you by my side. Every day.” His gaze bored into your own, intense and earnest, as his characteristic smile dissolved, emphasizing his sincerity. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You were silent for a moment, and he took the time to bring your hand to his lips, brushing them against the soft skin. You let out a breathy laugh, and he met your eye, smiling expectantly. “You’ve really got to stop apologizing to me for things that aren’t your fault”

“And your answer?” He lowered your hand, decidedly not unlacing his fingers from yours. He laughed in a self-deprecating manner. “You can say no. I won’t be offended.”

“Yes.” You answered with zero hesitation, for it was the response that resonated in your soul. He could’ve asked you anything in that moment, and you would’ve responded affirmatively because you knew you were too far gone. There was still a long way to go in terms of communication between the two of you, but you were willing to try for him, if only to preserve the way you felt when he looked at you like that. “I’ll stay by your side, if you stay by mine.”

“Of course.” He pulled you to him until you sat atop his lap. “I’d never dream of leaving you again.”  A hand ran through your hair before he leaned in, his lips meeting yours sweetly. Despite how many times you’d been in this situation before, your entire body felt like jelly as you kissed in front of that window, his hands finding purchase at the base of your hips as yours wound around his neck.

You pulled away reluctantly, looking him in his eyes. “Do you promise?”

He leaned in, stealing one more kiss from you, ignoring your protests at his delayed response. “I promise.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “And when have I ever broken a promise?”

You giggled, a bit delirious from the way he kissed you. “You haven’t exactly made me many promises.”

“Then let this be the first. I’m not going anywhere.” He grabbed at the fat of your backside much like he did the night you first met, although this time there was a far more possessive undertone behind the action. “And neither are you.”

“I wouldn’t plan on it.” And perhaps you had a possessive nature of your own, for when you kissed him again, you had every intention of marking him as your own, of sinking your fangs into him until the only name he remembered was your own. Or, perhaps, you were getting a bit ahead of yourself, but the way he was moving beneath you told you he wasn’t at all opposed to the idea. “Shall we seal the deal?”

He nipped at your bottom lip as he reluctantly parted from you, that alluring grin of his cementing your intentions.  “What did you have in mind?”

You threw him a teasing smile of your own, although the way your tail swayed behind you in anticipation betrayed your want far more than your words did. “I have some time to spare if you do.”

“You have my complete attention, darling,” He spoke smoothly, his honeyed words ghosting your lips. “What do you want from me?” You giggled. Was he really going to make you say it? Well, no matter. You told him in no uncertain terms exactly what you wanted him to do to you, and he did it, because he would happily do anything and everything for you. And afterwards, when his deft hand pressed against your spine amidst the formerly pristine sheets of your bed, you knew he wanted you even closer to him than was humanly possible, because you wanted the exact same thing.

And wasn’t that new? Knowing just what the other wanted, and doing everything to make that happen? Perhaps that was what love was all about. You weren’t sure, you thought it might be something like the way his fingers laced through yours as you pressed your forehead to his, your tail moving insistently and pleasantly against your bedsheets.

Aventurine could not decipher the looks on your crewmates faces as you sat beside him on the couch in the parlor car, fingers interlaced with his, as if you hadn’t just told them that he would be accompanying them to the next stop on their voyage. “So? Aren’t you guys going to say anything?” You smiled at them, although not without a hint of fang, as if daring them to object to your decision.

“Of course.” Himeko spoke, that blessed, caring woman. “The more the merrier.” Her response and the warm smile that came along with it seemed to placate you sufficiently, although Aventurine still felt horribly out of place. But he got the feeling that wherever you were, he’d fit in just fine. The others responded with varying degrees of welcoming affirmation, although it was very hard to ignore the way Stelle and Alisa were elbowing each other and giggling to themselves, and even harder to ignore the threatening looks you were sending them. He turned to you, smiling fondly, and as you looked back, squeezing his hand, he realized this was the most at home he’d felt in a long, long while.

“Well, where to, then?” You diverted your attention back to Himeko and the rest of the crew, subconsciously leaning further into Aventurine’s side.

The group all shared a look, and you raised an eyebrow as if to ask what the hell is that supposed to mean? Finally, Stelle, ever the menace, opened her mouth. “Well, while the two of you were occupied, General Jing Yuan invited us back to the Luofu to attend the Wardance Ceremony.”

A sharp, sudden laugh escaped you, presently ignoring Stelle’s pointed comment about what the two of you had been up to. You didn’t seem to care what the rest of the crew knew, so neither did Aventurine. It was a rather freeing mindset to have. “The Wardance Ceremony? Been a long time since I’ve heard about that. I suppose I’ve been traveling with you all for too long.”

Himeko chuckled good naturedly. “You don’t seem to have any complaints about that.”

You offered her that pretty grin of yours in return, fangs peeking out. “Oh, believe me, I have none. Are we going?” There was that shared look again, before March 7th nodded. “No way. You guys must be itching for a fight then. It’s mostly martial arts contests.”

Alisa smiled, coming to sit down beside you. The girl seemed to have recovered well from her stint with the Family, and Aventurine found it nice to see her up and about. So much so that he even let go of your hand to allow her to take it, although you settled further into him to compensate. “Have you ever competed?”

You snorted. “Nah. Do you think I’d stand a chance there? It should be fun though.” You shrugged, your tail beating with anticipation against his leg, and he exhaled mirthfully at the fact that you didn’t seem to notice.

“Mister Aventurine?” Alisa craned her neck to see around you, making eye contact with him. He hesitated, not expecting to be addressed so directly by any member of the crew. In fact, he’d been ready to be treated as just an extension of you for a while, something he really wouldn’t have minded much at all.

As such, he shrugged in a way he hoped came off as nonchalant. “Well, seeing as I’m the newest guest, my opinion shouldn’t mean too much in the grand scheme of things.” You scoffed, elbowing him. Right. Whenever he would say something that edged too close to the line of self deprecation, you would let him know in no uncertain terms.

“As long as you’re traveling with us, your input is important.” You turned back to him, taking both of his hands this time. You shot a pointed look at the rest of the group, a warning to comply hidden in your tone.  “Right?”

The crew murmured in agreement, although they didn’t seem to harbor enough ill will towards him to ostracize him from the rest of the gang. He sighed inconspicuously, the sound edged with relief. “Well, it certainly sounds entertaining. I’m down.”

Stelle grinned deviously, and he prepared himself for the worst. “Good. Because we already decided to go while you guys were holed up in your room.” A slightly less direct reference to the hours he’d spent with you prior to making the decision to come along. He’ll take it.

You groaned, reaching out to swat at her legs, which she quickly avoided as if used to it. Knowing you, she probably was. “What was the point of asking us then?”

“Inclusivity.” She snickered, and Alisa jumped up off the couch to join her lest she too be within your radius of swatting.

Himeko smiled fondly at your antics, and Aventurine decided he could get used to being a part of this family, albeit an extended member. “Let’s set off then.” He’d made many gambles in his life, but staying by your side was by far the easiest and most advantageous decision he’d ever make.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Pairing:Trans!Male!Reader x Male!Centaur

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Fluffy Smut, Established Relationship, Breeding Kink

Warnings: AFAB terms used to describe anatomy.

Word Count: 1646 words

Summary: After many nights of diligent practice, you saddle up and take your boyfriend all the way.

FiRequest: could i possibly request male centaur x trans male reader?? they’ve been dating for a while and working up to it but it’s the first time reader has managed to take his boyfriends full cock 🫢 afab terms for anatomy are fine and maybe a little breeding kink thrown in if you’re comfy with it!!

A/N: Y’all know I had to give it this title

You think tonight is going to be the night.

There’s an energy in the air as you watch Samuel cook, perched on your shared couch. He’s always been a handsome centaur; a finely cut jaw with a well-maintained beard, dark caramel eyes set behind long lashes, and silky hair that falls down in luscious curls all the way to his back, but something about tonight had every step he takes stirring something hot in your gut. The way his back stretches out his t-shirt, the way you can see the muscles of his shoulders move as he dices his onions, the way the more human torso arches and his front legs bend as he takes a mini stretch.

Your engine is revved by the time dinner is served, and you know tonight will be the night.

The two of you are locked in a sloppy makeout, dirty dishes still in the sink as you sit on the counter, legs wrapped around Samuel’s ribcage. His long piano fingers dance up your sides, playing with your pajama shirt. You grind against his navel, and he chuckles against your lips.

“Someone’s eager.”

“You’re so hot.” You say between messy kisses, feeling up his muscular lower back. “How could I not be?”

Samuel chuckles again, ignoring your whines and pulling away to kiss at your neck. His hands move from your waist to your butt, sliding under to pick you up. Your ankles cross behind him.

“Need you.” You moan, grinding onto hum like a horny teenage. “Need your cock.”

Samuel’s eyes grow dark, licking his lips as he looks you up and down.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Your voice keens. “I think-” you suck in a breathe, knowing this a hold claim to make, “-I think I’m ready for all of it”

Samuel’s brows shoot up, taken slightly aback.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I wanna try, atleast.” You pout, fingers carding through his long tresses. “I’ve been practicing so much.”

And you have, both with and without him. You had bought appropriately sized dildo’s to masturabte with, cockwarming during long edging sessions just to make sure. Last time you had been able to take him until 4 inches were left, but you're confident in your practice.

Tonight is the night.

Samuel stares at you for a long time, probably wondering if you’re too crazed on lust to be trusted, but then he smirks.

“Ok, babe. We’ll try.” Samuel hikes you up on his chest, pulling you closer, face-to-face. “Same position as usual?”

You nod, eyes practically full of stars at the thought. Samuel smirks and gives you a peck on the lips, before carrying you to the bedroom.

Samuel is gentle as he sets you down onto the bed, pulling open your bedside drawer to grab the lube and your knee pillow. You stay close by his side, drawing your finders up and down his chest. You bite your lips as you pull up the hem of his shirt, admiring his treasure trail and solid stomach. Samuel shivers when you press a kiss right below his belly button. Your mischievous hand wanders down his lower half and across his front, slipping between his two front legs and petting at his fur. Eyes glance down as well, catching a peak of his cock coming out of its sheath. You wolf-whistle, sliding off the bed and shimmying off your shorts in one motion.

“You’re insatiable, babe. I haven’t even touched you yet.” Samuel says, voice low as his hand brushes between your thighs, just missing your aching hole. You whine, throwing back your ass and laying your torso onto the bed.

“I told you.” Your voice is salacious, lower lip bitten between your teeth, “I need your cock, badly.”

Stars shoot behind your eyelids as Samuel rubs two lubed-up fingers between your lips, middle finger circling your clit. He simpers.

“Yeah, you were made for this dick, huh?” Two fingers slide in easily, scissoring outward to stretch your walls. You just nod, knees digging into their pillow as you sink into the feeling. “Didn’t know my boyfriend was such a cock-tease.”

Samuel climbs up the bed, his two front knees resting beside your shoulders as he aims his cock up with your entrance. He leans forward to grab the bar you two installed just for this position, something to grab on to as he humps. Samuel’s hot head presses against your hole, as girthy as ever.

“Ready?” Samuel whispers from above, neck craned to look down between his legs, always double checking to make sure you're not crushed under his weight. You nod and give a singular pat to his fetlock, your signal to go ahead.

There’s always a slight burn when Samuel enters you, having a nearly 10 inch dick will always do that. But your body falls into position easily, your muscles relaxing to allow for easier entry, no pain causing you to clench up.

“F-uck.” Samuel’s voice drawls as the first inch, then the second, then fourth, then sixth feel your walls clench around him. You bite down on the blanket below you, toes curling into the floor. But you can do it, you can.

He hesitates a bit at the 7th inch, knowing that's usually your limit. But you give him another single pat to the leg, and he keeps going, extra slow.

It takes a tortuous amount if time for both of you, legs shaking from the tension and palpable desire, but then-

“Holy shit.” Samuel says, half amazed and half relieved. You wiggle your hips, and feel Samuel’s balls snug against you.

You’ve fit him to the hilt.

“Well?” You laugh, trying to act as if you're not on the edge just like he is. “What are you waiting for?”

You thrust your hips back, eyes rolling back as Samuel’s dick presses against the deepest part inside you. His breath hitches, stomach trembling above you.

“Oh, you asked for it.” Samuel growls, steadying his hooves.

Despite the sassy tone, Samuel’s first thrusts are tentative. He only pulls out an inch or too, moving at a glacial pace. It’s good for getting you accustomed, but you quickly yourself wanting more. You throw your hips back again, wining like an animal in heat.

“So desperate.” Samuel pants.

“Please, Sammy.” You give him your best puppy eyes from below. “Fuck me.”

That's the straw that breaks the centaurs back, Sam pulling out halfway and slamming into you with enough force to send you a couple inches across the bed. A dumb smile spreads across your face.

It’s no more Mr. Nice Guy as Samuel starts fucking you for real, heavy balls slapping against you with each hump. Your vision goes spotty every time he hits your g-spot, mouth wide open and tongue lolled out in a pant.

“Oh my g-od.” Your voice trembles as your fucked harder than you’ve ever been fucked before, feeling not unlike a fleshlight, yanked down again and again in your boyfriends massive cock. The bed shakes under your weight.

“Take it, take it.” Samuel grunts, his knuckles turning white as they grip on the bar. “Such a good boy, taking my cock all the way to-” a thrust, “-the” and another “-hilt.” and another. Your stomach presses into the eye of the bed, mind slowly losing cohesive thought. His weeping head hits your sensitive spot at the perfect angle every damn time, and you feel jolts of electricity shoot across your nerves with every hump.

Time seems to lose all meaning, words melting into grunts and whines, breathy voices blending together with heavy balls slapping against your thighs. You think you’ve forgotten where Samuel ends and you begin, forgot what it feels like to be empty of his cock. Drool is pooling in your mouth, threatening to dribble down your jaw in an erotic display of decadence.

“Fuck, I’m close.” Samuel grunts, nails grating against the bar. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside.” A voice that must be yours begs, pleads. You can imagine Sam’s smug, sweaty face already.

“Yeah? Want me to breed you?” You nod into the sheets, a dumb smile coming across your face. “Imma fill you up until you're gushing, baby.” Samuel’s hooves presse against the hardwood as he steadies his back two legs, throwing everything into his thrust. “You’d be so cute, my little house-husband, full of my kids.”

Samuels shudders as your hole clenches around him, his dirty talk only working you closer to the edge.

“Sh-it” Samuel draws out his syllables, balls feeling tight against your ass cheeks as his hips begin to stutter. A drop of sweat falls from his chest, rolling down your arched back as his breathing picks up the pace. “Here it comes, sweetheart. All for you. Fuck!”

Your back arches and toes curl as your orgasm hits, gushing with Sam’s cum as he finishes inside of you. Streams run down in rivulets across your thighs, the squelching of skin as Sam pulls out his softening cock.

You lie limp as Sam slowly hops off the bed, his front legs still trembling. He collapses next to you not soon after, laying his upper torso on the bed as his lower one rests on the cold floor. The fur around his legs and back lay datk and slick with sweat, his face flushed.

A calloused palm brushes the side of your face, dragging you out of dream-land and back to reality.

“You did great, babe.” Sam chuckles. “Think I might grow addicted to being all the way in.”

You throw him a lazy thumbs up.

“Not a problem with me.” Your words slur, lips half-pressed against the damp sheets, no doubt an imprint of your sweaty torso on them.

He leans over and kisses your neck, his hand moving to massage your neck.

“Fuck, we forgot about the dishes.”

[mitschki]

Husband Zhongli headcanons! female reader

in social settings, your Husband Zhongli is an epitome of calm and knowledge. however, the moment the conversation drift to his beloved wife, a noticeable change washes over him. this demeanor, though quiet and gentle, is unmistakable to those attentive listeners. a softness in his gaze and a smile that only thoughts of you can bring. it is a silent declaration of his love, visible in the sparkle of his golden eyes and the warmth of his smile.

Husband Zhongli, when asked about his wife, his usual façade of solemnity melts into a tender expression, "ah, my wife. she is doing quite well, thank you for asking," he smiles, his tone carrying a note of pride intertwined with fondness.

Husband Zhongli, ever the connoisseur of Liyue’s history and culture, treasures his wife even more than his most cherished antiques. he believes you are far from just another prized possession in his collection. whenever he talks about his wife, his love for you is obvious! as lasting and solid as the ancient stones he holds in high regard. it is clear you are not just part of his life, but rather the core of his very existence.

Husband Zhongli, knowledgeable with the lore and landscapes of Liyue, cherishes the moments spent wandering its paths with you. zhongli is accustomed to narrating tales but the excitement that surge within him as he shares every detail to you is incomparable. he revels in your attentiveness, the way your eyes light up in fascination at his stories draws a soft smile to his face.

Husband Zhongli who values the small physical ways of showing he cares. whether it's wrapping his arm around your waist when you're out together in public, or simply a soft touch on your back or shoulder. or on occasions, he'll find a moment to gently tuck stray strand of hair behind your ear, a silent reminder of his constant and gentle attention towards you. Reminding you that he's always there, always so attentive to you.

ahh sorry if this one is short!! i sort of don have any motivation to write! but um hopefully it returns! (o^^o)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Seeker of Cradles.

He swore to protect them. His children, his princess, his country.

Lives are precious, and he will not see them snuffed out prematurely.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Lilia acts before he can think.

He pays no mind to the audible gasps of the senators, to Baul’s worried pleading. The only voice he listens to is the one that draws him like a moth to a glowing flame.

It’s a shrill cry, the sound any infant makes. But the sob is filled with an overwhelming sadness, a deep desire that resonates with him. Lonely, longing for love.

It breaks his heart, makes him tear up.

“Wait for me!" he shouts. "I’m coming to you right now...!”

He thunders up the steps of Cradle Tower, bracing himself against the lightning hurtling his way. His hood is thrown off, hair whipping, slapping him in the face and standing on end. Lilia fears no man--but in the presence of such sheer, raw power, he's compelled to cower.

He soldiers through, forcing himself up another step. Right as his foot connects, a wild bolt comes down hard, striking him.

Lilia lets out a guttural cry, his small body keeling over. Every fiber of his being screeches in pain.

"Vanrouge-dono...!!"

He stays stationary for one long, awful moment. Then--a sharp intake of breath--and he miraculously rises on trembling legs.

"H-Hah..." he grits out, clutching onto himself. "Is that... Is that all you've got?! It'll take a lot more than THAT to take me out. Your mother has made me deal with tantrums far worse than this!!"

Lilia resumes the arduous climb. More lightning is lobbed at him. Wincing, he wills his aching muscles to weave as best he can around the incoming attacks.

He's nearing the top of the stairwell now, where the power is most concentrated and the wind howls like a banshee. Lilia raises his voice, calling over the storm.

"Are you upset because no one's paying attention to you? Well, you're wrong!! Everyone... Everyone is terribly worried about you!!

"You're such a spoiled child, rejecting your grandmother's magic. Do you know what will happen to you if you don't take it?! You'll die. You'll DIE, and all the people who sacrificed themselves so you could live was for nothing. You don't have the luxury of choice!! You MUST live!!"

The future depends on you.

He doesn't know if the unborn child can understand him or not. It must, to some extent, because the screaming in his head escalates to a frenzied pitch. A strong gale nearly knocks Lilia off the tower--he grasps onto a column and inches closer to its treasure.

The dark, speckled egg floating inside of a barrier.

"You stubborn thing!! Lilia scolds, pushing against the magical shield. His palms burn, as if coated with acid. "If you still refuse... then take me instead of Maleficia...!! I'll give you everything."

He pushes, the barrier holding firm. Pain climbs up his forearms, eating him alive from the inside out. He feels his energy being leeched, his flesh screaming, on fire, as it is sucked out.

"My love..."

The barrier shudders, shakes.

"My magic..."

His biceps are searing, his blood, molten.

"My life...!!"

A crack.

"Accept it all, Malleus...!!"

It breaks.

Lilia falls through, arms extended toward the egg. He entraps it, hugging it tightly against his chest. It’s warm. Malleus is warm, and Lilia can feel a faint flutter of a heart on his skin. Contentedness floods him, even as he feels the pull of magic as it is drained and hungrily devoured.

The egg gives off a green glow from within. The light grows brighter and brighter, until—

“Kyuuuuuuuuuuu!”

Suddenly, an explosion of blinding white. The shell splinters and sheds.

There is no egg in Lilia’s arms, but a lizard with raven scales and a violet underbelly and spines. It blinks up at the general through round, reptilian eyes, belching a line of emerald fire.

“A-Ah… You are…” Lilia’s knees go weak. He falls to the ground, still cradling the baby to him. “Malleus…! You’re here at long last. I… I-I…”

He doesn’t realize it, but he has started to cry uncontrollably. Fat tears dribble down his cheeks and land on the baby dragon’s hide.

Lilia allows himself to wail. It’s ugly, full of raw emotion. Less human and more like the cry of a hideous beast.

From below, cheers and praise float up to him.

“Our hero!”

“Congratulations, Vanrouge!”

“The prince owes his life to you.”

Their words sting his head. The world wavers, wildly distorting--Lilia can't tell if it's his tears blurring his vision or not.

He crumples over with a groan. "M-My head... Agggh!"

"Kyuuuu?" Malleus pads a claw onto his cheek, confused.

The senator's voices are growing louder, angrier.

"VANROUUUUUGE!!"

"What has he done?! This is going to be a scandal--a scandal, do you hear me?!"

"Oh, to think that a disgusting bat has tainted the noble Draconia bloodline...!"

The contradictory shouts mix. It feels like there are fists beating his skull in from both sides. Lilia hangs his head, pulls at his hair, tries to understand the clashing sounds.

That's when he senses the presence of a shadow standing over him.

"I’ve found you at last, Lilia.”

He slowly raises his eyes, careful to keep Malleus guarded with his arms. There is a man in black robes towering over him, his mouth fixed in a frown. A pair of horns protrudes from his head, crowning his ominous yet regal aura.

“What… Who are you?!” Lilia demands of the stranger. “That face, those horns…!”

They're just like Levan and Meleanor's.

The stranger ignores his question. His expression has morphed from displeasure to anger. "Insolent fools!! How dare they speak ill of you. There will be severe consequences for this.”

The air stirs, chilling. Thunder crashes in the distance, seemingly in response to his fury.

He regards Lilia again, his voice dropping to a dangerously dulcet coo. “Ah, but you needn't concern yourself with them."

He takes a stride forward, and Lilia shrinks away. "S-Stay back! I'm warning you...!"

"What sort of a dream would you like to have this time, hmm?" he asks nonchalantly. "A dream in which mother and father are still by your side? A dream where you can live freely with your children? A dream for you to find true love? Just say the word, and it is yours."

With each suggestion, Lilia backs up further and further--until he is nearly at the platform's edge. Wind blows from below, sending hair and fabric flapping.

Here is the devil, come to tempt, and the jaws of death behind him.

The stranger bends down, his smile serpentine and eyes iridescent, twisted with obsession. Charming as a snake. He extends an arm, palm open. "Come, Lilia. Take my hand."

“FATHER!!”

CLANG!

A bolt of silver arrives, expertly blocking Malleus's outstretched hand. He stumbles back, glaring at the two bodies that put themselves between him and Lilia.

“You are…”

“Are you alright?” The quiet question comes from a boy with aurora eyes—clear as a cloudless sky.

Silver.

“Lilia-sama, stand back!!” His partner, Sebek, barks, baton at the ready. “We will protect you!”

“What nuisances,” Malleus snarls. “Still you insist on disrupting these dreams? It is a hopeless endeavor.”

“Maybe it is.” Silver tightens his hold on his own baton. Resolution threads his voice, and he stands his ground against the encroaching monster. “But we will never stop trying until we’ve broken through your blessing.”

“Bless... ing?”

The single word is like magic. One droplet rippling in a pond, setting off a chain reaction.

Memories fire off—the departure, the packing, the party, well wishes, the thorns. Someone screams, jet black tears streaming down their face. The wrath, the hurt.

“I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU!!”

The fog lifts from Lilia’s head, and the world clears. The identity of the horned stranger, the same as the baby dragon he holds.

Malleus… It’s you. It was always you.

Lilia gives a shaky laugh. "This is no blessing, boys. It's a curse."

Malleus glowers. “… You’ve awakened, haven’t you?!”

“That’s right. It seems I was dreaming for quite some time too—but I’m alright now, thanks to Silver and Sebek~”

“Father…”

“Lilia-sama!!”

“You too then… You’ve decided to turn traitor on me.” He hisses it, loathes the taste of treachery.

“No, Malleus.”

“Kyuuuuuu?”

Lilia steps beside his students—a general joining his knights. Ruby meets emerald, glittering with defiance.

“We’re going to save you, simple as that 🎵”

[paintbrushnebula]

Ghostflower Headcanons

As romantic gestures, Miles loves setting up these elaborate (if a little overkill) activities for Gwen to do, whether it's a special occasion or just. whenever feels like it. They're always these elaborate treasure hunts that he'll set up for her to complete. Like for Valentine's Day--Gwen never stirs in her sleep, so he'll surround her sleeping form with lilacs and peonies all around on the bed so she can wake up basking in their scent. Then this gesture will be somehow tooled as the first clue in this elaborate scavenger hunt across several dimensions, each stop being a cute little romantic gesture like a lovely written note or souvenirs from their times together. He'll have like, puzzles that require playing music or reading scores to move forward in the hunt. And Gwen LOVES them. She likes adventures and the ones Miles orchestrates for her always involve her having to use her many talents. She kinda sees Miles' games as a sweet, fun way of staying sharp. ^_^

Miles will mindlessly rub his face against Gwen's cheek whenever when he greets her or bids her farewell after a long day. A lot of people find it a little strange lol, but know better than to judge Miles in front of Gwen. 

Ghostflower's petnames....so Miles sucks at pet names. He can't think of any good ones besides whatever he's heard his Mami say to Jeff (so just the usual "mi amor.") Mamita works for her too. But aside from that, all the typical English pet names (so like "honey," "sweetie," etc) just feel weird coming off his tongue, he thinks they're cringe and he hates saying them XD. Besides there's just something about how much he loves saying Gwen's name. He loves her name. It's like music to him. And every new time he says it makes his heart flutter more than the last. Gwen's pet names for Miles on the other hand are very... eherm...varied. Like she does use all the typical English pet names, but she'll also randomly spout some very creative names that have to do with situations they're in or objects she just saw or smth, I hope I'm explaining this right 😭 So for example, "my weighted blanket" (if they were just sleeping), or "cupcake brain," "coffee bean," "my bespeckled cheekster" or some other stupid thing she randomly comes up with on the spot XD. 

Gwen is big spoon but Miles will jump off a bridge if Hobie finds out

Lol in fact, a lot of how Gwen treats Miles (fluffy pet names, cuddling him) is stuff Miles never wants Hobie to see XD. So picture Miles melting into Gwen on the couch while she runs fingers through his hair, then Hobie walks in and Miles flings himself right out of Gwen's arms, sitting up straight and clearing his throat, "aherm, wh-whassup' man." And like, Hobie probably wouldn't even give a dang XD. But Miles feels the need to keep up this... intimidating "not some feeble gumdrop" reputation around certain spiders like Hobie, Miguel, and now Peter B, etc.

Gwen hates the heat, she always has to have the AC on or at least a fan in front of her. Sometimes both. But Miles is very sensitive to the cold. So this becomes a dilemma when they're in the same room. Then it breaks out into a back and forth "no it's okay, I can turn it off/No it's okay! I can just put on a jacket!" Eventually they'll reach a compromise: Gwen can have the AC, but she has to cuddle Miles close so he can keep warm. 

Miles likes to paint or draw on Gwen a LOT. Like it basically becomes the norm Gwen's their friends and family to see her walking around with what appears to be temporary "tattoos." Sometimes there'll be "Miles x Gwen" in graffiti-styled lettering on her shoulder, or little spider-man chibis with little speech bubbles, or a jumble of illustrations of places they've been to, lyrics from songs he likes, and just colorful geometry painted all around her arm like a tattoo sleeve, or sunflowers on her cheeks, or just random lines and shapes here and there on her knuckles, arms or jawline. Miles will paint on her whenever he has the chance, whether she's in conversation with a completely different person, or she's doing work, writing, eating-anything. She always lets him, she loves it. And when they're alone and he's drawing on her, they'll sit in a comfortable silence the whole time, it's very...entrancing for Gwen when they're alone in a quiet room and he's hardly making any noise while she feels markers and paintbrushes dancing across her skin. 

[kinkyrafe]

Falling Hard

Kinktober, October 28

THIS WORK IS 18+ ! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Summary:

The one where Rafe and you finally have the talk.

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, domme!reader, sub!rafe, very explicit

taglist: @yagirlwrites @audzzz @valyrianflower @aariahnaa

It all starts with aftercare. You’re pretty sure that’s when you first began to fall for him. There’s a version of Rafe that only emerges during these quiet moments after a scene, and it’s one you treasure—the softness, the closeness, the vulnerability he lets you see. Over time, you’ve come to love these moments even more than the scenes themselves, because it’s then that he’s fully, deeply himself.

Now, he’s stretched out on the bed beside you, his lean frame completely relaxed. His muscles are still faintly trembling, the last echoes of the scene rippling through him. You reach over, fingers trailing softly across his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing as it slows. Rafe’s eyelids flutter, his expression tender, and he leans subtly into your touch.

"You did so well today," you whisper, leaning in to brush a kiss against his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your lips, the faint shadow of stubble brushing against you. He lets out a small, pleased sound, and a soft smile spreads across his face.

Rafe’s hand comes up to rest on top of yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles. “Only because of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft.

His quiet praise draws a smile from you, your heart swelling with affection. These moments, where he gives himself over so completely, make you feel more cherished than anything else. You press another gentle kiss to his forehead, letting it linger, letting him feel your gratitude. “You make it easy,” you reply, voice full of warmth.

He opens his eyes, just enough to meet yours, and there’s something vulnerable, almost unguarded, in his gaze. It makes your heart ache, how much you want to protect him, to keep him safe. “You’re everything I could ever want, you know that?” you murmur, letting your fingers trail up into his hair, massaging his scalp gently. He sighs softly, contentedly, his body melting further into the bed.

For a long while, you lie like this, wrapped in each other’s quiet presence, no words needed, just a shared understanding.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’re really good together, Rafe.”

He’s quiet for a beat, his hand tightening slightly around yours in response, and then he nods. “I know,” he breathes, his words soft but sure. He glances up at you, something tender in his eyes. “Can I ask… is this—are we… together, together?”

Your lips curve into a gentle smile. “If you want to be, yes.”

Rafe nods again, his smile deepening. “I want that,” he says, his voice quiet but sincere.

You reach over, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint stubble there. “So do I,” you reply, leaning down to press another kiss to his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

A thoughtful silence settles over you both as you lie side by side, each of you reveling in the newness of what’s just been said. There’s a soft excitement in his expression, something sweetly vulnerable. Finally, he speaks again, glancing at you with a small, mischievous grin.

“So… we’re together now,” he says, voice light with a hint of a tease. “But I, uh—I’d still like to keep things… interesting.”

You smile, understanding immediately. “You mean you don’t want me to go soft on you, just because we’re official?”

He lets out a small laugh, his cheeks coloring faintly. “Exactly.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Trust me, Rafe, as long as I know you, I don’t think you’ll ever get to a point where you don’t need a spanking every now and then.”

Rafe grins proudly, raising a fist in a triumphant gesture, and you can’t help but laugh.

“You know,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder blade, “you could just ask instead of acting like a brat all the time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that makes you laugh again. You shake your head, letting your fingers trail up his arm.

“So, to be clear,” you say, settling back beside him, “we’ll signal each other. If you’re in the mood, you call me ‘Sir,’ and if I want to start something, I’ll just tell you I’m ordering you to do something.”

Rafe nods, grinning. “And if either of us isn’t up for it, we’ll just say yellow.”

“Exactly,” you agree, feeling a warm glow in your chest. This conversation, like everything else between you, flows so easily. “And once you’re on your knees, the dynamics will be in full play.”

He nods, his grin softening to something warmer, more content. The understanding between you feels grounding, secure, and it’s clear he feels the same.

———

After a quiet dinner, as you’re both resting on the couch, you thoughtfully glance at Rafe. “Can I ask you something as your girlfriend? Not as your domme?”

He looks at you, meeting your gaze. “Of course,” he says, though his voice holds a hint of uncertainty.

You squeeze his hand gently, a soft reassurance in your touch. “I just wanted to know a little about your family. You have a few hard limits, and I wondered if that… came from anything growing up?”

Rafe swallows, looking down. His hand slips out of yours briefly before he takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “My mom passed away when I was seven, so she wasn’t around long. And my dad… he didn’t cope well. He was very strict.”

You nod, staying quiet, giving him the space to continue if he wants to.

“And by strict, you mean… abusive?” you ask gently.

“Yeah. He was abusive, if that’s what you’re asking.” His gaze hardens slightly, and his voice drops. “I know I have limits because of him. I’m not into being slapped across the face, or beaten up, thrown around, or... humiliated, I don't know. I… I had enough of that in my life already. There's nothing fun for me in that.”

Your heart aches for him, and you reach for his hand again, holding it tightly. “I wasn’t asking as your domme, Rafe. I was asking as your girlfriend. I just wanted to know more about you.”

He takes a shaky breath and nods. “Yeah… thanks. I guess I just haven’t talked about it much. But you know about my sisters, Sarah and Wheezie, and you met a couple of my friends—they got me through a lot. My dad didn’t… but they did. They’re my real family.”

You nod, pressing a gentle kiss to his hand. “Thank you for trusting me with that.”

He nods and stares at the ceiling for a little while. "Girlfriend, huh?" He sheepishly repeats the term you just used to refer to yourself. He's clearly deflecting but you let him.

You nod proudly. "Hell yeah," you confirm.

He gives a small, hesitant smile. “Family stuff—it’s touchy, but it's probably good that you know.” His gaze softens, a new gentleness in his expression as he looks at you. “You know… I’m not used to feeling safe like this. But I do. With you.”

You brush a hand through his hair, cradling his face in your hands. “You’re safe with me. Always.” You hold his gaze, watching the relief settle in his expression, the tension melting away. Then, as you both settle back together, you rest your head on his shoulder, letting the warmth of the moment wrap around you both, safe and gentle.

"Tell me something about yourself?" He asks quietly, as if he's not sure he's allowed to ask. "Something I don't know, yet?"

You turn your head to kiss him. Then you nod, and start talking.

♥