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[spiritedstars]

Spirit Meets the Bones - VIII

Genre: Angst/Romance  Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Please be mindful: some implied language may be found triggering. 

@abruisedmuse ily for being on this journey with me <3

Tagging: @climb-the-mountian | @vanserrass | @positivewitch | @readthelastpaage | @zenkindoflove | @animezinglife | @clockwork-ashes | @stormycleric | @eastofatlanta | @carolynmezzosoprano | @carnythian | @runningwiththeoceans | @readychilledwine | @goldenmagnolias | @thedarkinmansfield | @mali22 | @maidr-00 | @electromagnetic-waves | @theeternalstruggle | @devilsfoodcake22 | @the-midnightwriter | @moonfawnx | @weesablackbeak | @ladywhilemia | @illyrianshadowhunter | @alohaangels | @moobell55 | @bibliophiliaxvignette | @easchies | @thelovelymadone | @corcracrow | @feysandfeels

Find it all here.

It took Iris a few minutes into their dinner to realize it was in fact, not going to be fine. That Beron was a much bigger threat than her father ever could be.

Iris swallowed and avoided the High Lord’s gaze. Even while asking Eris about court updates, the High Lord’s eyes kept drifting to her. 

The tension in the room was so palpable, Iris felt herself choking on it. Despite her telling Eris it would be fine, the weight sitting on her chest at her father-in-law’s gaze was overwhelming. 

Iris knew her mouth had always gotten her in trouble with her father, more times than she cared to admit — but with the High Lord...She wasn’t sure if she could handle staying quiet, which was the one thing she needed to do and her hands were already shaking with the effort. She had bit her tongue several times as it was.

On their way over, Eris had stopped walking every few moments to glance at her in silence, the muscles in his jaw flexing. Until she finally snapped at him to say whatever the hell he needed to say.

He had only made one suggestion. “Do not challenge him. He will try to bait you and will say outlandish things because he wants to see how you react. Do not let him bait you.”

Iris wasn’t exactly sure how she was supposed to do that when Beron was watching her like he wanted nothing more than to shred her to pieces. Was this what Eris’s previous lover had to deal with? But she hadn’t been his wife. Would he be worse because Iris was his wife instead of a lover passing the time? What had Eris meant when he said that Beron had gotten what he wanted willingly? Was it that the female had given up on Eris and left or —

“So, Iris. Hopefully, your wedding night was as magical as you imagined it would be. Has my son treated you well?” 

Iris looked at the High Lord, at the cruel smile on his face and color bloomed on her cheeks. Her eyes flickered to Eris. Though his grip was tight on his fork and knife, he was chewing his food with no care in the world. Iris looked back to his father then back down to her plate, ever the obedient wife.

“Yes. He has,” she answered softly. 

“Mm. That’s good,” he replied with a nasty laugh. “You didn’t embarrass me, son.”

“Of course not, Father,” Eris replied tightly. “I also gave Iris a tour of the house. She appreciated that, didn’t you, wife?”

The bite in his tone had her clenching her teeth. Though she knew he was only doing it for her benefit, the way his tone merged with his father’s scorn reminded her too much of her own father’s sneering that it caused a slight burning in her chest. 

“Yes. Everything is very beautiful and well-maintained,” she said tightly. “It’s very impressive.”

“You look beautiful, Iris.” Lady Enya said kindly, reaching out a hand to gently pat hers and Iris looked up. “I hope you liked the selection I had prepared for you. I can always have the seamstress work with you to cater exactly to your taste.”

Iris had chosen a wine-colored dress with gold threading that complimented her figure well for dinner, pinning the sides of her hair up and leaving the rest in loose curls. She had definitely wanted to show her mother-in-law how much she appreciated all the gifts she’d been given and chosen carefully. Iris hadn’t missed Eris’s approving look.  

But that moment seemed so long ago.

Before Iris could open her mouth to reply, Beron snorted. “Shouldn’t it be to what your son’s taste is? She’s dressing to his liking.” 

“It doesn’t matter, father. She already knows what my preference is.” Eris replied and Iris slipped her hands off the table; she didn’t want to accidentally grab the knife closest to her and lodge it in his throat. It wasn’t even the implications of his words that had her face flushed, it was that tone. 

“Eris.” his mother warned but Beron only smirked. 

Iris willed her face not to slip into anger as she looked at her mother-in-law and smiled tightly. “Thank you for all your care and preparation. I’m honored you took the time to choose options for me. They’re all very beautiful.” She said. “I’d love to meet the seamstress with you and have your input in the future.”

“You’re very welcome. I can coordinate that at any time.” Lady Enya said, returning the tight smile and the room fell silent again. 

Iris attempted a bite of her food, but it tasted like ash with Beron staring at her so intensely. Trying her best to ignore him, she turned back to Lady Enya and cleared her throat.

“I’d love to spend more time with you if you have the availability in your day. Eris told me there’s a garden you prefer.”

Lady Enya smiled more genuinely. “I do. I like to take afternoon walks. I would love for you to join me. You and I should spend more time together anyway. Eris, did you show her where it is?”

“I hope you’ll spare some time for me as well, Iris.” Beron cut in and the smile he gave his wife made Iris’s skin crawl as he turned back to her. “I’m sure Eris would want you to bond with both of his parents.”

Eris slowly turned to Iris and gave her a tight smile. “Of course, Father. Iris and I are at your disposal whenever you have the time.”

“And what do you think of that, Iris? Does your husband speak for you?” he asked, and Iris’s fingers clenched, her gaze on Eris. “Are you at my disposal whenever you have the time?”

“Father,” Eris said casually, sparing Iris one more look in a warning then glanced at his father. 

“Son.”

A heartbeat of tense silence passed as Eris and his father looked at each other before the High Lord tutted, dismissing his son and Iris almost flinched at the way Eris’s jaw tightened. 

The High Lord turned his gaze back to Iris. 

“Tell me, Iris,” he began again, and she braced herself. “Your father mentioned to me you spent most of your time alone on your piano. Do you plan on playing for us soon?” He said and sipped from his wine. “Unless of course, you have other talents you’d like to share?”

“I can play for you all anytime you’d like.” She replied and risked a glance at him before her eyes drifted back to Eris in haste. Her husband merely looked at her indifferently and though she reminded herself once again that it was an act, it was hard not to let doubt seep in.

He had many faces, and he was good at getting what he wanted. How was this any different for him? Why would she be any different?

But the way he had reacted to her playing and the conversations they had been having...it made her believe that there was something there. Something worth giving him the benefit of the doubt. Something —

“You seem nervous, Iris.” The High Lord purred, and Iris held back her disgust. “Your mother-in-law and I don’t bite. Tell us more about yourself. I’m sure my son has asked you some questions in between him shoving his cock inside you.”

“Father.”

“Beron.” 

But the High Lord only smirked, his eyes on Iris and the way her whole body had flinched when he said it.

“Did I say something wrong? Isn’t that what newlyweds do on their wedding night?” the High Lord sneered with a look of mock innocence. “You said he’s treated you well so I’m assuming you liked whatever he offered you.”

“Father, a little sensitivity would be appreciated,” Eris said through clenched teeth, the fork in his hand now bent backward. “I don’t like my wife being spoken to this way.”

“A lot of sensitivity would be appreciated.” Lady Enya snapped and Beron’s eyes flickered to her, ignoring Eris completely. “We are trying to have dinner with our newest daughter-in-law for the first time and that is inappropriate.”

“As far as I’m aware,” the High Lord said slowly and both Iris and Eris tensed at the tone. “I don’t have any other daughters-in-law.” 

The Lady of Autumn seemed to flush but she didn’t break his gaze. “The only reason you don’t have a relationship with them is your own fault.”

Beron snorted again and the sneer in it seemed to make his wife’s flush deepen. Iris knew that sneer, had felt it one too many times and it made her fists shake.

“Yes, of course. That is the only reason,” he said quietly, and Iris’s eyes flickered between Eris’s throat bob and Lady Enya's clenched jaw at the words, her brows furrowed. But Beron had turned back to zero in on Iris again and her back straightened, bracing herself again. “Did he bother asking you about yourself or was he too busy taking you behind every corner on the so-called tour?” 

“Cauldron, Father,” Eris snarled softly, and Iris’s eyes widened as his fist slammed down hard on the table, but Beron only smiled smugly. “You’re talking to my wife.”

“What is it, son? As far as I’m aware, you’ve been far from celibate so I’m sure you’ve been enjoying your wife thoroughly.”  Beron continued and Lady Enya sucked in a breath as a muscle flexed in Eris’s jaw, as steam started to rise from his clenched fist, and the room became distinctly warmer. “Unless she’s not to your liking? Though she is a pretty thing, you do seem to have mediocre taste in females.” 

“Beron —”

And Iris noticed the way Eris barely had a hold on his restraint. He had been so angry when he found her earlier, clearly triggered by whatever his father said. And now — now it was worse, and Iris’s own anger had also bubbled up too far. 

By now, had it been her father, she would’ve gotten everything off of her chest and taken whatever blow he’d given her. She couldn’t take another disgusting word from Beron and any sense of self-preservation she had vanished at the mocking in Beron’s eyes, at the rage radiating from every pore of Eris’s body. At the way he seemed to use her to chip away at Eris, as if she had asked for any of this. As if she wasn’t good enough. 

Before Eris could reply, Iris finally did.

“In between your son shoving his cock inside me,” she started, and Eris’s head snapped in her direction at the even tone. “Believe it or not, he has asked me a few things. We’ve been getting to know each other gradually.” Iris rested a hand on the table, smoothing the cloth beneath her fingers before looking up at the High Lord and bringing the conversation back to his original question. “As for other talents, I’m sure you know my father well enough to know I was very limited in what I could do. With my… supposed health issues and all.”

Beron quirked a brow and Eris’s hand slipped under the table and gripped her thigh, but Iris ignored him. “Yes, I was concerned about this mysterious illness of yours. I sure hope your father didn’t cheat us with a damaged bride.”

“I am not damaged.” She all but snarled and Eris’s grip tightened further, almost painfully but Iris refused to look at him.

“I should hope you’re not.” the High Lord said slowly, his smile both unnerving her and fueling her anger. “Maybe my son can teach you some new talents then. It seems you’re in good shape now.”

“Must’ve been your son’s magical cock. I guess I’m a faster learner.” she spat, and the room stilled. Beron watched his daughter-in-law, the gleam in his eyes seemingly more sinister. 

Beron finally chuckled humorlessly and shot Eris a look that doused whatever anger Iris was feeling. It was a look that promised violence. She knew that look well and Eris’s back of faded scars flashed in her mind. 

Iris’s insides shriveled up and she felt bile start to rise in her throat. She had fucked up. She had fucked up badly. The one time she had needed to keep her mouth shut and she had failed. 

“I thought you said you put her in her place, son.”

“It seems her father was right in that she needed a heavy hand,” Eris replied tightly and shot her a look filled with a temper she wasn’t sure he was faking.

“Eris.” His mother said firmly, and his gaze snapped to her. “It’s been a long day. We can end dinner here.”

“I decide when we end dinner.” Beron snapped at his wife and then turned back to Iris. “And I don’t like the tone you speak in, girl. I am your High Lord. I’ve beheaded people for less.”

Iris clenched her fists in her lap and swallowed angrily. “Apologies, High Lord.” She forced herself to say demurely. 

“My High Lord.” he corrected, and Iris bit back the retort she wished to give as she looked down, her eyes on Eris’s hand still gripping her thigh tightly.

“Apologies, my High Lord.” she amended and fought not to glare at her lap while his eyes were still on her. 

He was not her father. She was used to his hands, knew when to anticipate the blow and where it would land. She had learned her father’s ticks but Beron...the dangerous gleam in his eyes was something she couldn’t anticipate. She felt so stupid. Iris truly had no clue what he’d do and how much he could make it hurt. If he had it in him to hurt his so-called favorite son, what would he do to her?

“Father, it has been a long day and clearly overwhelming for Iris,” Eris said and shot her a look that almost begged her to keep her mouth shut. “If you’ll excuse us, we’d like to retire.”

But Beron was still watching Iris and then his gaze flickered to his son.

“Son.” the High Lord began slowly, and dread coiled in her stomach at his smile. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t put her in her place here. She was disrespectful to me. It’s only fair I see you reprimand her.” 

Eris’s grip on her thigh tightened enough that she was sure it would leave a mark and a beat of silence passed before Eris replied.

“The way I want to reprimand her isn’t one I can do in front of my parents,” he said coldly, and Iris froze as his mother gave him a pleading look.

“Eris just —” 

Beron held up a hand, cutting his wife off with a snort. “Is that so, son?”

“I think we’ve had enough words, Father,” Eris said and Iris felt panic slowly start to rise in her body, her heart beating too fast for it to be any good. She watched Eris’s expression, watched him stare at his father who had his eyes narrowed at his son.

If Beron decided to make Eris do anything, Iris would — 

But a nasty smile emerged on the High Lord’s face as he finally looked away from his son and back at Iris, who flushed.  “I see. Privacy would be required here.”

Lady Enya finally shot out of her seat. “That is enough.” she snapped and Beron turned to her slowly, the room immediately getting tenser as Eris also slowly stood. 

“Mother, no need to be upset,” Eris said calmly, even as his fists clenched. “Father, we are leaving.” 

“Get out then.” Beron dismissed and shot his son a look of disdain. “And this time, truly put her in her place. If you don’t, I will. There are enough places people won’t see.”

Iris flinched at the words, her heart thundering and Lady Enya gaped at her husband before turning to her son again. 

“Eris —”

“Don’t give him your useless input. You’re the reason he’s still soft.” The High Lord snarled, and Eris tensed as his father turned to him. “What luck do you have commanding a court if you can’t control your wife’s mouth?”

“Father —“ Eris started, face flushed in anger but Beron waved him off, looking directly at Iris.

“I suggest you think twice before speaking from now on. Your voice is not necessary. You are to be beside my son looking presentable and nothing more. Don’t go thinking you can have opinions and thoughts of your own. You are not important. Understood?”

Silence filled her head as she stared at the male across from her, thinking how she never thought she’d hate someone more than she could hate her father.

“Understood?”

Her chin dipped in response, and he waved them off carelessly, his eyes back on his wife who stared at him openly in contempt.

“Get out. Your mother and I need to have words.”

Eris hid it well, but Iris didn’t miss the bob of his throat as he gazed at his mother. Lady Enya only nodded and then jerked her head to the door. Iris felt the agony rip through him to leave her and she wanted nothing more than to take back everything she had said.

“Come along, wife.” Eris spat and Iris tried not to flinch at the tone, standing shakily and slowly following Eris.

They stepped out of the room and Iris made to get away from the door as quickly as possible, but Eris grabbed her arm.

She turned, her anger and humiliation crashing around her in waves, ready to rip his hand off but saw his face flushed angrily as he stood rigidly at the door. His grip was tight on her arm, but Iris could see he wasn’t even paying attention to her. He was listening to the heated conversation happening behind the door.

He was waiting — waiting for the scrape of the chair, indicating someone had moved to —

His breath loosened when footsteps started to fade, and Eris sensed his mother had walked off without harm. Finally loosening his grip, Iris yanked her arm away from him and without looking at him, stomped off to their bedroom.

-

Eris closed the bedroom door behind them and watched as Iris immediately backed away from him with a glare.

“What the hell was that?” she breathed, and Eris shook his head, the room around them immediately heating again.

He was so fucken angry. Nothing about that dinner had gone as he wanted and Iris — his eyes flashed to her and the scent of her anger and fear merging together nearly made him scream. 

“Don’t say another word.” his tone clipped but Iris shook her head with a harsh laugh.

“The way you want to reprimand me isn’t one you can do in front of your parents?” she hissed. 

Eris snarled, waving her off. “You had one job.” He snapped. “Ignore anything he says to you because he’s purposely going to bait you. And what do you do? Let him bait you.”

“What about you?” she snapped. “You were two seconds away from ripping his head off! How was I supposed to sit back and let him speak to me that way!”

“What exactly did you expect to accomplish by replying? Going to get up and try to stab him too?” Eris scoffed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Believe me, I would’ve loved to see you try.”

“How can you sit back when he’s talking to your wife like this?” she snarled.

“Because I know what he’s doing. I know he’s trying to use whatever you and I have going on against us one way or another and you let him see too much!” 

“He expects you to beat me. To shut me up.” She sneered, her voice rising an octave. “To put me in my place.”

“Yes, he does.” Eris snapped. “And tomorrow when he sees you, let’s hope you can act better than you did today.”

“What would you have done if he had ordered you to do something? How would that have gone, Eris?” she snarled.

“I would’ve handled it!” 

“Oh, because tonight went so well.” 

“It would’ve been fine had you not opened your mouth and made it worse.”

Iris growled and turned away from him, stomping over to their vanity, practically ripping her hair clips out.

An ugly silence washed over the room and Iris tried not to let her lips tremble as she rubbed at her eyes, the mortification of what she was feeling catching up to her.

What a disgusting, despicable male. And he was her father-in-law. 

And the way he kept looking at her. That was no way a father-in-law looked at his daughter-in-law. 

That was a predator who found its next prey. 

Eris sighed behind her, and she glared at him over her shoulder. 

“Look — it wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” he replied quietly, holding his hands up in acceptance. “I’m – I apologize for all the things he said and for what I had to say.”

“What you said.” she seethed, whirling around, and Eris’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “I know your father is a piece of shit but gods, you really sell it with that sneering tone of yours.”

“If I was any nicer to you, he’d carve you open at the table just to prove he could.” he spat in return. “You saw it yourself. I told you we have to be a certain way in front of him. I don’t understand why you’re surprised. I told you all this.”

“Not like this! I was not prepared for this. I’m his son’s wife!” she nearly shrieked. “How can he talk to me and about me that way? How can he look at me that way?”

Eris lowered his head, a hand rubbing his eyebrow as if he was trying to think of how he could explain how disgusting his father was to her. As if Iris hadn’t caught on.

“He does it on purpose. He...gravitates towards younger females and isn’t exactly a faithful male. He knows it’s going to bother me.” he finally said, and Iris blanched. “You’re young and beautiful and —”

“I’m his son’s wife!” 

“It doesn’t matter that you’re my wife,” Eris growled. “He’s vile and disgusting and a High Lord! A High Lord that enforces rank. A High Lord that knows he could get the attention of any female he wants because it makes him forget about my mother.”

“Are you saying your father is attracted to me?” she whispered and felt the bile rise in her throat again, but Eris shook his head in disgust. 

“No.” he snapped, though a kernel of doubt pulsed in his chest. Knowing his father, Eris wouldn’t put it past Beron to look at his wife that way. Not that she needed to know that. “I’m saying he’ll make you uncomfortable to piss me off because he can. Just to bait me into doing something stupid and then punish me for it. This is my way of confirming to you that he’s more disgusting than people think.” 

Silence filled her head once more as she recalled what Eris had said about his former lover. 

In the end, my father won and got what he wanted from her willingly.

“You said — you said your father got what he wanted from your lover.” she choked out and Eris flushed deeply. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

Eris froze but Iris’s eyes zeroed in on his fists clenching at his sides. He had done it so many times today. Would he — 

“Why settle for the son of a high lord when the high lord himself could give you the attention you want?” he said sourly, and Iris paled.

“He wouldn’t do that with me, would he?” she whispered. 

“Do you want to fuck my father?” he sneered and Iris gagged.

“I’d rather drown myself at sea.”

“Then I don’t think it’ll be a problem if you’re not a willing participant.” 

“I hardly wanna fuck you.” she seethed. “You think I’d want to fuck your father? My father-in-law?”

“You didn’t want to be powerless anymore, right?” Eris glared, the color in his face intensified as he sneered then gave a humorless chuckle. “If you decide to switch which Vanserra you spread your legs for, you’ll get to that goal much faster with my father.”

Iris gaped at him as he glowered in return, the rage in the room palpable.

“That’s disgusting,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’re disgusting.”

“Thank you. Welcome to the family,” he replied with a mocking bow and Iris let out a growl and turned away from him.

It took her a moment, where she swallowed and blinked several times, trying to contain her revulsion and temper before she could say anything else.

“Does he — he doesn’t force himself on females, does he?” she asked quietly, looking over her shoulder at him. “Does he abuse his power that way?”

Eris’s mouth went into a thin line and shook his head. “As far as I’ve been aware, it’s always been consensual and they’re always of age. My father may be an animal but even he tries not to cross that line,” he said, his lips curled in distaste. “Believe it or not, females approach him because he has power, money, and a taste for infidelity.”

He paused here, glancing at Iris, and then looked away. “I – I always tried to check afterward. My mother and I discreetly try to make sure. He just has a preference.”

Iris looked at him in horror and Eris had the intense urge to set himself on fire just to wipe himself off the face of the world to not see the look she gave him. He was already saying too much — she was hearing too much —

“Your mother knows?”

“Of course, she does,” he said faintly. “She likes it best when he forgets about her too.” 

Iris took a deep breath and ran a hand down her face. “I don’t know what to think or what to make of this —” she said shakily and shot him a look of revulsion. “I’m —”

“Don’t look at me like that. Stop looking at me like that,” he said tiredly, and Iris shook her head again, but he didn’t miss the slight tremble in her hands. “I do everything that I can.”

“I’m thinking of how you said it would take you very little to make me miserable,” she said, shaking her head, and Eris tensed. “I’m — I’m thinking of what you said you could do to me —”

“Are you thinking of the part I said after? That you were thinking of my father, and I am not him?” he snapped. “I am not him. I actively try my hardest not to be like him in any way especially because — and I don’t know if you noticed from this one sitting with you flinging your feelings at me — but my father doesn’t exactly like me very much.”

He strode up to her and she backed a step, knocking into the vanity as fire blazed in his eyes. 

“But I allow him to do and say whatever the fuck he wants to me as long as my mother has to stop taking the brunt of his shit.” he snarled. “I will do everything I can to protect you from him and take the brunt of that as well and I am sorry that it has to be that way and I am sorry that you might have to hear more things from him you won’t like, but I am playing his game so that I can keep worming my way around until I can finish him.”

“That’s what happened with your lover, wasn’t it? Your father kept doing and saying inappropriate things and you stood by letting it happen like a coward until she couldn’t stand you any longer and just gave in to him?” she spat, and Iris knew it was a low blow — one he didn’t rightly deserve as Eris flinched back.

“You were just ready to use that against me, weren’t you?” he snarled. “I only told you that so you understand he would do everything he could to get back at me through you. I’m trying to get you to understand that he would have no qualms about ending your life just to spite me and your father certainly wouldn’t give a shit if my father tossed your decapitated corpse right into the river.”

And it was Iris’s turn to flinch. “Stop.”

“Then understand that I am trying. I am trying my fucken hardest and don’t appreciate that fucken tone, Iris.” he hissed. “Did you even consider what this has been like for me? How much harder everything is now because of you? Do you even know how hard it was for me not to incinerate him on the spot because of the way he was with you? It would ruin everything I have been working towards.”

Iris shoved away from him. “Well, you didn’t now, did you? And all I feel is disgusted. I feel like — I don’t want to —” she stopped and shot him a look of contempt.  “I don’t want to share a bed with you. I don’t want whatever the fuck this life is with you.” 

She could’ve slapped him and it would’ve bothered him less. He snorted, a look of scorn on his face as he waved a hand. 

“Be my guest to sleep in the bathroom then. I don’t give a single fuck, darling wife. It’s not like I’ve benefited much from you in my bed anyway.” he sneered, shooting his own low blow and Iris flinched back again as though he had slapped her. “It must be so terrible to be you. Poor little Iris, married to a prince in a castle that doesn’t think about beating her on the daily.”

Her face fell and it was that expression that extinguished his anger immediately. 

“Iris —” 

“Don’t.”

She didn’t bother looking at him as she stormed to the bed and grabbed two pillows, the dagger she had hidden beneath them, and ripped the blanket right off then stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. 

Eris looked at the closed door and felt the will to live leave his body. His will to even breathe properly left him. 

With a growl and then a heavy sigh, he hung his head and slowly sank into the vanity seat, his eyes on the bathroom door his wife was now hiding.

[ba9go]

boyfriend!bakugou katsuki text messages - when you're sick

bkg gets worried and swears a lot, g/n!reader, fluff (sfw)

a bit self-indulgent because i'm sick as hell rn 😪 i'll get back to proper writing asap i promise!!

this is my first smau n i honestly dont know if i should tag those of yall who requested to be tagged in updates for my normal fics, sorry 😔 pls let me know if you'd like me to remove you from my tags for any future bkg smaus

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s @deimosjay @iguanahykhv @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

Hi zeta! So I received a notification today that I was ovulating and had a thought. Husband/Ceo!Cheol checking your phone as you received and notification that you were ovulating. Like my man would go crazy and be at it like the fucking rabbits.

(sorry why is this so long)

tw: dom!seungcheol, sub!reader (fem), marriage!au, unpotected sex (pls stay safe), breeding kink, mentions of kids and pregnancy, praise, use of petnames, daddy and mommy kink (they want to be actual parents), mating press, spanking, oral (f rec), cockwarming - minors dni.

@gyuwoncheol tagging her bcs she helped me to her own demise

"Babe?"

"Yes darling?"

"You have a new notification!" Seungcheol yells from the other end of the living room.

"I'll check it later, thanks!" You yell back, trying to make yourself heard through the noise of the kitchen mixer.

Seungcheol is a man who values your privacy and would never attempt the petty snooping around on your phone.

But how could he miss the bright notification of your cycle tracking app saying that you're ovulating?

He turns his head to your direction and looks at the shape of your body standing in front of the counter and his mind races at the thought of you bearing his kids and having them run around your legs in the future.

And it makes him want to fuck you until he has made sure you're pregnant.

He gets up from the couch and walks up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"You sure love back hugs, don't you?" You let out a small laugh.

"How can I not when I have such a pretty wife?" He hums.

"Oh, I see how it is." You turn off the mixer and turn around to face him. "Come on, out with it, big guy."

"What? Can't I just compliment my wife because I feel like it?" He pouts his lips.

"Seungcheol, you never compliment me without any reason."

"I was just thinking...."

"I knew it."

"I haven't even said anything yet!" He complains.

"Oh my God, just say it!"

"I was thinking how pretty you'd look with a belly full of our kids."

Your eyes widen with shock at your husband's blunt words. It's true that you've discussed the possibility of widening your family with Seungcheol and you know he would be the most silly and doting dad ever. But the way he looks at you and his hands tighten on your body makes you feel a tad bit jittery (in a very good way).

"Did you just think of that, or...?"

"Your tracking app said you're ovulating and I can't get it out of my damn head." Seungcheol groans.

"You checked my phone?!"

"I didn't unlock it! It was right beside me and I just saw the pop-up on the screen!"

"And that made you worked up already?" You deadpan.

"God, you have no idea." He drops his head on your shoulder and rolls his hips against you.

"You're incorrigible." You hug him with a light chuckle.

You feel his lips stretching in a grin and he throws you over his shoulder with one swift motion, carrying you to the bedroom. You complain all the way, but he just slaps your ass and puts you down on the mattress, your legs hanging from the edge of the bed.

"I am indeed incorrigible, darling." Seungcheol strips himself down to bare skin and purposefully climbs over you to grab a pillow and place it under your lower back.

"I'll do everything in my power," he hooks his fingers in the hem of your sweats and drags them away from your legs, "to get your pretty pussy," he removes your cotton panties to reveal your cunt, "full of my cum until you physically can't take more inside you."

"C-Cheol-" You watch your husband kneel on the foot of the bed, ready to use his tongue on you.

"Talk to me, darling. Tell me what you want."

"Fuck, I want your kids so bad." You moan and spread your legs, putting your hands under your knees to pull them on your sides.

"That's what I thought too." He smirks and leans down to press a kiss on your clit, followed by full-bodied swipes of his wet muscle from your puffy bud of nerves to your hole, waiting for your pussy to drip just enough to get messy.

"You're so perfect, you know that?" He brings your legs on your chest and puts your ankles on his shoulders, the head of his cock dragging over your pussy. "Perfect wife, with a perfect pussy." He whispers and slides his shaft inside you, stealing your moans with his mouth.

You let yourself get lost in the feeling of his pillowy lips, all while his cock is battering up your cunt. Your leg muscles tense up from being stretched out to their limits, but you don't want to switch up positions.

"Sweet, sweet fucking cunt, all ready to keep my cum safe." Seungcheol groans wildly on your lips, "Want to make you a mommy so bad."

"Fuck, I want you to be a daddy, Cheol, ah!" You throw your head back on the bed, watching your husband plow his hips in you relentlessly, his bottom lip caught between his pearly whites.

"W-Want a pretty little girl, w-with your eyes and lips, wanna treat her like a princess."

"And a rowdy little b-boy, so you c-can play g-games with him." You stammer over your words, but you get the message across.

"Fuck, I love you so much, darling." Seungcheol moans airily and plants his hands beside your head, rutting in you like a madman, sweat dripping down his body and a few drops landing on your chest.

"Cheol, I'm c-close." You sob.

"Me too, baby. Just a little more, please." He begs you to hold out.

You do as he says and you cum undone underneath him, his thick cock pulsing until he has emptied himself inside your cunt, not daring to pull away from you.

A few seconds of silence pass and none of you has moved yet. Your pussy clenches around his cock ever so slightly and you whimper, your legs falling limp on the bed.

"Even your pussy wants more, babe." Seungcheol chuckles and moves his cock inside you, bringing himself back to full hardness.

"You mean you've got more to give?" You pant.

"For you? Always."

[ramblingoak]

A Thousand Kisses

For an Anon that requested a lazy kiss with Copia.

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Warnings: soft, tired and kissable Copia, sfw, 540 words, not beta read (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers)

“I never want to move again.”

You grinned at Copia even though he couldn’t see it with his face buried in his pillow.  The poor man had been practicing with the ghouls all day for the upcoming tour.  When he finally showed up at your door it was with a hoarse voice and a stiff posture.  You couldn’t even get his clothes off without him groaning every time he had to move.  As soon as you had wiped off most of his makeup and made him take some painkillers he had collapsed onto the bed.

“You should really take a hot shower, otherwise you’re not gonna be able to move in the morning.”

“I can’t move now, amore.”  He turned his head to the side so his voice wasn’t muffled, his bright green eye focusing on you.  “I’m broken.”

“Broken, huh?  That’s too bad, Papa.  I’ll have to adjust my plans for tonight.”

“Pl-ah cazzo,”  Copia whimpered as he rolled onto his back, taking a few deep breaths before trying again.  “Plans, you say?”

“You know, just the usual.”  You toed off your shoes and crawled onto the bed, moving slowly until you were resting on your side next to him.  His chest rumbled like a purring cat when you rubbed a hand up and down his bare chest.  “A candlelit dinner, some dancing…”

“Please don’t say dancing right now.”  

He pouted when you laughed at him and you couldn’t resist shifting so you could kiss his full bottom lip.

“What about wobbling, Papa?  Would you wobble for me?”

“Amore, you know that I would normally do anything for you, yeah?”  You nodded before resting your chin on his chest.  He managed to bring a hand up to your cheek, swiping his thumb across it gently before speaking again.  “But Lilith herself couldn’t get me to wobble right now.”

He smiled softly when you kissed his palm before he laid his arm back down on the bed.  Even that had him wincing and you frowned down at him. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, Papa?  Anything at all.”

Copia was quiet and still for a few moments, long enough you almost thought he had fallen asleep.  You started to move away to let him rest but he slid an arm around your waist to keep you in place.

“Anything?”  He opened his eyes and gave you a lazy smile when he felt you nod against his chest again.  “A kiss then.”

“Just one?”

“Hmm, or two.  Three maybe, if you feel I deserve it.”

You leaned in to give him the first one, your lips lingering on his for a couple of seconds.  It was your turn to cup his cheek, rubbing at spot of white that you had missed earlier.  Copia’s eyes were bleary with sleep and you stifled a grin when you realized he probably wouldn’t last till the third kiss.  It didn’t matter though, you’d still give him all the tired and lazy kisses you could until he was asleep.

“You deserve a thousand kisses, Copia.”

“A thousand, amore?”  He smiled against your lips when you gave him the second one, his hand idly rubbing up and down your back while he gazed into your eyes.  “I’ll hold you to that.”

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

[bebewrites]

wip page 08 - an all-inclusive wip page

preview / code

several people have asked for this one, so sorry it took me so long to release it!

featured image and sections for synopsis, themes/tags, links, project details, major characters, minor characters, and general sections like 'locations' and 'terms to know' which can be use for anything

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pls like/reblog if you use, let me know if you run into any bugs, and pls don’t remove credit. thanks! ♥

additional info under the cut :)

if you'd like to change any of the icons, you can find more at phosphoricons.com

scripts are noted in the code so you can delete them if you want a javascript-free theme. without the javascript, the slide out menu will not work, just an fyi! delete the slide out menu at the top of the html section, and delete the script at the bottom of the code.

all images in preview via unplash.com. i recommend using unsplash or similar websites for images because they're free and high-res. (to create the character icons, i just crop the images into a square, upload into a tumblr post, save as a draft, and then right click the images for the url.)

[emilem-forevermore]

hey! intro post :D

are you having a panic or anxiety attack? here :)

here is a link to the trevor project (a helpline for queer youth) if you are struggling. remember you deserve love and recovery :)

you should go look at #em says it’ll get better <3 /nf

and if you know me irl, don’t follow me here- go to @peanut-jelly @squirrelfrienddd or @femininemilem

okay, a bit about me:

personal

my name is ollie, or oli, oliver, or em.

my pronouns: he/xe/it/fae/they. no she/her or fem terms.

my age: i am a minor. don’t be gross.

my birthday: april 8th! i’m an aries :3

nicknames i've collected: emilem, gay little frat boy, catboy tea, cheeto boy, leaf boy, em and em

my height: 5'0! i am tiny :)

i'm happily dating @nyxerer120 (how! i’m the luckiest boy in the world holy shit)

poetry blog! @emilems-poetry

vent blog: @emilem-is-sad

just another ones: @femininemilem @squirrelfrienddd

for my friends but also you ig: @peanut-jelly

therian blog: @emilems-a-cat

i also run one of the color shark blogs!

i also have a pinterest, spotify account, and scratch account. this isn't something i'll be sharing with the world but if we're moots or smth and you want it lemme know :D here is one scratch acc tho

fun facts about me:

i earned a black belt in taekwondo (i no longer do it tho).

i cannot play any instruments but would like to learn guitar one day

i’m a norwegian forest cat therian but i’m fine with being called human/person too @emilems-a-cat

fandoms and interests

music: harry styles ⋆ 1D ⋆ hozier ⋆ noah kahan ⋆ chappell roan ⋆ sabrina carpenter ⋆ taylor swift ⋆ the amazing devil ⋆ a lot more

fandoms: gravity falls ⋆ warrior cats ⋆ heartstopper ⋆ brooklyn nine nine ⋆ only murders in the building ⋆ a good girls guide to murder ⋆ wild life smp + more

interests: poetry (check out @emilems-poetry) ⋆ drawing ⋆ digital art ⋆ writing ⋆ reading ⋆ french ⋆ veterinary sciences ⋆ the human body ⋆ psychology ⋆ hebrew, spanish ⋆ chinese ⋆ italian ⋆ music ⋆nature

check this out:

my favorite post on this website, a slight tw for self harm mentions, but aside from that it's extremely moving and well written and might help if you're feeling down :)

PLEASE:

send messages/asks!!! i'm not scary!!! pls interact :D

send me art and poetry!!! it’s so awesome to look at :3

talk to me about heartstopper, poetry, wild life, and noah kahan :)

if i say/do something that upsets you, let me know! i try to do my best to be inclusive and kind but sometimes i mess up so help me out :)

i love my moots more than the world!!! here's a list of some of them:

@hotteststar my first moot and fellow bisexual :)

@rins-batcave my reason /p

@raeprise mon cœur /p

@sparky4577 my brother (not irl but i wish)

@loozerboykisser man with all the everything

@crowofthestars just really fuckn cool. go follow them!

@thecrazyalchemist my bestie with the coolest name(s) ever

@mrblazeflappybird my cool uncle!!!

@wishiwereheather13 my really cool moot im too nervous to talk to (your banner is so cool btw. just sayin.)

@boldofyoutoassumeicanspell my wise gal i should talk to more

@holiday-spice my favorite seasoning (get it. cause his name is spice. lol.)

@halflingwithaknife i get excited whenever you're in my notifications you're so cool :0

@aflairforthemelodramaticc my father :)

@blaxolt one of the funniest folks i know :3

@catinasink uh. uh youre so cool. wtf im scared of you youre really awesome :0

@theronanlynchshow LITERALLY AWESOME I LOVE SEEIN YA ON MY DASHH AHHH

@the-toaster-rat genuinely one of the nicest ppl ever he’s amazing go follow him >:3

if you'd like to be added to (or removed from) this list lemme know! i have so many mutuals and i love them all beyond words <3

oh also i tag my weekly polls with #ollie’s polls so those are there if you wanna see

[s4nguiine]

petals and bullets

boothill x fem!reader - pt. 2

» rating: still eventual nsfw.

» notes: two fics in a row! woooo!! i wanted to discuss the future of this fic a bit. i want to try something new, something non-linear. the first 3 chapters will be linear of course, because i need to establish a backstory and yada yada, but i figured it would be cool if i made the following chapters separate stories. that way i wouldn't be tied down to one story and trying to make fun concepts fit - i can just write separate chapters with different adventures the reader and boothill would go on. let me know your thoughts on this in the comments if you have any :p

» tag list: @favsruii @inyourfaceace @crystalkat6747 (lmk if you'd like to be added or removed!)

you’re frozen where you stand and drops of sweat run down your throat as you swallow. you don’t need to see the weapon to know there is a gun pointed at you. do IPC workers carry around guns now..?

“looks like this crate had a rat in it, too,” the man behind you says.

you make an attempt to grab the knife in your pocket - unsuccessfully, as he immediately spots the small movement.

“don’t even think about it, darlin’. why don’t you turn around slowly so i can get a proper look at ya?”

you take a deep breath first, then you do as he says. and when he comes into view, an extravagantly clothed cyborg cowboy, you’re.. not sure what to think. he seems to have a similarly surprised expression on his face.

“a lady? muddlefudger. i don’t like pointin’ my gun at ladies.”

his accent… his long black and white hair… his eyes. you hate it, but you’re just as scared of as you are attracted to this man.

“what’s your name?” he asks.

“y/n,” you reply.

“y/n,” he says your name, as if tasting it. “listen up, sweetheart-” sweetheart? “-i don’t tolerate stowaways. you’re a mighty fine lady, though a bit wild-lookin’, but traveling with me is dangerous. we ain’t too far yet, so i’m taking you back home.”

your eyes grow wide. no. no, you can’t go back. the cowboy keeps his gun pointed at you as he backs away to the pilot’s seat to put in the coordinates of your home planet.

while his eyes are off you, your hand swiftly enters your pocket and grabs the handle of the knife. you lunge, and you make the mistake of yelling as you do so. you only stop at the crisp sound of a gunshot, which makes you freeze and gasp for air. the bullet does not hit you, however - instead there is a metallic clang as the knife is forced out of your hands. it falls to the ground and slides far out of your reach.

your arms remain raised in the air as you are frozen in fear once more, and your eyes are shut tight, until you hear the man’s footsteps. he approaches and you cower, looking up at him through your lashes. you realize that he’s been very relaxed until this very moment - because now he’s wearing a deep frown on his face.

“seriously, lady… a knife? my body-” he stops as his eyes wander lower on your body. “wait a second.” his hand grips the hem of your coat. ah. it’s over. everything’s gone to shit, and now you’ll be at the mercy of this weirdo.

the cyborg opens your coat with such a force that he almost tears it off of you. you close your eyes and press your lips into a thin line. of course, your clothes underneath it are soaked with your mother’s blood.

“whose blood is this?” he almost growls. when you answer only with quickened breathing, he presses the cold barrel of his revolver against your forehead. you hear the cylinder turn. “answer me.”

this is the shittiest day of your life. fuck freedom, you should have just stayed in that apartment. you can’t take this anymore.

“it’s… it’s not mine.”

the cowboy isn’t very pleased with that response. “a stowaway is one thing. i can understand a runaway daughter. but i sure as hell don’t tolerate murderers.”

“pl- please! please don’t kill me. i had no other choice!” you are almost ashamed of how quickly you resort to begging. power? what power? you never had any after all. you can’t even defend yourself right now.

the man is silent for a while. then, the gun is lifted off your forehead. he uses it to motion towards a couch standing underneath a window, which you take as your cue to sit down, albeit confusedly.

“you have thirty minutes ‘til we arrive back home. explain,” he orders.

first you fiddle with your thumbs in your lap, looking around nervously, then you sigh and hang your head. “i had to get out,” you mumble.

the cowboy pulls up a chair and sits on it with his arms crossed. “can’t hear ya, darlin’.”

you pick at the skin around your nails and finally muster up the courage to speak loud and clear. “my mother. the blood is my mother’s.” suddenly your sight gets blurry, and you think you’re about to pass out until a drop of water lands on your hand. you wipe at your face. tears. they’re tears - you’re crying. why are you crying? you don’t feel sorry. you feel nothing at all.

“i just,” you take a shaky breath, “i just had to get out. i couldn’t keep on living like that!”

you see the cowboy shift in the corner of your eye. he uncrosses his arms, assuming a less interrogatory pose. his robotic hand hovers over your knee for a moment, unsure, before he changes his mind and withdraws.

he lets out an agitated groan as he takes off his hat and runs his hand through his long bangs. just as he’s about to speak, a notification sound comes from the control panel. the man looks a bit confused. he stands up and walks over to the panel, opening the new message. you watch a toothy grin form on his face.

“well would you look a’that. you’ve made the IPC your enemy, little lady,” he says.

you are shocked out of crying as you glance at the touchscreen in front of him. your name, your photo - and a sign that says wanted dead or alive. a hefty sum of credits glares at you underneath.

of course. you’re not just wanted by the authorities on your planet. you still owe the rest your mother’s debt to the IPC, the corporation that does not just let things pass.

the cowboy turns to you. “this makes things very different.”

“h-how so?” you ask.

“see, i’m a galaxy ranger.” a bounty hunter. the words aren’t spoken, but you assume that’s what he’s getting at.

you’re silent for a while as the two of you stare at each other. “so, you’re gonna turn me in?”

“i won’t.”

you’ve already made peace with your execution, but his response throws you off. “wait - what? that’s a lot of money, you know.”

the cowboy chuckles and approaches you once more. you shy away from him, and as he towers over you - boy is he tall - you finally notice that his teeth are sharp like a shark’s.

“the name’s boothill.” he offers you his hand to shake, and you do so, albeit reluctantly. it’s surprisingly not as cold as you expected it to be. “the IPC is my number one enemy - it’s mutual, really. this ship? stole it from ‘em. your bounty is chump change compared to the money they’re offerin’ for my head.”

“s-so…”

“the enemy of my enemy is my friend. i’ll do you one favor, lady. you’re not going back to your home planet. instead,” he drawls as he lets go of you, walking back to change the coordinates of the ship. “i’m droppin’ you off at my next stop.”

you stand up abruptly, and before you can blink, boothill is pointing a gun at you. “but don’t think i’m lettin’ you off my sights, pretty lady. you’re still a murderer.”

you open your mouth and close it a couple times. “th..thank you…” a sudden wave of dizziness comes over you, forcing you to your knees. boothill is by your side almost immediately to hold you by the shoulders.

“whoa there!” he chuckles, “you good?”

you sigh, hanging your head. you’re tired. you’re so tired you can feel it in your bones. “it’s been a long day.”

“oh i bet it was. y’know, i think there is a shower in here somewhere - why don’t you get yourself cleaned up?”

you nod. the thought of having your mother’s blood on you any longer doesn’t make you feel very great. “oh, but.. i don’t have a change of clothes.”

boothill hums. “i think i saw some uniforms around here somewhere. come with me.”

the ranger helps you to your feet and then he’s leading you out of the cockpit into a small resting area. you figure that this ship probably isn’t very big. boothill starts opening various cupboards and closets until he finally finds what he’s looking for.

“aha!” he exclaims. “there it is. here. pick up whatever’s your size.”

“thanks,” you mumble. “where’s the bathroom then..?”

boothill clears his throat. “no idea.”

“what?” you raise an eyebrow. “how long have you had this ship?”

“whatever. i’m a cyborg, y'know, i don’t exactly take showers.”

“well don’t you brush your teeth..?”

the cyborg flashes you a toothy grin. “you think these bad boys are mine? they don’t need cleanin’.”

you stare at him for a while without saying anything. your expression however speaks volumes. you’re disgusted. then you turn, uttering a simple “ugh, men” while you embark on your journey of finding fitting clothes and a shower - or any other place to wash yourself.

and you’re successful. the third door you open happens to lead to a small bathroom. and as you shut the door behind you and slump against it, you let out a long sigh. finally some proper quiet, an oasis just for you. maybe things turned out better than you’d planned after all.

when you found out that it was boothill’s ship you ended up on instead of the IPC, you were crushed. but now that you know that there is a bounty on your head, the thought of having to hide in enemy territory sends shivers down your spine.

things are still uncertain. you have a long road ahead of you - one of hiding and fleeing, probably. but this matter is in your hands now. you can decide for yourself. and if you get caught and killed, well - that will be your repercussions for the decisions you’ve made.

you undress and step inside the shower while actively avoiding looking in the mirror. the water that leaves your body is stained red as it washes off the blood stuck to your skin, which you scrub so meticulously it starts to burn.

you leave the shower refreshed and feeling somewhat like a person again. the mirror is foggy, and when you wipe it to finally look at yourself, you find dead, exhausted eyes staring back at you. all the adrenaline of today really did a number on you.

is that all you’re concerned with..? shallow cuts litter your arms where you nicked yourself. they serve as a reminder of what went on earlier. your mother is dead. the woman who birthed you and raised you. you repeat this to yourself over and over, hoping to elicit some kind of emotional reaction from yourself.

nothing comes of course. you’re still a husk devoid of emotion.

maybe you are a monster after all. maybe it’s time to accept that.

you find your way back to the cockpit, boothill nowhere to be found. unsure of what to do, you sit back down on the sofa and look out the window into the darkness of outer space. small white dots decorate the blackness and you think about how many worlds are out there, orbiting those dots.

you’re in space. actual space. it finally dawns on you. you’ve escaped that hellhole. talk about moving! you’ve always dreamt of moving far away, but truthfully you never dared think outside the box - or outside the planet for that matter.

your eyelids grow heavy as you lean against the backrest. you should thank boothill… make it up to him… maybe tomorrow.

sleep claims you before you know it.

when boothill enters the cockpit with a blanket in hand, he finds you crashed out in an uncomfortable position. he blinks. would it be rude to move you? but then he thinks about the back pain you could get from this… and he approaches you, carefully laying you down along the length of the sofa. he covers you with the blanket and dusts off his hands, quite proud of his work if he says so.

when he stole this ship, boothill thought this would be just another heist. but then you crawled out and, admittedly, you looked scary as all hell. but if there’s anything he’s learnt in his life as a ranger, it’s never to judge a book by its cover - and you just might be a book that’s right up his alley.

[joanquill]

Caught making out

IM SO SORRY TO BE SO LATE!! ITS STILL A FEW HOURS BEFORE ITS 17TH FEB IN MY COUNTRY SO I HOPE YOU CAN SEE THIS REQUEST 😭😭🙏 How about Prompt 4 With William Moriarty Obv it'll be a romance 😭 And pls fluff no angst 😭🙏 IM REALLY SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE

William James Moriarty

A/N: And this is the last for the Valentine's event, thank you, everyone! 🥰 Tag/s: Established Relationship Warning/s: Suggestive? Mention of Hickeys

"Hmm..." you muttered, staring at the variety of Valentine's gifts on display, analyzing each one.

You sighed in defeat as you stepped back.

'It's no use... I can't think of a way to surprise Will...' you begrudgingly thought, remembering how all your old attempts to fluster your boyfriend failed.

Since you two started dating, William has never failed to tease you and make your face turn red, whether in private or with other people present.

You tried to do the same, but he was always ten steps ahead.

At this point, even just a little startled expression would be enough.

"If you keep staring like that, the chocolate's gonna melt," Bonde warned as he patted your head, making you turn to him.

"I'm sure Will-kun will like any gift you give him," he reassured with a teasing grin, making your face flush as you removed his hand from your head.

"The chocolate's for everyone," you reminded with an awkward cough, making Bonde roll his eyes.

"Right... That's why we're on our third department store for the day," Bonde added as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders with a smirk.

"Haha... Yeah... Thanks again for coming with me,"

"Don't mention it! Besides, you promised me you'd buy me that new perfume, remember?" he reminded, walking up to one of the stalls with various colognes and perfumes.

"Yes, yes..." you chuckled, looking at the selection as Bonde started trying on some of the samples.

As you continued to look through the store for Bonde's perfume, an idea popped into your head.

'That could work...!' you thought as you rushed to Bonde.

"Hey, can you help me pick out a perfume?" you asked, catching him by surprise.

"Sure, but why? Are you buying one for Will-kun?" you shook your head in response,

"No, it's for me. I have an idea,"

'All right!' you smiled as you took out the perfume from the bag, testing its spray before the surprise.

"(Y/N)? The meeting is about to start," William called out as he walked into your shared bedroom, making you hide the perfume behind you as you turned to him.

"Okay! I'll be out in a minute," you innocently replied, making him raise a brow as he walked up to you, making you step back.

"What are you hiding?" he asked with a knowing smile, making you nervously laugh.

"It's just the perfume Bonde and I bought," you answered honestly, showing him the bottle.

"But the real thing smelled different from the samples we tried," you added, spraying some into the air.

"It smells off..."

Curious, William leaned into the spot you sprayed and smelled the perfume.

"I don't think-" you gently held his chin and kissed his lips, feeling your face flush.

William pulled away as he looked at you in surprise, making you step back and look at him for a reaction.

"Pfft," he quickly covered his mouth and turned away, making you furrow your brows.

"It didn't work!?" you asked in exasperation, making William chuckle.

"Well... I wouldn't say that, my love," he replied, showing his cheeks flushing pink.

"Ah-" you muttered, letting out a sigh.

"Fine... I'll take it as a win," you murmured with an exhausted smile, making William lightly laugh.

"All right, let's go to the meeting-" as you were about to leave the room, William grabbed your hand and pulled you to his chest.

"Will? We're gonna be late," you reminded, seeing a mischievous smile on his lips.

"We still have a few minutes to spare," he reassured, wrapping an arm around your waist as he kissed you, his free hand laying on the back of your head as he deepened the kiss.

"Did you truly think you could pull a stunt like that without consequences?" he whispered against your lips before kissing you again.

"Where are they?" Sebastian grumbled, looking around the meeting room for you and William.

"I wonder..." Bonde thought out loud, trying to piece together your plan for the perfume.

"Do you know why Mr. William and Mx. (Y/N) are late?" Fred asked innocently, making Bonde grin.

"I have an idea..." he replied, getting out of his seat and leaving.

"And where are you going?"

"To see if I'm right!" Bonde answered as he headed straight for your and William's bedroom, getting ready to kick the door open and announce to the whole manor that you two were late and see why.

BONUS:

"Now that we're all present..." William started the meeting casually as you sat in the very corner of the room.

Steam was practically coming out of you as you hid behind your scarf, hoping to hide the hickeys William happily gave you.

"Why the hell were you two late?" Sebastian whispered to you, making your hide further into the scarf.

"I don't want to talk about it..." you replied, hoping the curious eyes of everyone would leave you.

"So, I guess your plan worked?" Bonde asked with a grin, making you flush and lightly hit him.

"That was not my plan!" you corrected, making him laugh.

"What was?" Fred whispered, making you hide behind your hands in horror.

"Can we please focus on the meeting...?"

[sushiwriterhere]

right where i want you

summary: "Standing there, staring at the cotton balls in the trash, some part deep inside of you decides that it’s now or never with Rhett."  rating: explicit (18+ mdni) pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader word count: 6.1k warnings: sub!rhett, pseudo enemies-to-lovers!, mentions of violence, choking, dry humping, overstimulation, aftercare, potentially ooc, no use of y/n.  notes: uhhh walk him like a dog bitch walk him like a dog🗣😼 i'm not even gonna lie to y'all i've never seen outer range but lewis pullman is in my brain. pls let me know what u think! thank you to @sebsxphia for encouraging my rhett brainworms and to @rhettabbotts for reading a snippet ! my other works are here tagging: @lewmagoo @wkndwlff @bobfloyds @sometimesanalice @bradshawsbitch @roosterbruiser @withahappyrefrain @theharddeck - pls let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

You work a comb in steady, circular motions over your horse’s coat, watching as the dust and pollen raises into the soft afternoon light. Just under the background noise of the stable, you hear boots crunching and you immediately know who it is. All your time away hasn’t changed a thing, it seems. 

“Rhett Abbott you leave me alone or I’ll yell at the top of my lungs, I swear.” You don’t even turn around to look at him, as if not making eye contact would mean he’ll leave. He won’t. And he never does.

“How’d ‘ya know it was me?” You hear the way he kicks at the dirt of the barn floor with his boots absentmindedly, and you try to not let his presence rile you up too much since you know that’s what he wants.

You still don’t turn around to face him. “Because y’never leave me alone.” 

“I’m jus’ sweet on ‘ya. Couldn’t help it if I tried. Besides, missed ‘ya while ‘ya were away at that fancy east coast school o’ yours.”

“Well, have you tried?” You ignore the second part of what he said–you’re back for the summer, and you really haven’t been gone all that long even if your parents act like you’ve come back from the dead.

That pulls a laugh from him. 

For as long as you can remember, Rhett Abbott has been a pain in your ass. You were slightly younger than him but that somehow never stopped him from always finding a way to be in your presence. Your dad being Wabang’s sheriff didn’t seem to deter him either, especially when your dad started getting real prickly about having boys around. 

“Nope,” He lets his lips pop dramatically on the ‘p’ sound, then pauses as if to consider his next words, “Plus, you’re real cute when you’re mad.”

All you want is to turn around and throw the rubber brush you’ve got clenched in your fingers at his stupid, smug, face. You know the exact expression he’s wearing in that moment because it’s the same one he’s had every other time he’s taunted you. 

“Decide if you love me or hate me, Rhett Abbott. Quit wastin’ my time.” You hiss, and this time you do turn around. You refrain from throwing anything at him, though. 

“Aw, don’t get too upset now,” He pushes himself off the stall door he’d been leaning against and makes his way into your personal space.

You level him with a scathing glare before going back to grooming. Even the way he breathes around you seems to raise your hackles and you wonder if all this tension is ever going to resolve itself. If he’s ever going to leave you alone.

“I didn’t come by to bother ‘ya, honest.” He murmurs.

You don’t grant him a response, but he stays where he is, undeterred.

“I wanted to see if you’d come out tonight, everyone’s been missin’ ‘ya. Whole town’s in uproar that you’re back.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

That seems to satisfy him as a grin spreads across his face and he spins on his heel, whistling jauntily as he strolls out of the stable.

You’re loathe to admit it, but it makes something twist in your stomach at the thought that Rhett came by to invite you out, to tell you he missed you. That everyone missed you. You shove that feeling down, though. Rhett’s always just been a nuisance and the fact that he seems to have gotten far handsomer while you’d been away is not part of your calculus.

-

For all his insistence that he actually likes you, has been thinking about you this whole time, Rhett sure is more than happy to let some buckle bunny cuddle up to him. You swallow something down, not jealousy, but what feels like a lump in your throat. He’s a liar and you’re a fool. Rhett Abbott will never be anything but a good for nothing, sonofa—

You storm out of the bar in a huff, not noticing the way Rhett’s eyes follow you over the head of the bleach blonde who’s grasping the collar of his flannel. 

In missing Rhett’s gaze, you also miss the way James Earl follows you out. By the time you’re in the parking lot, it’s too late to turn around. James is between you and the door. 

He calls your name and it makes all the hair on the back of your neck stand up, “Wait up!”

“Leave me alone, James.” You really don’t want to deal with him right now, you don’t want to deal with any men, for that matter. 

“I said wait.” His voice turns acidic and you pause before turning around slowly. There’s nowhere else for you to go but back into the bar, and you’re certain he won’t just let you walk off while you try to call your dad.

“Now that you’re back, I’m going to take you out to dinner.” James looks almost like he has good intentions, but you haven’t lost touch with the way news travels in Wabang just because you were separated by a few states. 

You know what the girls who stayed behind say about him. You heard the stories in high school about how he treated his girlfriends–always holding their arms too tight, a little too possessive. There’s nothing about him that you like, or even want to tolerate, at all.

“No, thank you, James. I really should get going.” You try to sound sweet, try to turn on the charm in hopes that he’ll change his mind. 

You turn your phone over in your hands, unlock it, and try to act nonchalant. You remember the Swiss army knife tucked in your bra if things get rough. 

His demeanor switches in an instant.

“You think just ‘cause you’re the sheriff's daughter you can just walk around like you own this place, huh? Too good for us with your fancy college? All of Wabang swoonin’ over a stuck up, prissy, little bitch.” The words are like poison, but you try to stand your ground, “Why I ought’a teach you a lesson.”

When James stalks your way, one hand starting to reach for you as you reel back in fear, you realize just what he intends. The world slows to a molasses, you’re outside your body as you freeze, unable to do much but witness what you know is about to happen to you.

Instead of James’ hand around your wrist or in your hair, Rhett’s voice breaks the moment, “Earl, I’ll make ‘ya sorry ‘ya ever look’d at ‘er if ‘ya don’t step away right now.” 

There he is, illuminated by the bar deck lights, one hand on his belt as he stalks into the parking lot. You’d call him your savior if you don’t blame him somehow; if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in whatever girl was giving him attention in that moment maybe you wouldn’t be here. 

“Like hell you will, Abbott. Leave us alone, this is none of your business.” James whirls around, his attention momentarily off you.

You think you can make your escape, make it back inside the bar where there are more eyes and call your dad to get him to pick you up. Instead, you watch as Rhett and James come face to face, both acting like macho idiots. 

They soil your plan for a hasty escape. It’s Rhett who makes the first move and shoves James, hard. In a split second they’re yelling obscenities at each other as Rhett grabs him by the collar to shake him and clock him across the face. His knuckles split open on James’ face and you aren’t sure if his nose is broken from the blow or not. 

“Stop it!” You try to at least get Rhett’s attention, maybe use his feelings for you for good, but it does little as James tries to gain the upper hand. “Rhett Abbott you fool, get off’a him!”

All at once, a few other patrons spill out of the bar doors at the commotion. You’re standing a few feet back from the pair as they tussle; there’s blood strewn in the dirt and you hope not too much of it is Rhett’s. Suddenly they’re being pulled apart.

You march up to James and stick a finger in his face as he struggles against the men holding his arms, “You ever try that shit with me again I’ll make sure my daddy gives you exactly what you deserve.”

His face is twisted up in a snarl, and he looks like he’s considering spitting in your face, “Still hiding behind your daddy? Figures.”

He’s hauled off in a moment before you can respond, no doubt to get cleaned up and have someone take a look at his nose. Maybe even to face your dad. You whirl around to start shouting at Rhett next, but he’s simply standing there, hands hanging loosely by his sides. No one’s restraining him anymore, they’re all dealing with James you guess, and you realize that it’s just the two of you in the parking lot at that point. 

You make your decision in an instant, “Give me your keys.” 

You don’t get closer to him, you just hold a hand out and look at him expectantly. Rhett doesn’t move. 

“Rhett Abbott, you damned fool, give me your keys so I can take your stupid ass home.” 

He has the audacity to smile wolfishly at you, cheek bruising, and say lowly as he walks to you, “Tryin’ to take me home, sugar?”

Snatching his keys from his fist, you turn around without responding. You don’t check if he’s following you, some part of you knows you don’t need to. 

You climb into the drivers side of his truck and start it, only barely waiting for him to get in and buckle up. Switching it into gear, you start driving. It’s deathly silent in the cab as you drive, ignoring far too many traffic laws along the way for someone who was raised by the sheriff. Rhett fidgets in his seat next to you. 

As you weave down the back country roads to his place, you distantly recall the time during high school when he’d bought the truck. All week, girls had flocked to him, begging him to teach them to drive stick (they all already knew) or even just sit in the back. Trucks were a dime a dozen, but Rhett Abbott’s was special in the eyes of all the future buckle bunnies. 

You’d watched the chaos from afar until he’d lifted his gaze from the girl tugging at his flannel to look at you. You’d looked away quickly, too embarrassed to be caught staring at him despite your continued insistence you didn’t like him in the slightest and that he never crossed your mind.

He never did end up giving any of the girls a chance. He wouldn’t even let them touch the keys.

Now here you are, driving his truck like it’s your own without a single complaint from him. 

When you pull up to his house, you get out the same way you’d gotten in–without a word and barely waiting for him to catch up to you. It’s almost instinctual, the way you grab the house key from next to the truck one, unlock the door and shove inside, only knowing that he’s inside too because of the way the door slides shut softly instead of slamming. 

Once inside, you flick on the kitchen light and round on him, “Now why’d ‘ya have to go and start shit with James Earl, huh?”

Rhett looks like he’s just been scolded by his mother for leaving his socks on the floor at his ripe age, and he scoffs harshly. You don’t miss the way his knuckles are split and crusted in blood. There’s a bruise blooming high on one of his cheeks. 

“I’m the one startin’ shit? He was tryin’ somethin’ with you!” He takes a step toward you but you don’t move, “Earl’s a piece of shit and he got what was comin’ to him. I don’t regret a goddamn thing.”

“I had it handled.” Your defense is instinctual–knee jerk, even—everyone wants you to be fragile, to be something that needs protecting, and you’re sick of it. 

“Did ‘ya?” You’re toe to toe now, and his shoulders are heaving. “‘Cause what I saw said somethin’ else.”

For a moment, you think he might kiss you. It takes all of your mental effort not to shove him and start shouting at him for how stupid he is, so instead you raise a single eyebrow and plaster on your most disapproving expression possible. 

“I’m not arguin’ with you, Rhett Abbott. Get your damn first-aid kit and lemme clean ‘ya up.” 

For once in his life, he listens to you. Eventually you find yourself kneeling in front of him as he sinks into the couch. You’ve turned on one of the living room lights, but there’s still just barely enough light to make out the details of his face and the way he tore up his knuckles on James Earl’s nose and cheeks. 

“Now keep bein’ all tough, I better not hear ‘ya bitchin’ about the antiseptic hurtin’.” You don’t have it in you to actually hurt him though, so you keep the press of the rubbing alcohol-soaked cotton balls gentle. 

He draws his shoulders up by his ears regardless, hissing lightly when it stings. Thankfully, only his pinky knuckle is actually split open on his right hand, so he won’t be entirely useless at work. His left hand is in worse shape, with three of his knuckles bubbling blood where he managed to cut them open. Both hands are bruised.

He doesn’t comment on your position at his knees. 

“Earl’s nose better be fuckin’ broken.” Rhett finally breaks the silence as you finish cleaning his hands. 

You don’t grant him with a response. Instead you stand to your full height and make your way to the kitchen to throw away the cotton balls now soaked with his blood. Standing there, staring at the cotton balls in the trash, some part deep inside of you decides that it’s now or never with Rhett.

When you return to him, he hasn’t moved a muscle. He simply tips his head back to look at you. Slowly, you put one knee up on the couch next to his thighs, then the other, and all of a sudden you’re kneeling over his lap. The hem of your dress just barely brushes his jeans. He looks like he’s holding his breath and he barely exhales when you let your full weight rest on him.

“I need to make sure he didn’t break yours.” It’s a lame excuse and you both know it, but you know he won’t call you on it, not when your bare thighs are warm against his denim-clad ones. 

He smells like outside, like the evening sun, and something that tickles your nose; it’s uniquely Rhett. Privately, you wonder if all his clothes smell like him, and if they carry that scent even when he hasn’t worn them in a long while. 

Shifting in his lap, you cradle his face and turn it toward the light. As if he’s trying not to spook a wild horse, he very delicately places his hands on your thighs. He doesn’t grip them, doesn’t let his fingertips twitch, just rests his calloused palms against your bare skin.

“Looks fine to me.” You breathe out, realizing how close your faces are.

“I’ll pretend that was a compliment.” He’s trying to sound flirtatious, trying to sound like the casanova his reputation makes him out to be, only he’s breathless and his face is flushed and you can feel his pulse racing.

You hate when men think they can just take control of you in bed because they’re a man and you’re not. But with Rhett, you can tell you’ve got him right where you want him by the way his Adam's apple bobs in his throat and the way his hands rest on your thighs, fingertips just barely brushing the hem of your dress. 

Letting go of his face, you brush imaginary dust off his shoulders before letting one hand rest flat on his chest, and threading the other up into his hair. It’s silkier than you ever imagined despite the way you know you can safely assume he does jack all to take care of it. He’s so damn pretty it makes your chest ache.

Both of you are silent, only the sounds of your breathing barely audible. Ever so gently, you slide your hand from his hair to the base of his neck. He’s like a foal in the way you’re unsure of how he’ll react to your hand placement, a new sort of touch. His heart hammers in his chest beneath your palm.

He doesn’t bolt or react strongly. Instead, he swallows thickly against your hand, blinking slowly at the sensation of your fingers tucked neatly around his throat. You’re not squeezing in the slightest, just letting your fingers rest around the warm, tanned, skin of his neck.

“Are you going to behave, Rhett?” Your voice is low over the sounds of the night outside.

He nods as you flex your fingers gently, testing the waters, and his eyes flutter shut. Rocking your hips experimentally, you feel the way his grip tightens on your thighs and the way he’s hard against you. 

He likes it. He likes the way you’ve got a hand around his throat, the other resting gently on his chest. He isn’t fighting you, he isn’t arguing–for once in his life, he’s quiet in your presence. 

The realization of how obedient he’s being sends a skittering sort of arousal through you. You see yourself pulling on jeans tomorrow and finding his fingerprints on you. You see him staring at himself in the mirror in the morning, lost at how to cover up the evidence of what you’d done to him the night before.

“You’ve spent all this time pullin’ my pigtails, and now that I’m here you can’t even form words.” He keeps his eyes closed and nods ever so slightly.

You want to hate him. 

Oh how you want to hate Rhett Abbott. You want to hate the way he’s spent the last however many years following you around like a stray dog, poking fun at you and riling you up, just to have your attention. You want to hate the way he probably spent more time chasing boys off than your dad did. More than anything else you want to find it in you to feel something other than the way he’s burrowed himself under your skin. 

“Whatever,” His voice is strained and he clears his throat before opening his eyes again, “Whatever you want, sugar. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“And if I want to get up right now, and never see you again?” You aren’t going to make this easy on him. 

Yelling at James Earl is one thing, almost beating him to a pulp is another. You can protect yourself, you’re not a damsel in distress, and above all Rhett needs to learn his place. You’re grateful he was there, you are. But you didn’t need him to go and get in trouble on your behalf.

“Now, sugar, I find it hard to believe—”

You move as if to stand up, going to remove the hand from his neck to use one of his shoulders as leverage. Before you can get far, really even one inch away from him, one of his hands is flying from your thighs to clutch at the wrist of the hand that’s leaving his throat. He holds you there, and you can feel the way his pulse is racing. He maintains the way he stares into your eyes, but this time his are wide, almost as if in fear that you’d actually get up and leave. 

“Try again.” You don’t change the way half your weight is off him, but you let him hold your wrist.

“Whatever you want, goes.” He swallows slowly before speaking again, “Will you just–Will you please sit back down?” 

He doesn’t let go of your wrist.

You ease yourself back into his lap and run your free hand in between you till you reach his erection. It sends a thrill through you to feel just how excited he is by all of this. You want to hear him say please again, you want to see how far you can push your luck with him in the palm of your hand. You want him to beg.

You laugh lightly, if not a bit cruelly, as you squeeze his cock over his jeans, “Does this turn you on, Rhett?” You pause to watch how his pupils dilate at your tone before pressing on, “Not much of a big, bad, man now, are ‘ya?”

To your surprise, that doesn’t set him off. Most men wouldn’t let you put your hand around their throat, much less question just how much of a man they are. But he barely reacts beyond his chest rising and falling, his hands moving back to fully settle on your thighs and this time, gripping tightly. 

“Like I said, whatever you want, sugar–I just want ‘ya to use me. Be good for something,” He licks his lips and exhales shakily, “Be good for you.” 

Jesus. His sincerity bleeds through in the way his face is flushed and he maintains steady eye contact. He doesn’t waver for a single moment. 

Something sick twists in your chest. Never before has a man been so willing, so pliant, for you. They’ve always tried to take what they want from you, always tried to make you submit. But what you actually wanted was this, Rhett’s eyes gazing pleadingly up at you while you sit in his lap. 

“So this is what you wanted all along, huh? Always following me around, playing pranks on me, just wanted me to get my hand around your throat and use you?” You’re goading him on, trying to discern exactly what he wants you to say, what he’ll let you get away with. 

With that, you lean close as if to kiss him and he closes his eyes lightly in anticipation, but at the last second turn your head so you can drag the tip of your nose across his cheek. The shudder that runs through him at the feather-light sensation is delicious; it makes you laugh lightly at how affected he is. His breaths are starting to come heavier, already betraying him if he tried to hide how badly he wants this. But he isn’t hiding, not in the slightest.

Now that you’re this close to him, the scent of him is overwhelming. It floods your mind and makes you almost lightheaded as you realize just how badly you want him. Part of it is that he’s so pliant, so willing, but the other part is the truth of the matter that you finally have to admit to yourself: you don’t hate Rhett Abbott. 

In fact, his whole years-long performance has only meant that his constant presence is lingering somewhere at the forefront of your mind regardless of whether he’s around or not. When you’d gone off to college, those nine months had been odd without him around. You’d half expected him to show up to walk you between lecture halls or push some frat boy off you at a party.

(What you don’t know is that Rhett did almost go out to visit you. He’d looked at plane tickets, at how long it might take him to drive. He decided against it when he remembered every time you’d rejected him or told him to, very unkindly, “fuck off”.)

“Can I kiss ‘ya?” His voice is rough and he licks his lips again, like it’s a nervous habit. 

You press a gentle kiss to his cheek and giggle softly to yourself when he whines and says, “That’s not what I meant and y’know it.”

Finally, you press your lips to his. They’re soft and warm and he’s so much better of a kisser than everyone else you’ve been with that it almost knocks the wind out of you. But he keeps you grounded, especially when his hand moves up to your jaw so he can coax it open. The way he licks into your mouth makes you let out a startled gasp. 

You don’t expect it to feel so good. It’s one thing to sit in his lap and flirt, it’s a whole other to taste him and understand why girls chase him endlessly. You can’t stop the way your hips move against his and he keeps one hand on your thigh while the other goes to your tits. His hand dwarfs your chest and he gropes you haphazardly. 

“Fuck, you’re even better than I imagined,” He sighs, pushing up against the hand that’s still around his throat. 

“I haven’t even taken my clothes off, Rhett.” You tease, wanting to see how far you can push him, see if you can still get a rise out of him.

But it seems he’s given up the fight now that you’re right where he wants you. He smiles gently as he pulls back to look you in the eyes, “I could finish in my pants like a damned teenager with you like this, sugar, doesn’t matter.”

Rhett Abbott, womanizer, absolute menace in your life, admitting that he’s got it so bad for you that he could come in his pants just from having you near him? You could’ve guessed that he wanted to fuck you, but you always thought it would be more of him getting his rocks off and letting you fend for yourself. It never would’ve occurred to you that this is how he’d be in the moment. Him admitting how weak he is for you makes your head spin.

You press yourself ever closer to him, licking into his mouth and trapping his hand between the two of you where it had been stroking your nipples through the thin fabric of your sundress. He manages to free it, though, and slides it down your side to where your thigh creases. He wraps it around you there and the the sheer size difference between his hand and your hip makes a twisted sort of want course in your veins.

The first press of his thumb against your clit through your panties sends a jolt through you. He keeps your hips moving in a steady rhythm against his as he works steady circles over your clit. His other hand won’t stay still as it runs up and down your back, rubs your nipples, yanks on the tips of your hair ever so slightly. It’s mind-numbingly filthy, the quiet of his house filled with both of your gasps and moans, your hand still on his neck. 

“Cum for me, sugar,” Then, as if he’s anticipating your chastisement, he adds, “Please.”

Your orgasm rips through you like white hot lighting as you gasp into his open mouth and he moans right along with you. You realize you’re chanting his name over and over like a prayer, completely unwittingly. He doesn’t let up with any of his movements, prolonging your pleasure til it folds into something more biting, just on the edge of overstimulating. 

“Fuck, Jesus,” He gasps, and after a moment, “I’ll be thinking ‘bout that til I die,” He rasps out, settling both of his hands on your hips and leaning his forehead against yours. 

You want to tease him about taking the Lord’s name in vain but you hold back. For a moment, it’s quiet. Your hips are still against his as you take in what just happened. It begins to dawn on you that he’s still hard under you, but he isn’t making any moves to change that. 

He starts to shift under you like he’s considering standing up but you stop him by leaning into him. 

“Ah ah, I’m not finished with you yet,” His eyes snap to yours in surprise.

“Rhett Abbott. Tellin’ me I could make you cum in your pants like a teen boy?” You lean back ever so slightly with a light snarl on your face, finally tightening your fingers to a tight grip in a way that makes his eyes glaze over, “Prove it.”

Pressing the heel of your palm into his crotch, you watch as he eyes scrunch shut and he grinds up once, twice, three times before a he releases a shaky exhale. You watch as he comes, as he pants and whines through his orgasm, the denim under your hand growing warm and wet. He doesn’t stop grinding and thrusting up against your hand til it draws a pained moan from him. 

“Can I–Can I keep going?” He tries to make eye contact but his eyes are too unfocused from pleasure, “Like it when it, ah, when it hurts.”

God, this is what you’ve been missing out on the whole time? You let yourself rock steadily in his lap as he grinds up against your hand and leans forward to kiss you messily. You wonder if he let the other girls he’s been with do this to him. But something tells you that isn’t the case–you really don’t want it to be.

The whines and gasps he’s letting out as he’s writhing below you are something from your most far-fetched fantasies. You’re only slightly stunned as you feel him get hard again below you, though it seems to draw out the pain more than the pleasure given the way his face twists up and the hiss he lets out. All at once he settles; and then he goes to lift your wrist away from his crotch. 

It’s terribly tender, the way he pulls away from you to press a kiss to the palm of your hand and smile widely at you. You almost get whiplash.

“What are you playin’ at?” You can’t help but settle back into your old ways–the Rhett Abbott you’ve known for so long has only really been around to aggravate you, the heartfelt way he’s looking at you sets you off kilter. 

When he laughs at the way you’re starting to get irritated, you try to pull your hand from his to no avail and it makes the heat rise in your face, “Knock it off, Rhett. You’re bein’ an asshole.”

But he just keeps smiling at you as he pulls your other hand off his neck so that he can place both on his shoulders and cradle your face, “You’re so beautiful.”

As if anticipating the way you’re going to react to his words, he pulls your face to his so that he can press your lips together once again. It’s nothing like before. Before it was all tongue and your lips barely meeting through the gasps and moans being pulled out of you. This time it’s something so warm, so delicate, it makes your chest hurt in a different way. 

“I hate you, Rhett Abbott,” You manage to gasp out once he pulls away fully, a sparkle in his eyes. It doesn’t have any heat to it, lacks all the rage it used to–this time, it just sounds like you might be trying to tell him you love him. 

He ignores you in favor of standing with you still in his arms and declaring, “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up and go to bed.”

Somewhere between your orgasm and when he kissed you that final time, you think he might’ve figured it out too–that you don’t hate him and maybe you never have. Because you let him carry you through his dark home without protest. You let him undress you wordlessly, without fanfare and without ogling your naked form. He simply drops your soiled clothing into a laundry hamper and starts undressing himself.

You watch him strip as he turns on the shower and gestures for you to follow him in when he steps in. For just a second you stare at him, halfway in and halfway out from under the stream of water, the way he’s staring at you expectantly. 

He still has that bruise on his cheek from where James Earl hit him what feels like a lifetime ago. His knuckles are still split in some places, just turning that particular shade of red in others. He’s a goddamn vision under the yellow and white fluorescent lights of his bathroom. It makes you want to hold your breath for fear that you’ll disturb the moment somehow.

The shower proceeds without a hitch. It’s oddly lacking sexual tension, though you notice that he’s still half hard. You have half a mind to sink to your knees and suck him off, just to prove your point, just to show him you mean business. But the way he gently washes you as if he’d done it a million times before stops you. You let him clean you up between your legs without a protest.

When he opens the bathroom cabinet to reveal various creams and lotions after you’ve both stepped out and wrapped yourselves in towels, you feel yourself start to get angry. Is he seriously showing you all the products he buys for all the other girls he brings home?

Instead, he smiles sheepishly at you and rubs the back of his neck, “You always smell so good, I spent ages tryin’ to figure out which one you were usin’. Just bought all of ‘em at some point.”

You feel floored as the fight leaves your body. You don’t have a way to be upset about that. Wordlessly, you pick up one of the bottles tucked in the second row and hand it to him. 

“It’s this one.” 

The grin that spreads over his face is one of such genuine happiness it makes you want to squeal and run for the hills at the same time. You wonder distantly if he’ll ever stop making you feel like that–simultaneously like a trapped animal and like you’re the only girl he’s ever seen. You wonder if this (there’s a ‘this’?) will last long enough for you to find out.

He lends you one of his shirts and you’re pleased to find out that it does hold his smell. It sits long on you, settling around your knees, making you feel just a bit like a sexy ghost with the way it hugs your chest. He pulls on a pair of briefs before flicking off the overhead light and then throwing back the covers and patting the space next to him.

“You’re a vision for a blind man, sugar,” His voice carries through the otherwise silent room, “Now come to bed.”

It’s something out of a daydream, climbing into bed with Rhett Abbott. You’re immediately enveloped in his scent, the way his arm lays heavy around your waist and pulls you close to him. For once, you don’t fight him.

“You okay there, sugar? Been awfully quiet.” His voice is low right next to your ear before he turns away momentarily to turn off the bedside table light. His arm is back around you in an instant.

Wiggling yourself around in his arms, you turn so that the two of you are nose to nose. He smiles that smile again, the one that fills you with warmth and makes your stomach twist. There’s barely enough light from outside to really see him as your eyes adjust to the dark, but you know his face.

“I don’t think I hate you.” 

He starts laughing. It shakes his shoulders and makes the bed creak. His eyes screw up and you can feel the way his stomach moves against yours. You feel your shoulders go up by your ears and you try to pull away, embarrassed that he’s laughing.

“I’m sorry, sugar, c’mere,” He tugs you even closer to him than before, if possible, “I’m not laughin’ at you, I’m laughin’ only ‘cause I never hated you. I don’t really think you hated me either.”

“Hey!” You’re indignant, “Rhett Abbott, who’re you to tell me how I feel?”

“Alright, alright, sugar, I’ll take ‘yer word for it. My heroics do it for ‘ya?” You barely catch the way he winks at you in the dark, but it makes you want to bite him in retaliation.

“The way you almost got the snot beat outta ‘ya? Sure.” Scoffing, you turn yourself over so you’re facing away from him again, only you don’t move out of his arms. 

He huffs lightly in protest, but lets it go in favor of nuzzling into your hair and pressing his lips to the crown of your head. It sends a warm sort of heat through you. You’re not ready to fully give in to him yet, but you think he might be growing on you. You’ll just have to see.

[bella-rose29]

Pretty

Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

requested by anon: Saw your post about Lockwood ideas so here's one! Reader and Lockwood have an extremely close call on a case and in the heat of the moment, Lockwood ends up kissing the reader.

Made this one gn since no gender was specified! hopefully I haven't messed up anywhere with that (pls let me know tho)

I am also so so sorry about how long this took anon 😭 I have nobody to blame but myself for that I won't lie

lockwood has his tea like Cameron and I'm convinced it's a fact

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: swearing, they fight some visitors

Tag list: @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @wandamaximoffbae, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

As always, let me know here if you'd like to be added to/removed from my Lockwood and Co tag list, or send me a message! <3

(not my image, also I'm fully aware of how many times I use this one)

"Hey, I've just put the kettle on, d'you want tea?" Lucy chirped as Y/n entered the kitchen, paperwork in hand. They nodded gratefully, shoving the papers onto the table and flopping in a chair. "What's all that for?" Lucy asked, gesturing to the multiple files now scattered in front of Y/n.

"The case tonight. Lockwood's refusing to help me with the research, the little shit. Says he's got 'important business' to go on, whatever that means." They frowned, remembering how he'd been essentially ignoring them all day. "Did I do something to upset him?" they asked Lucy, looking up at the girl.

"Don't think so. Why?"

"Don't know. Just, he hasn't talked to me all day, so I-" Y/n was cut off by Lucy's snort of laughter, and their frown deepened. "What?! Why are you laughing?!"

"He hasn't talked to you all day? God, just tell him you like him already!"

Y/n flushed at her words, and threw a scrunched up piece of paper at Lucy. "Shut up," they mumbled, crossing their arms and slouching in their chair. Lucy only laughed more, handing over a cup of tea and sitting down next to her friend as she started to rifle through the papers. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you out, silly. If Lockwood won't do it, I will. You'll be so unprepared otherwise, and I can't have my best friend dying yet."

"Thanks, Luce."

"Sure," she shrugged, studying a news article. "Dunno why you like him though. He can be a monumental tw-"

"Hi Lucy, Y/n," Lockwood said, stepping through the door with carrier bags in his hands. He looked at them, wondering why they were suddenly quiet when he'd heard the two of them talking before he walked in, but when he saw the kettle boiled on the side that was ready for him to make his tea to his liking he forgot all about it. Dumping the bags, he moved to the cupboards and reached for the honey, pouring the right amount into the mug. Lockwood heard the scrape of a chair and a whispered protest as he added the white sugar (one teaspoon), and turning around he found Lucy getting up to leave and Y/n tugging on her arm and begging her to stay. Lucy had a wicked grin, though, and in one swift movement she'd unhanded herself from Y/n and skipped out of the door, and a moment later her footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

Y/n was glaring at the door, as if it would bring Lucy back to the kitchen, but when Lockwood sat down next to them with his cup of tea in one hand and the deft fingers of his other picking up a pile of papers, their expression immediately softened.

"Glad you finally felt you could grace the plebs with your presence, my lord," they joked, hoping he would apologise for being absent all day. He cracked a smile, shaking his head as he chuckled.

"Can't be around all the time, can I? You'll boost my ego too much."

"I would argue we reign your ego in. Honestly, I'm suffocating on it right now." Their eyes were wide in mock frankness, making Lockwood laugh more. "Seriously though," Y/n said when he'd calmed down a little. "Where were you?" They tried to not sound too hurt, but Lockwood picked up on it like he always did.

"I told you, I had important business-"

"What 'important business', Lockwood? Because I've had to do this research on my own, and there's way too much of it!" He at least had the good grace to look sheepish, scratching the back of his neck and mumbling something into his tea. George entered the kitchen then, pausing whatever conversation Y/n and Lockwood had been having. He stood in the doorway, picking up on the strange atmosphere but not knowing what to do about it, and shook his head as he went to make a sandwich. None of them talked, and George kept casting the two of them weird looks as he moved around the kitchen, looking like he wanted to say something but never getting that far, until eventually he finished making his lunch and left, closing the door with a soft click (and a loud protest from the hinges) behind him. Y/n had turned back to their papers, attempting to read over the documents and figure out the history of the building before they headed out for the evening. "Are you at least gonna help me now?" they sighed, looking back up at him. He nodded, washing out the mug of tea that he'd downed in the last few minutes.

They sat in silence for a while after that, only talking when one of them found something interesting or worth making note of. Lockwood stopped rifling through papers at one point, file limp in his hand while he studied his coworker. "I'm sorry," he said, and although his voice was quiet it startled Y/n. "I just- I know I'm difficult sometimes- okay, fine, a lot of the time," he amended at Y/n's raised eyebrows. "But I really did have important business to attend to. I was stocking up on equipment for tonight. Not much, just a couple of flares."

"And that took you the whole day? George has only just come down for lunch and it's three in the afternoon."

"I was also..." he sighed through his nose, irritation flitting across his face. "I was also getting this," he said, rushing the words as he yanked something out of his jacket pocket. How he'd ever got the item in there in the first place Y/n had no clue, since they weren't aware of Lockwood having pockets that large.

"What is it?" they asked, skeptical of the rectangular object they now held. It had been expertly wrapped, with a nice little bow on the front, and when Lockwood simply gestured for them to open it they peeled the paper off, revealing the book inside. "Is this-"

"Took me ages to find a store that had it. I know how much you've been obsessing about getting it so I figured since I was out I might as well. I didn't realise how long it would take though, and I didn't exactly want to admit that to you either."

"Lockwood, you really didn't have to do-"

"Shush, or I'll return it." That shut them up, making them clutch the book close to their chest as if to prevent him from taking it away. "Come on. We've got work to do."

~~~

Half an hour later Lockwood was making another cup of tea for both of them, laughing as Y/n complained about some of the details (or lack thereof) in the building plans.

"I mean, there's an entire room that just... doesn't exist on the floor plans, even though we went to the house! How does that happen? It's not even an extension- oh, thank you," they were interrupted when Lockwood passed them their mug, hot tea warming Y/n's hands as they gripped the beverage. His hand lingered on the handle a moment longer than was necessary, his gaze catching on theirs, and Y/n held their breath when their fingers brushed. Lockwood seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was in, jerking his arm back, clearing his throat, and shuffling over to his own seat.

It was weird; they'd brushed past each other on the stairs and had curled up next to each other on sofas before, and held (very limited) eye contact every day (it was awkward holding it for more than a few seconds, even with Lockwood), so why was this time any different?

They spent the next few hours in more silence, the atmosphere mildly awkward as they worked, and by the time they pulled up to the house in the back of the taxi not long before sundown Y/n thought they might burst from the sheer amount of tension they could feel.

They had always been an overthinker, analysing minuscule details that, in reality, probably didn't matter, but for some reason stuck in Y/n's head for months after. It didn't help that they had feelings for Lockwood, since it made every touch or lingering glance have a stronger effect on their overthinking tendencies, and very often took them out of the real world and into their own head.

Which was unfortunate when they needed to be very much in the real world to fight Visitors.

In fairness, the man that owned the property had told them (with a shocking amount of certainty) that there were two Type Ones, one Shade and one Lurker, and while Y/n was inclined to disagree that he knew best, Lockwood was flashing a winning smile and grasping the keys, assuring the owner that Type Ones were nothing the pair of them couldn't handle.

They set up their chains and defences, did an initial reading of the whole house (the stairs came back as the coldest at nine degrees, with the upstairs family bathroom a close second at ten - worrying for the early hour), then returned to the kitchen and put the kettle on, cracking open a packet of biscuits.

"Are you sure about what he said? I mean he's what, late thirties to early forties? How reliable is he for identifying Type Ones if he won't be able to see them?"

"Look, we have no reason to distrust hi-"

"I literally just gave a reason."

"Okay, fine. No reason to distrust him yet. Everything we've seen so far from our initial readings is pointing to Type Ones, and we're Lockwood and Co. This isn't anything we can't handle." Y/n had been about to protest again, to say something about how the stairs and bathroom really shouldn't have been so cold this early on, but then he had smiled at them, one reserved purely for his friends, and they melted, all thoughts of danger gone out of their head.

Perhaps they should have fought harder against him, or perhaps they shouldn't have become too wrapped up in the moments from the kitchen earlier, but either way they didn't notice the Limbless until it had nearly pushed its misshapen body through their head.

~~~

Lockwood had shoved them out the way, their bodies rolling over each other as they tumbled down the hallway, the air shifting as the Limbless soared over them.

Lockwood ended up on top, his body shielding Y/n's, and he lifted his head up from where it had previously been in their neck, asking a desperate "Are you okay?" They nodded in response, too shaken to do much else, and then Lockwood was up, yanking their arm to pull them up beside him as he drew his rapier. Y/n did the same, hands trembling slightly as they finally registered the miasma that felt like it was suffocating them.

"Limbless, but we can handle that. You getting anything that can help?" He was referencing Y/n's Touch, but when they pressed their hand to the bannister experimentally the feeling of fear that washed over them was so strong they stumbled back, bumping into Lockwood.

"Shit, that was not fun," they said, grimacing at the headache they could already feel forming. "We can't use flares, Lockwood, it's too cramped in here. We're gonna have to draw it away if we can, then find the Source. It's got to be the stairs somehow, I just can't figure it out."

"Okay. Here's the plan," he started, but Y/n was unfocused, staring down the hallway over his shoulder.

"Lockwood?"

"You figure out where the Source is, I'll hold it off-"

"Lockwood?"

"-and then we'll be out of here and back home with a cup of tea within the hour."

"LOCKWOOD!"

"What? Why are you shou-"

Y/n grabbed his face in both of their hands, pushing him around to see what was behind him.

"Shit," he said, paling. Where there had only been a single Limbless to deal with before, the number of Visitors had gone up, with Shades and Lurkers that the owner had mentioned earlier joining the now two Limbless that were hovering at the end of the hallway. The feeling of miasma was washing over the two of them like a tidal wave, and Y/n pressed a hand to their mouth to try and stop throwing up. "We can still do this?" he said, although it sounded more like a question than an inspirational chat to his teammate.

"Lockwood, we need to just go. There's no way we can do this on our own, your pride be damned."

"Okay, okay. We'll collect as much of our kit as we can then, a lot of it is new and I don't want it being wasted. Do you think you're up for it? You look very ill," he frowned, concern for Y/n working its way into every movement of his body.

"Can't we just ditch the kit and get out?"

"As much as I'd love to, we are incredibly under equipped right now and have to pass through the kitchen anyway. We'd do well to have a few extra supplies on us, don't you think?" His voice was gentle, nothing condescending about his question, and Y/n found themselves nodding when he searched their eyes for an answer. His whole body relaxed, and then he was grabbing their hand and slowly retreating towards the kitchen, hoping not to alert the Visitors to their presence.

They were doing well, nearly past the kitchen threshold, up until Lockwood brushed his thumb over the back of Y/n's hand and they stumbled slightly, scuffing their foot on the floorboards and kicking a cabinet.

The Limbless (both of them) snapped their bloated heads to face the two agents, and Lockwood and Y/n only had a brief second to share a look when the ghosts came soaring towards them before he was tugging them into the kitchen, slamming the door behind them and rushing past the counter.

"Pick up what you can, anything to defend yourself with!" he shouted, wheeling around to grab a bag. They made a move towards the iron chains and added a ring to the circle that they'd already made, doubling up the strength of the invisible wall, then dragged in the kit they could reach and stood within the circle.

"Lockwood! Get in here!"

He made a mad dash for them, eyes wide and face flushed from the cold that was now creeping in to the kitchen. "Okay, what now? We'll be protected for a little while but we can't stay for-"

"Calm down, alright? We can sort out our kit in here, quickly, and then use the back door just there. We might have to leave some of these chains behind though, they're pretty heavy."

"Temperature's dropped significantly. That's not a good sign. Do you think there are more hauntings in here?"

"I wouldn't put it past this place. Besides, it's eleven. The others all came out quite early." They crouched down, starting to work methodically through the bags, but Lockwood stayed standing.

"What would I do without you, hey?"

Y/n tried not to flush at the compliment, remembering that the previous two times they'd been caught up in analysing everything that happened between the two of them they'd invoked danger, and continued going through the bags. "Can you help please? Instead of standing there like a lemon."

It took them five minutes to finish up, bags being zipped and thrown over shoulders, belts checked for stock and rapiers drawn. They would have to leave the chains behind, which was a shame, but necessary if they wanted to be able to move quickly. "On three?" Lockwood asked, glancing over his shoulder to check with Y/n. They nodded, bracing themselves for the run. Lockwood started counting down, and just as he said "Three" the kitchen door blew off its hinges.

~~~

"Shit! Go!" A Poltergeist, manifesting in the kitchen and manipulating the room if the many knives that were now floating in the air were anything to go by. The back door was only a couple of metres away, but the real question was whether they could outrun the blades.

They almost did, launching themselves out the exit and slamming the door shut behind them, and Lockwood breathed a sigh of relief until he saw the blood on Y/n's arm. "It's fine," they said when they caught him looking, moving away from the door. "We should get out of here."

He didn't say anything, instead sheathing his rapier and dropping the bag he was holding to grab Y/n's face and kiss them. Y/n almost dropped their own things, about to reach up and draw him in further, but he was pulling back before they could, picking up the kit and moving away from the house. "Come on! We need to find a taxi!" Y/n stood gaping at his retreating form before they heard the wailings of some of the Visitors inside and quickly followed after him.

~~~

The taxi ride home was awkward.

Lockwood wasn't looking at Y/n, and they were starting to feel increasingly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that enveloped the two of them.

"I'm sorry," Lockwood said, making Y/n jump slightly even though his voice was quiet.

"...What for?"

"For- I shouldn't have- I- For kissing you." He still wasn't looking at them, so he couldn't see the stifled smile on their face.

"It's okay, Lockwood."

"No, I should have just got us out of there instead of- I put us in danger and that was stupid of me," he turned to face them, expression earnest. "And I don't even know how you..." he trailed off, blushing.

"It wasn't... I wouldn't mind doing it again, if that's... where you're going?" Y/n was surprised at the confidence they had to admit that, given how bad they were normally at expressing their feelings for him. Lockwood blushed slightly, his cheeks tinted pink, and his eyes widened.

"Uh- okay," he said, hiding his smile behind his hand as he braced his elbow on the door. "Are you sure you're okay? You're bleeding a lot."

"I'm sure it's fine. I think it's only shallow, and most of the blood is dried now. If it'll make you feel better you can bandage me up when we get back."

"Okay. I'll put the kettle on, too. I really need a cup of tea right now."

~~~

True to his word, Lockwood put the kettle on the stove and grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard before heading to the bathroom for the medical kit. He then patched Y/n's arm up (who was right about it only being shallow, but that didn't stop Lockwood fussing over them), concentrating far more than he needed to but taking his time with the dressing in a way that made Y/n's heart flutter at his attentiveness.

Now they sat at the kitchen table with steaming mugs of tea, a plate of biscuits between them as they talked about both everything and nothing, the sun rising and casting the kitchen in a golden light. At some point Lucy appeared, making herself her own cup of tea and heading back upstairs to the attic afterwards, murmuring a sleepy 'morning' to her friends as she shut the door behind her.

Y/n shut their eyes, soaking in the freshly made cup of tea (Lucy had made a large pot for the three of them) and the small warmth that the sun pouring through the window provided. They could feel Lockwood watching them, and sure enough when Y/n cracked an eye open he was focused on them, a soft smile on his face while he sipped his tea. "What?" they asked, a smile of their own forming.

"Nothing. You just look really... really pretty."

"Pretty?" Y/n asked, and Lockwood blushed a little, spluttering as he tried to explain himself.

"I don't know how else to describe you! I can come up with something else if you'd prefer, I just thought it fit! You know, with the light on your face and you looked really peaceful and lovely and..." he trailed off into unintelligible mumbles, turning to stare at the thinking cloth instead of Y/n's face as his blush grew brighter. They laughed in response, leaning forward across the small space between them to grab Lockwood by the tie and pull him in for a kiss. It was short and sweet, but still left the two of them breathless and flushed, and the resultant smile on Lockwood's face was well worth the amount of nervous butterflies in Y/n's stomach.

"You're pretty too, Lockwood."

[spiritedstars]

Spirit Meets the Bones - III

Genre: Angst/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse.

biggest shoutout to @abruisedmuse ♥️ for keeping me sane while writing! ily.

Tagging: @sabrinaacarpenters | @vanserrass | @climb-the-mountian | @positivewitch | @helion-ism | @readthelastpaage | @sarions | @zenkindoflove | @animezinglife | @eastofatlanta | @carolynmezzosoprano | @carnythian | @runningwiththeoceans | @secret-third-thing | @readychilledwine | @clockwork-ashes | @goldenmagnolias | @mali22 | @maidr-00 | @electromagnetic-waves | @thedarkinmansfield | @theeternalstruggle | @devilsfoodcake22 | @the-midnightwriter | @spinachtz | @elizab3th-grace | @ladystarrynight | @highlady-fireheart | @that-golden-lyre | @krem-does-stuff | @lovedbyth3sun | @moonfawnx | @illyrianshadowhunter | @foxybananaaaz | @weesablackbeak | @ladywhilemia | @moobell55 | @alohaangels | @bibliophiliaxvignette | @easchies | @this-is-rochelle |

Find it all here.

Eris immediately knew he had made a mistake when he stood behind her, his hands inches away from her hair. He had been itching to touch her, especially when she kept getting angry with him. He could almost see her driving his own dagger into his throat and in a way his mother would be very concerned, it thrilled him.

He'd always known whoever he'd marry would be his father’s choice and naturally, had expected a snake of a wife, one that wanted his power and influence. He hadn’t expected to find one that mirrored his own survival instinct. 

 “May I?” he finally asked quietly and again, the air between them seemed to go taut. He watched Iris swallow through the mirror, saw her eyes dip for a moment to the dagger in her hand before looking up back at him, and then she nodded. 

Eris paused, even with her permission. Touching her hair seemed to feel too intimate for them. Just being in the same room like this seemed too intimate and Eris had barely touched her. 

Hesitantly, and much more gently than Iris seemed to anticipate, he began pulling out the pins that had been out of her reach and placed them on the vanity in front of her. 

Typically...typically his hand was fisted in a female’s hair. To be pulled. Yanked.  Rarely, if ever, had he touched gently, and it slightly unnerved him to feel so starved that he was reduced to touching her hair so tenderly like an absolute idiot. 

“A question for a question.” she said, breaking the silence, and his lip quirked. 

“A question for a question.”

“You said you were ordered to get married…” Iris began, and Eris’s fingers halted for a fleeting second before continuing. “Why couldn’t you choose your bride? Or say no?” 

Eris hummed softly. How was one to describe the tyrant of a father he had? The one person he fantasized about murdering each day? 

“My father...runs a very tight ruling in our court and household. As I’m sure you’ve heard,” he said quietly, his eyes solely focused on each hair strand that fell loose. “You do as you are told unless you can convince him otherwise. My reasons weren’t convincing enough. I’ve only ever disobeyed my father once and paid dearly for it.”

“What did you disobey him about?” she asked, and Eris tried not to pause again, his eyes hyper-focused on the slight pout in her frown, her furrowed eyebrows. 

 “Ah, ah. My question now.” he replied, tugging on a loose strand of hair gently, and chuckled when Iris scowled. She gestured with her hand for him to continue. 

“How did you learn to defend yourself?”

She was quiet for a moment and Eris watched her in the mirror with curiosity. “I used to sneak in and watch my father’s guard train. I’d wait until my father was out on business and then practice.” 

“By yourself?”

“...With a friend.”

“Oh?”

 Iris rolled her eyes though her cheeks had colored slightly. “I exchanged a few kisses and touches for a sparring partner. It helped me.” 

Eris felt heat coil in the pit of his stomach, a flicker of simmering anger he had no business feeling. “Did he...take advantage of you?”

Iris quirked her brow. “That’s three questions to my one.”  

“But did he?”

“Why do you care?”

Indeed. Why did he care? It wasn’t as though he could do anything about it now if the male had taken advantage of her. 

But then Mor flashed in his mind and Eris frowned. He had paid dearly for pretending he hadn’t cared about her in that moment of weakness. This, here, shouldn’t matter to him. Yet, he asked once more.

“Did he?”

Pursing her lips, Iris sighed. “No. I enjoyed the attention and allowed it. We didn’t get too far anyway. My father found out and banished him then beat me.” she explained, and Eris could see right through the nonchalant shrug she gave. “I wasn’t allowed to shame him by fucking the middle class. I was being saved for a prince.”

She gave him a sarcastic smile here and Eris tried not to smirk. “Thank you, wife. I’ll gladly take the burden of your maidenhood off your hands as soon as we get you out of this dress.”

“Please go toss yourself out of the highest window.”

“I can’t. I must insist on only dying by your hands.”

“Then death is near, husband.”

Eris chuckled, fingers stilling again as he pulled the last pin, watching as her hair cascaded down her back, desperately trying not to think about the feel of it between his fingers. “I’d believe you except you still need help with your dress.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Once you’re dead, I’ll just tear it off, it’s fine.” she replied, watching his hands still inches away from her hair. “I’ll be a widow. They’ll think I ripped it apart in my grief.”

“Not that I ravished you and then died of bliss?”

Shooting him a glare, she held up the dagger. “Answer my questions. You owe me three.”

Eris rolled his eyes but with one final glance at her hair, he moved away, leaning against the vanity and faced her.

“To answer your earlier question, you must have heard about my brother Lucien and his former lover?”

Iris nodded solemnly. Everyone had heard about that. It was one of the many reasons everyone hated Beron.

“Well, I refused to participate and warned Tamlin about Lucien. Naturally, my father did not appreciate the disobedience,” he said, and Iris sat back in her chair, dagger still in hand.

“Is that why he didn’t come to the wedding?” 

“My father’s death will be the only reason Lucien would come here willingly,” he replied with a snort, crossing his arms. “He and his mate have invited us over for lunch whenever you’re up for it. You can meet them then.”

“Assuming I don’t slit your throat in your sleep, of course?” she said with a pleasant smile and Eris chuckled.

“Of course.” he replied with a gracious nod of his head. “Now answer my questions, wife. Tell me about your father.” he requested.

Iris pursed her lips, a finger stroking the edge of the blade. “My father...as charming as he claims to be with everyone outside of my household...Lord Aron thrives on control.” she began, running her free hand through her loose hair. “My mother’s death was not in his control. Having me was not in his control.” Iris met his gaze. “When my mother died giving birth...He loved her in his twisted way more than he wanted me so naturally, I was the worst thing that happened to him. Especially when he wanted a son.” 

“So, I assume he raised you with all the love he knew your mother would want you to have?” Eris said and the corner of Iris’s mouth curved up at the sarcasm. 

“Oh yes.” she said quietly, and her expression tightened. “Your back…?’ 

Eris waved a hand. “Gifts.” 

“But...why?” she asked quietly, her eyes locked on his. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first.” 

Eris’s lips went into a thin line and he rubbed a finger to it, debating how honest he should be with her. Judging by the hardened look in her eyes, it felt pointless to deny it.

“They weren’t all meant to be mine, but I got in the way often enough.” he said quietly and at the way her face fell, he knew she was aware of who he meant. He watched her throat bob.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Iris replied and pushed the chair back, standing. “Help me with my dress. I’m tired.” 

Eris cocked his head and blinked. “Why?” 

“Why what?” she asked wearily, looking over her shoulder at him before facing the mirror and Eris frowned, unsure how to ask her to continue.

Why was he asking? He knew his family was miserable. Her life had clearly been the same. It didn’t help that his mother taking the brunt of his father’s abuse seemed to mirror the fear she likely had for herself with him. His frown deepened and Eris flexed his fingers. All these years with his parents had only solidified his stance to never harm a female. The only black spot on his record was Mor and the real story will always stay between the two of them until Mor decided otherwise. 

“Never mind.” he finally said and attempted his previous bravado. “It’s time to unwrap you, wife.” 

Iris narrowed her eyes at him through the mirror and slowly held up the dagger again. “One wrong move, Vanserra.” 

He chuckled, though it had lost some of its mirth. “I’ll behave.” 

With her eyes still locked on his, Iris moved her hair to the side and said nothing, though Eris noticed the tension had returned to her body. He glanced at her for just a brief moment then his gaze fell to her back and the ties holding her dress together. The white gown she wore hugged her figure snuggly — beautifully, and Eris appreciated the chance to admire it again.

Slowly, carefully, his hand found its way to the top and his fingers gently pulled on the knotted ties. 

He hesitated then.  

Eris knew he shouldn’t be nervous to help her with her dress. He had taken dresses off the bodies of many beautiful females in his life. This should be nothing. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, and he looked up, meeting her eyes briefly before bringing it back to the dress.

“Nothing.” was all he said and focused on the ties. Carefully, he slipped his fingers beneath each ribbon tying the top together, and pulled to loosen them. Eris felt her stiffening as he made contact with her back, a small breath escaping her lips and he froze, meeting her gaze again in the mirror. Iris flushed and Eris’s eyes zeroed in on the bob of her throat. He lifted a brow and spoke softly, “May I continue?”

Iris looked away from him but nodded all the same and it took Eris a moment to tear his gaze from the flush of her cheeks and back to the dress. If this was the only time he was going to touch her for a while...it seemed wise for him to take his time. Wise to drink in the sight of the soft curls of her hair that fell to the side, the exposed long neck. It was the most skin he was seeing of hers and oh...the flush of color against her olive skin ignited a feeling of longing in him. 

A longing for something normal. 

Leave it to his father to find him a breathtaking wife who wanted nothing to do with him. 

Working at an even slower pace, Eris slipped one finger at a time between each ribbon of the corset and pulled gently, Iris backing into him with each tug.

“Don’t yank.” she said, a slight breathlessness to her words as she pulled away slightly, finally letting go of the dagger and bracing her hands on the vanity. “You’ll ruin it.”

“You have no idea how badly I want to, wife.” he replied softly and pulled the last ribbon treacherously slowly. Much to his agonizing dismay, she wasn’t wearing anything under it. 

Eris took in the bare skin that the dress exposed, from the top of her back down to the dip and he wondered if she could hear the pounding of his heart, and feel the heat of his gaze on her lovely skin – no scar in sight, unlike his own. Before Eris could stop himself, his fingers traveled down the bareness of her back and a shock zipped through his body.  

He heard her gasp and whip around, holding her hands across her chest to keep her dress from slipping and stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Don’t.” she whispered to him, but Eris could only stare at her. He stared and slowly leaned in closer, letting his hands settle on the vanity she was leaning against, caged between his arms. 

They silently stared at one another, a different kind of tension between them now.  

Eris stared, his expression stoic as he drank in every one of her features. The sharp cheekbones, the lovely nose, her parted lips. His eyes fell to the now exposed collarbones and he had to clamp down on the sudden urge to lean in closer and lick them. 

His amber eyes found her hazel ones, reading the mistrust in them, the hesitation — but he could only think of one thing to say. 

In the softest of murmurs, he spoke, “I don’t think I was given the chance to tell you how beautiful you are, Iris.”

Iris blinked and her flush deepened as she frowned slightly. “Thank you. You can back away now.” she replied and the corner of his mouth quirked up, leaning in even closer.

“But I would prefer not to.” he whispered, and Eris regretted standing there shirtless, positive she could see the goosebumps on his flesh that matched the ones on her skin.

“I don’t really care.” she whispered in return and Eris tilted his head in amusement, the space between their lips even closer. 

“But wife?” his voice still soft, barely above a whisper and Iris clenched her jaw, roses blooming on her cheeks.

“What?”

“I would really like to kiss you.” he requested, and was mesmerized watching the changes in her expression. The widening of her eyes in surprise, the attraction she seemed to be fighting, and lastly, when her expression hardened.

“No.” 

“No?”

"No.”

 Eris hummed in thought, unsure if he could hold back his smirk as she shifted between his arms. “Why?” he asked, the question practically a whine. “We are married after all.” 

Iris met his gaze, her eyes flicking to his lips for a second before she looked at him again. “You’ll only end up wanting more.” she replied quietly. 

“And is that so wrong?” he asked, his hand coming up to gently brush her hair behind her ear but froze when she flinched. 

His eyes narrowed, his hand midair as Iris flushed, glaring at him.  

Firmly, and not breaking his gaze, Iris lowered his hand to his side and held it there. “Don’t.” she repeated, and Eris pursed his lips. 

“Are you afraid of me, little gazelle?”

“Trust isn’t so easily earned.” 

And the two stared at each other, seizing each other up for what felt like the millionth time that evening. They shared a heated gaze, her hand still on his.

“I’m sure a kiss could persuade you to change your mind.” Eris proposed and leaned even closer to her.

 “You seem desperate, husband.” she replied and against every instinct, leaned closer to him as well. “The scent of your lust is filling the room.”

“You should be flattered.”

“I’m disgusted.” 

“The flush of your cheeks tells me you’re a liar.”

Iris rolled her eyes and finally shoved him away as Eris chuckled. “I am flushed in anger. Don’t think so highly of yourself. I’ve only known you for a few hours and you’re very annoying.”

“Why thank you, darling wife.” he said, and he only allowed himself a small smile before turning to watch her walking towards the closet. “Do you need additional help?” 

“No. I need something to sleep in.” she replied, a hand still holding up her dress, the other opening the closet door.  

“Oh, I took the liberty of choosing something for you to sleep in.” Eris said, running a hand through his hair, watching her. “It’s on the bed.”

His lips twitched slightly as Iris’s gaze moved to the bed and she blinked in confusion.

“There’s... nothing there.” she said, squinting at him and Eris waved a hand.

“Nothing will look fantastic on you.”

Her expression flattened and Iris looked to the dagger still on the vanity, far away from her and Eris grinned when she settled on flipping him off with a glare. “Go fuck yourself.” 

“I’d much rather fuck you, wife.” he said with a chuckle, and Iris’s glare intensified.  

“Keep dreaming, asshole.” 

“The tension between us will need an outlet, my dear Iris. Especially if this is our first night together.” Eris said with an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. “I can’t imagine how much worse it’ll get the more we spend time together.”

“There’s nothing to imagine.” she growled. “Except sweet, sweet death.”  

“We can fuck this once and get it out of our systems. You can go back to hating me afterward,” he suggested, and Iris only glared at him once more before turning to the closet and rummaging through it. “No sense in denying it, hm?”

It took her a full moment of silence with Eris smirking at her back before Iris closed the closet door, sleeping clothes in hand. 

“Running a sword through your body will ease this tension you’re feeling.” 

“I’d rather we kissed aggressively.”

“If you keep this up, I’m going to make sure you die in the most embarrassing way possible.” 

“You mean when you murder me?” Eris said with a smile. 

“Yes.  When I murder you.” she confirmed. 

“You have your work cut out for you then. I’m embarrassed by very little.” 

Iris squinted at him then looked down at the clothes in her hand, her fingers rubbing the fabric gently. He watched her look at him, bite her lip, then look away and Eris’s whole body straightened. Slowly, Iris placed the sleeping set she chose for herself on the table closest to her and walked towards him. Eris focused on each step she took and then held his breath when she stopped in front of him. 

“Are you sure?” she said softly and very suddenly, she was closer to him than she had been all night, the weight of her body pressing into him.

“Am I sure about what?” he asked quietly, his hands flexing at his sides. Should he touch her? Or would it scare her away? She had said don’t.

“That it would be difficult for me to embarrass you?” she asked, finally letting go of her dress, bringing her hand so her fingers gently grazed his shoulder. Eris’s eyes zeroed in on the dip in her dress that had exposed the top of her cleavage.

“Hm?” he said stupidly, his eyes back on her face to find her smiling coyly at him and Eris blinked, fully aware of what she was doing. Of how her fingers were now slowly trailing down his chest and back up.

“Do you think,” she began and leaned close to his ear, her hand resting over his heart. “It would be embarrassing for you to die while at attention? Just before a release?”

Eris blinked. “What —”

Her hand went up and she flicked him as hard as possible right on the forehead. “Because I will have you so worked up, two seconds away from an orgasm thinking you’ve earned me, then stab you in the heart and leave you to bleed out if you don’t stop making inappropriate jokes. Keep pushing your limits with me, I dare you.”

Eris blinked rapidly, his hand coming up to touch the stinging on his forehead.

“Did you just...flick me? Like a child?”

“Didn’t know if your pretty face could handle a good smack, husband.” Iris replied, flipping him off once more then stomped away from him, grabbed her change of clothes, and slammed the bathroom door behind her. 

It took Eris a moment to realize that indeed, he now had a hard-on and a small laugh huffed out of him. Rubbing his forehead, he slowly walked to the bed and sat down, letting out another little laugh. 

This whole day had felt like he’d been dunked into a bucket of water repeatedly and then thrown into a pit of darkness. He felt disoriented with how quickly everything had changed and whiplash from his conversation with Iris. He was unclear of where they stood now. Where did he stand with her?

Eris thought back to the feeling of her between his arms, when she was only inches away from kissing him. He thought back to her flushed cheeks, the intake of breath when his hands had touched her back, her glares. 

He grinned broadly. Maybe being married wouldn’t be so bad. It was clear she didn’t really hate him. She was more worried for her safety. 

His smile immediately dimmed at that, remembering how she flinched when he wanted to touch her hair. 

He sighed then quickly stripped the bottoms he was wearing, changing into sleeping pants. Though he typically preferred to sleep in undershorts or completely nude, Eris had a feeling Iris would actually kill him if he wasn’t decent. Just as he finished hanging up his dress clothes, the bathroom door opened and his head snapped to her side, meeting her eyes. 

And oh. 

She was wearing sleeping pants and a shirt that was twice her size — meant for him. 

He raised a brow with a small smile. “Those...are mine, aren’t they?” 

Iris blinked at him then shrugged, walking to the vanity and grabbing the dagger. She pointedly ignored him as she walked past him.

“What’s yours is mine, is it not, husband dear?”

Eris smirked. “No lingerie for me then?”

“Knock yourself out if you’d like to wear some.” 

“You want to see me in lingerie, wife?”

“I’d much rather die.”

He chuckled and shook his head, watching her make her way to their shared bed, not wanting to think about her in lacy nothings. “Hm. I still think nothing would look best on you.”

Iris pointed the dagger threateningly at him. “My patience with you is wearing thin.”

And just like that, his new wife had climbed into their bed. 

It took Eris a few seconds to realize what she was doing as she crawled on the bed, as the first image of her on her knees had taken him down a very indecent road. He could only watch in amused silence as Iris started stacking pillows down the length of the bed between them. Iris only narrowed her eyes at him, as if daring him to laugh before turning to her side and laying down, the dagger sliding underneath her pillow. 

As if pillows would stop him if he chose to be a monster.

But he wouldn’t.

Eris frowned as he climbed onto his side of the bed and lay flat on his back, an arm under his head. He let a few moments of silence pass between them before he finally spoke. 

“Iris?”

He felt her shuffle and a few seconds passed before she replied.

“Eris.” 

“Tomorrow, we both have roles to play,” he began quietly and felt her still. “Everyone will be expecting it.”

“And what roles will that be?”  

“You, the shy new wife that had the life fucked out of her and is embarrassed that people know.” he continued, “Me, the sated husband who fucked the life out of you and got what’s mine.”

Iris shot up and glared at him over the pillow barricade. “The conqueror and the conquest, hm?” She spat, repulsed.

Eris sat up with an eye roll. “That’s what they’ll be expecting to see and I for one, live to meet expectations.”

“You’re disgusting.” 

“Not as disgusting as they’ll be expecting me to be with you.” he said with a scoff. “You’re lucky they stopped checking if couples consummated marriages the morning after.”

Iris frowned and looked away from him, her fingers fiddling with the edge of his shirt that covered her body. “It doesn’t have to be that way and you know it.” 

Eris was quiet for a moment. “No, it doesn’t but…it is in our best interest to play by the expectations so that no one looks too closely at us.” 

Iris tilted her head, her mouth a thin line. “Your father.” 

“And yours.” he said pointedly, and Iris swallowed.  

“But...I don’t want to be seen that way. I want to be me.”

“Unless you want them saying I fucked some confidence in you, you can’t change who they want to see overnight.” 

“Gods.” she scoffed. “Just taking all the credit for it, aren’t you?” 

He gave her a small smile. “I aim to please.”

Iris pursed her lips then scowled, shooting him a look full of disdain. “I could also seem disappointed which will clearly indicate you couldn’t perform, and your little wife was left unsatisfied.” 

Eris barked a laugh and lay back down on his back. “Oh wife, you are a funny one.” he said and felt her plop down on her side. “No one will believe that.” 

“My disappointment will be authentic enough, no one would doubt it.” She begrudgingly replied. 

Eris rolled his eyes. “You really sure you don’t want to just fuck this out? I’m sure we’ll feel better afterward and that way we’ll start off our marriage honestly.”

“One more word on this and you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“I am the firstborn son of a high lord.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“I’d be happy to. Just bend over, wife.”

She only raised her hand to flip him off and Eris chuckled. 

He waited a few more minutes in silence, listening to the slight shifting of her feet and the thundering of her heart. Despite her words, she still seemed to be nervous. A part of him couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t want to be married to him either. 

He lifted himself on his elbows to peer at her over the pillow barricade between them and found her curled up on her side, her back facing him. 

And suddenly he found himself nervous.

“If it wasn’t clear before, I want to make it clear again,” he began, and she turned slightly to meet his eyes over her shoulder. “I have no intentions of hurting you. I don’t want this marriage to be miserable. Even if it’s what everyone’s expecting.”

She looked away from him for a moment then looked back at him once more. “Even with all the things you’ve said earlier?” 

“I consider it my civic duty to tease my wife.” he said and felt her eyes roll. “Among other things.” 

“Other things?” 

“I could also be your friend.” he found himself saying quietly, the tips of his ears heating as Iris flushed and turned away quickly. Eris felt his whole body burst into flame, his face flushing as he slumped back into the mattress, embarrassment coursing through him. 

He had threatened her. Tried to kiss her. Clearly would love to fuck her. And then like a complete and utter imbecile tells her he wants to be her friend. He suddenly felt blessed his bride was picked for him instead of attempting to woo anyone. He used to have some game.

Eris only stopped debating whether he should set himself on fire and be done with the misery he was feeling when Iris spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know if I can be your friend.” she said.

Eris paused. “Why not?”

“I’m still fantasizing about choking you.” 

“Mm. That’s a shame,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting at the absurd response. “I’m still fantasizing about kissing you.”

A moment of silence passed, and Eris turned his head slightly to find that Iris had sat up, her eyes peeking over the pillow barricade and she quietly said, “A question for a question.”

Eris sat up on his elbows again. “A question for a question.” 

She paused again, seemingly weighing her question then bit her lip. “Will you...would you ever force me? If I didn’t want to?” 

“Never.” he immediately responded. “I have no intention of being the monster people seem to think I am.”

He felt her relief sweep through the room and a bitterness curled in his stomach as he dropped back on his back and Iris hid back on her side. Why hadn’t he thought of a moment like this? Where his wife would think he was a piece of shit big enough to torture her in that way? 

“What’s your question then?” her voice carried over to him and Eris realized then, that he wanted whatever this was between them to work out. 

There was no need for it to be awful. They could make it work…right?

With his gaze locked on the ceiling, he swallowed and then quietly said, “Do you think you would eventually be willing to be my friend?”

And the difference in their questions struck him then. She wanted to feel safe. He wanted a companion. He glared at the ceiling as embarrassment washed over him again, threatening to drown him at how stupidly vulnerable he let himself be with her.

A stranger. Yet, not.

He waited for her to say something and when a few moments passed and she hadn’t, he sighed softly. Eris had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard her mumble a response.

“Maybe.”

He blinked sleepily and lifted himself on his elbows to peer at her over the pillow barricade between them one last time. “Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

Eris lay back and his eyes fell on the ceiling again. The atmosphere was still a little tense, but it had dampened down, not quite as suffocating. 

Maybe was good. They’d only know each other for a few hours. Eris found maybe to be very, very reasonable. 

“Goodnight, Iris.” he whispered then, hoping the night carried his wishes in the words.

A heartbeat later, the night breeze carried back Iris’s. 

“Goodnight, Eris.”

[opluffys]

Mentor + Mentee-

-second part-

somethin quick, this was posted to my archive first as usual. pls let me know if there are any errors or if it copied weird. enjoy!!! :)

tags- thigh riding, vaginal sex, creampie, rough sex, toxic relationship, fem reader.

3.5k words.

-Ghost x Reader-

-nsfw/smut-

Hanging up and tossing the heavy wired phone onto your desk, you groaned in pure exasperation. The paperwork on your desk seemed endless, the monotonous and drab of black ink on bright white paper burning your irises, enforcing a migraine on you.

You've just gotten off the phone with, whoever the fuck, discussing the possibility of getting an assistant to help you with the excess of paperwork you've been filling out as of late. You were a doctor, your main job consisted of ensuring your patients didn't bleed out under your steady and careful hand. It was already hard enough, and now you had the added stress of the sneering stack of papers mocking you.

You clicked the ballpoint pen, bouncing your leg as the tip of the pen hit the paper, dark ink pooling and bleeding through the thin material. Your grip tightened just then, the bouncing of your leg increasing tenfold as your thoughts ran wild.

And as you continued to think, you remembered a crucial detail.

The Task Force, fuck, they're coming back today. From some mission, and you're sure Gaz told you all about it while you gave him a routine checkup, but for the life of you, you couldn't remember the main gist of it.

You didn't want to face them, face him.

•

Biting back a wail of pain as you removed the intravenous line from Soap's arm, you heard Gaz howl in laughter from the spare cot he rested on. Which had garnered him an angered stare by Soap.

"You're such a baby," Gaz laughed, turning on his side to stare right at both you and Soap.

"Fuck off." Soap gritted, hissing in agony as you continued to stitch up his lesion.

"You gonna make me?" He teased, his stare not faltering on Soap's. He glared at him, about to retaliate with his own quip before you proceeded to wipe his wound clean, the sterile stench of the antiseptic flooding your nostrils. He let out a muted scream, his good arm covering the top half of his face.

"Keep still, Johnny." You huffed, adjusting the surgical mask pulled over your features. Gaz seemed to be having a field-day at watching the scene unfold, a smug smile on his lips.

"Gaz, I can stop the morphine drip, you know." You hummed, a hidden smile of your own forming. He looked at you, a glint of fear striking his honey eyes. You held back the urge to laugh, you enjoyed teasing both of these boys in your office, and you knew the three of you were aware that you'd never do anything to bring them more pain.

"Sorry ma'am."

Now it was Soap's turn to laugh, and you discarded your surgical gloves while hearing the two hurl crude insults at one another. They provided decent white noise, and you'd take that over the deafening silence of your rampant thoughts whilst your pen danced elegantly over the various documents.

The two eventually quieted down, a tranquil silence over them as you watched the pain medication take effect on their bodies. Not even five minutes passed before you heard them snore loudly, all cuddled up into the scratchy hospital blankets.

It'd been a couple of days since the entirety of the Task Force had returned. You've only been treating Gaz and Soap, your full attention on them. Usually, you would treat them all, but you honestly didn't want to face Ghost one on one. So, to take some heat off of you, you asked another medic to tend to both Price and Ghost. Just so he didn't feel like you'd singled him out.

But, your attempts would be in vain.

•

Stretching and hearing your joints and ligaments pop in relief, you slumped over the desk, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you filed the last group of papers. Both Gaz and Soap had left your office today, thanking you for taking care of them (after raiding your lollipop drawer).

So, you sat alone, the small swooshes of air against your body feeling welcomed, the ceiling fan above creaking with every spin. All you'd have to do now was stamp the final line of the packet, ensuring you've read over the contents carefully, and then you were free. Free to run into the uncomfortable and ill-fitting confines of your bunk.

You were lost in the work, so much so you hadn't even noticed the hulking figure taking up most of the space within your office.

"You're avoidin' me."

You nearly shrieked in terror, almost developing a fatal case of tachycardia as you held your hand over your rapidly beating heart.

"What?" Part of you wasn't really surprised that Ghost had managed to sneak up on you, it was his job, after all.

"You're avoidin' me," He repeated, stepping closer to you in large and fluid strides.

"No, I'm not avoiding you. Don't be ridiculous." Yes, I am.

"Actin' all innocent on me," He was right across from you now, his large hands resting on the cheap and fake wood of your desk, hearing it creak under his weight, "we both know that's not the truth."

"It is." It isn't.

"Get up." He commanded, and you knew that tone, that authoritarian inside of him being twisted and used against you in a way that it shouldn't.

"I'm busy." Liar.

"I won't ask again."

You shuddered lightly, telling yourself that it was just because of the excessive air from the ceiling fan skating across your heated skin. But you knew such a thing was a falsified truth.

"What? What is so important that-"

"Come over here." He hushed you before you could even finish your sentence, seating himself on a sterilised and neatly prepped cot. It was all too familiar, to the point where that same damned familiar throbbing and heat was felt in between your legs.

Your legs shook, hesitating to even take a single step towards Ghost, your mind and body both telling you different things. It was tearing you apart in the most agonising and tortuous way.

Still, you'd made you way towards him, standing idly as you struggled to maintain eye contact with him. A scowl formed on your lips, eyes flickering to his chilled demeanour. You hated how he was always so calm- so tranquil and at ease, like he wasn't feeling the same things you were, maybe because he's not, at least not for you.

"Sit." He spread his massive legs, indicating exactly where he'd wanted you. You listened wordlessly, taking a seat on his muscled thighs, your hands fisting into your scrubs.

"Make it quick," You huffed, now attempting to remove your uniform, "I have a lot to do." You sighed, fingers hooking at your waistband and pulling down, or at least you'd attempted to do so, being stopped by a harsh hand encapsulating both of your wrists.

He held your hip with his lone hand, beginning to slide you over the thick muscle of his thigh, hearing you gasp in shock. His eyes pierced your own, roughly continuing to move you atop him, the material of both your scrubs and panties against your clit overwhelming.

The both of you continued to stare at one another, your breath quickening as you felt that cursed familiarity of your orgasm creeping up on you with silent strides. Your hands were still stuck in Ghost's firm grasp, wanting nothing more than to grab at him, to pull his mask forward and kiss him like you'd perish without it. Without him.

Just thinking of such a scenario had you reeling, your hips jerking as you felt your clit being rubbed just by his thigh alone. The feeling of his as well as your uniform dragging against that sensitive nub making your mind go hazy.

As you felt your release become imminent, he stopped his movements, unshackling your hands from his grip. He hastily tore your uniform, something of which he'd only done when he was particularly angered. With you or his mission, you had no clue.

His cruel stare on you was discomforting, he looked at you like you were a piece of meat- something subhuman. Just a body to warm his cock, and how fitting your thoughts were- because he quickly slipped his own bottoms down, revealing his erect cock for a split second before burying himself inside of you.

Always so rushed, hurried and lacking any control. A crude opposition to him on the field.

You suppressed a high pitched moan, hands itching to touch him, to ground yourself against him and ride him until your thighs would burn akin to hellfire. He let out a deep grunt, his hand slapping the excess flesh at your ass, bouncing you atop him like you had been weightless.

As much as you didn't want to admit it, you were familiar with the fact that you were just Ghost's stress reliever. How he'd prowl into your office during the late hours to bend you over any surface and fuck you until muted screams left your lips.

For a while, you didn't mind it at all.

In actuality, you'd enjoyed such a thing. You felt an odd sense of honour swell in your chest, at the sole fact that he'd chosen you. He chose your body to hold onto, to whisper vile and cruel things in your ear, to grab at your body like that was all you were- a body. Void of a soul, a conscious, anything.

Being his personal fuck-doll had its ups and downs, where he'd make you orgasm more times than you could count, fucking you until you cried. But the polar opposite, of when he'd leave dark purples on your thighs, your hips, neck, fucking everywhere.

Like he was doing now.

You felt his hands roam around your softer body, catching at the fat of your hips, anchoring himself to you and bouncing you atop his thick and girthy cock with fervour. It was as if he didn't know the extent of his raw strength, already biting dark hues of purple into your soft and delicate skin.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your body struggled not to slump forward, flush against his strong chest. You didn't touch him, you swore you wouldn't. He didn't deserve it. A pathetic little thing you told yourself, just so you didn't get attached, because there was nothing more you'd yearned for to hold him like a lover did. To wrap your arms around him and feeling him lovingly piston into you, to kiss your cheek tenderly while your wet insides squeezed him with a vengeful grasp.

It's all too late, anyway.

He stopped, grabbing your chin and watching as your eyes popped open in disillusion.

"Eyes on me," Low, accented tone gravelly as he commanded you.

How dare he, your eyes met his instantaneously. Watching intently as his platinum lashes rested on his zygoma for a millisecond before opening back up to look at you. To look into you, to pick you apart, seemingly, until you turned to nothing. An obedient creature glued to his side, aching knees and jaw being ignored as you served him, like the good little thing you were.

His strained sounds were heard, quiet groans and animalistic sounding grunts as he thrusted upwards, bashing into your womb again and again. It hurt so good and you fucking hated it. You hated how just sole eye contact alone would have you naked and pressed against his clothed chest, fat cock stretching your insides.

Fuck, you loved it.

You absolutely adored it, being stuffed full of him, his mushroom tip pressing flush against your womb. Loved the bruises, the blemishes he's caused. His markings, claiming you as his, his plaything. Like an infants grubby hands over a shiny new toy, slobbering all over it and showing everyone that it was theirs.

No, you'd repeat, whilst being lifted off of him, your hands linked with each other behind your back, before being brought back down to him. Heavy cock twitching inside your tight walls, slick coating his dick, veiny and big, always reaching new spots inside of you. Spots that had searing stars incandescently tug at your vision.

Conflicting emotions, a curse, something that'd have you lay awake at night. Lay in your own cot, or sat next to an ill patient. Thinking about him, wondering, perhaps he was thinking of you, too.

How laughable.

Your eyes wandered, the interminable connection of your irises to his inadmissible. His eyes were always so eloquent, nearly showing what he'd been thinking. You couldn't stand it. You enjoyed the mask, enjoyed not seeing his face, because then, it'd be that much more personal. He wouldn't be Ghost to you anymore, he'd be someone, someone more than just a bed warmer.

Would you, though?

He squeezed your hips, garnering your attention to him once more. His brows furrowed, a thin sheet of sweat encompassing the two of you. He continued to fuck into your slick heat, revelling in how you always took him so well, as he said. Drunk off of you alone, and it was one of those nights.

"Fuckin' made for me,"

Just a slip of the tongue.

But no, you took that and ran with it, lungs burning while your legs continued to sprint. Oh, how you wished that was the case. You were tethered to him for a single purpose, for him to empty himself into you, to lay you across the hospital cot and fuck you from the back, always feeling him so deep. A place where no other man could dare to traverse, could never reach, anyway.

Was it on purpose?

Moulding you to his shape, getting you accustomed (it was always impossible anyways, taking him) to his cock. To spite you when you settled down, found a man who would love you, who would care for you. He wouldn't be enough, because Ghost already left his mark.

You were knocked out of your thoughts, thankfully, when you felt his gloved fingers begin to rub tight circles into your clit. His eyes now studied where the two of you had been joined, watching as your greedy pussy would always desperately pull his girth back in for more, a pathetic beg, don't leave.

You suddenly wailed, your hands grabbing his broad shoulders for purchase as your body shook. Toes curling, back arching as your eyes etched shut, sparkly tears trailing down your heated cheeks. You came hard against him, your essence coating his cock as he fucked you relentlessly, low and deep growls rumbling through his chest. He cursed, feeling your velvety insides continuing to take him deeper inside, he's already giving it all to you but fuck, you want more, you want it all.

"Such a greedy little thing."

He always knew what you were thinking.

"Love when I fuck you like this, don't you?"

Yes, no, yes, no-

"When I fill you up, fuckin' love it, don't you," He groaned, throwing his head back as he buried himself deep within you, nearly invading the inside of your womb as his warm and thick seed filled you. Marking you so that no other man could ever- would ever, do something striking even to him. Such a cruelty, acting like you'd belonged to him. You didn't know what he'd looked like, only aware of his name from medical records.

"Always so good for me."

And you hated how that had been the unvarnished truth.

•

You stared at your hands, ungloved and bare. Soft, skilled, shaking.

Why?

You'd touched him, in a way you swore you wouldn't ever. You'd expected to be thrown off, to be looked at as scum, worse than such a thing.

It was an accident, you didn't mean to. You weren't thinking straight, it was unfeasible with him splitting you open atop his lap. You just needed to ground yourself against him, for fear of falling, pathetic excuses.

A rueful thing you'd been over the next days, your usual adept hands quivering and trembling as you'd treated some of your patients.

You heard the click of a door open, and your posture snapped up, glossy eyes searching for who entered your space.

A breath of relief as it had just been Price.

You snapped a fresh pair of gloves on, bright blue going well with your dark scrubs. You led him to a cleaned cot, asking him just what the problem had been.

"Nothin' much, love." You loathed yourself for how your heart desired him to call you more pet names. To fill in Ghost's shadow and take care of you, as the natural leader he was. You were sure he'd be excellent at doing so.

"Missed your stitches, though." He huffed, relaxing into the bed as you ran an intravenous line for him just in case.

You looked at him, a quizzical glint in your eye. "My medic didn't take good care of you two?" Just you-

"Oh, no, didn't mean it like that." He looked penitent, kind eyes trailing over you before returning back to your stare. "Just meant that you know me better, sweetheart."

It was the truth, you were the Task Force's doctor, after all. It was just an innocent compliment of how good of a physician you'd been. Yet, you felt dizzy, the room a pirouette as you forced yourself to become calm.

"I'll keep that in mind next time, Price." You smiled, motioning for him to lift his shirt to check his lesions and other deep gashes that required attention. Your medic had done a good job, stitching and sterilising his wounds. But, the stitches were beginning to loosen, and you didn't need the wound becoming infected.

Your touches on him were always solicitous on him, more so than the others. Your gloved fingertips gentle on his muscled body, your stare wrongfully looking at his abs, lower and lower to that mesmerising trail of h-

"Gaz and Soap again?" He questioned, his gruff voice shaking you.

You looked at him confused, before he nodded towards the empty jar of sweets. You hadn't even noticed, they must've done so when you were out of the room, those stealthy bastards.

"Had to be," You laughed, making a mental note to restock the jar, "sorry you didn't get one."

"S'alright love." He hummed, his striking blues closing as you redid the stitches over his abdomen, watching as his stomach twitched in response to your careful and airy touch.

You finished quickly, removing your gloves and tossing them in a spare bin. You questioned if he'd wanted the extra fluids and medication, but he'd declined, thanking you for patching him up.

You motioned to clean your station, grabbing the bag of saline fluid before it had popped open, spilling all over your top. You cursed in vexation, more angry at the lost supplies rather than your soiled uniform.

Price quickly was at your side, spare cloth in hand as he attempted to clean the saline from your scrubs. "It's fine," You said, not used to being so close to him. His scent was intoxicating, that hint of smoke already having you feel utterly addicted to his presence alone.

He brushed you off, offering his services as he continued to dry you off. The cloth caught on the neck of the scrubs, pulling the material just below your clavicle, just where that array of purple lay, unperturbed on your skin. He let out a rushed apology, fixing you to look decent, his demeanour so focused on you.

Normally, it was the other way around.

But it felt nice being the one taken care of, for once.

•

Tossing your uniform into the laundry, you felt nice in a new set of clothes. No longer being confined to scrubs, but instead a comfortable cotton outfit against you. You eyed yourself in the mirror, clicking your tongue in distaste. Dark rings of purple running around the underside of your eyes, looking as if you haven't slept in years. Hell, it felt that way, too.

You'd had a long day, full of monotonous paperwork, sobbing soldiers who had flooded your office, crying for their mothers, and the thoughts of both Ghost and Price so tiring. You were giddy to finally be able to curl up into your bunk, drifting off into a dreamless sleep before your day would repeat at dawn.

And that was exactly what you had planned to do, to forget the days contents and reset and rest for the next.

But there Ghost was, at your door and telling you something, his words lost on you as you stared at him, balaclava pulled securely in place. Your eyes were fixed on his shoulders, right where you'd touched.

He beckoned you on to follow after him, and you wanted to plant your feet to the floor. To tell him no, to tell him that you had better things to do than to get fucked by him tonight.

Of course, you didn't do any of that.

Instead, you followed his lead, not asking a single question the entire way.

[theotherbuckley]

WIP Wednesday 💘

Starting WIP Wednesday off with a snippet from my Buddie High School Valentine's Day AU. It's 5.5K finished and I'll post it tomorrow, keep an eye out 👀. Guys, please be proud of me I wrote this fic in 2 days. That has never happened before. I normally take weeks and weeks and weeks. Anyways, here you go. Prev snippet here

“It’s from one EB… who do we think that is?”

“It was the one that came with the brownie and a rose, I think it’s probably my favourite.” Eddie’s eyes glance over to Buck before quickly averting back to Howie. “Not that, uh, not that I’m interested. I think maybe it was from Erin Bowler, the new girl we share PE with.”

“Ooh she is pretty though.”

“I guess.”

Hen, who had been observing the whole conversation stares at Buck with a knowing look on her face. Buck blushes. “Buck, weren’t you just the other day talking about cows?” she says.

“Um, yeah.”

“Yeah, Buck was talking about how cows have best friends, I thought it was pretty cute,” Eddie adds.

That gets Buck to smile. “And, did you know that cows drink up to 100 litres of water a day? And that they produce 50 litres of saliva, can you imagine drooling that much? Oh and also you can lead a cow up a flight of stairs but then they can’t get back down! Maybe, I’m the cow because my leg always hurts more when I walk down the stairs. Anyway, I think it’s because of the shape of their knees or something.”

Eddie is staring at Buck with this look of awe written on his face. He’s smiling at Buck with that smile. The one that always makes Buck feel soft and gooey, the one that makes Buck feel like his heart has been taken out of his chest only to be kissed and wrapped in a blanket before placing it gently back between his lungs. It’s the smile that Buck thinks Eddie has reserved just for him, it’s the one he really thought meant that maybe Eddie felt the same way he does.

“Absolute idiots,” Hen mutters under her breath.

Tagging: @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @jeeyuns @wildlife4life @honestlydarkprincess @eddiebabygirldiaz @spagheddiediaz @jesuisici33 @your-catfish-friend @ladydorian05 @giddyupbuck @eowon @elvensorceress @watchyourbuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @king-buckley @rainbow-nerdss @cal-daisies-and-briars @malewifediaz  @evanbegins @diazsdimples @wikiangela @bucksbirthmark  @puppyboybuckley @underwater-ninja-13 @daffi-990 @fionaswhvre @aspecbuddie @lover-of-mine @nmcggg @tizniz @monsterrae1 @smilingbuckley and anyone else who wants to share! pls let me know if you'd like to be added or removed :)

[unicorncornflakes]

Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 2

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at him. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasy @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond @imaloserbby @youngcomputerpuppy @aemondsfavouritebastard @cloudroomblog @queenofshinigamis @bluevxnus @wooya1224 @serving-targaryen-realness

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 4.7K

You waited as any guest would wait in the hall of the family's gigantic mansion in the center of King's Landing. With your suitcase at the door, you dropped the shoulder strap on it and walked to the family photos until someone made an appearance. You stopped to contemplate the pictures and you felt an immeasurable attack of jealousy. A recent family photo. The whole family in it, smiling. Helaena and her husband Jace with their two newborn twins, Daeron and his girlfriend, Alicent sitting and just behind her Aemond with a smirk… and your smiling father picking up one of Helaena's children, while Jace put his arm around the shoulders of his wife, who was holding the other baby. You hated him at that moment, could he smile that happy smile with Helaena's children and he was not able to look at your face? You kept looking at the photos with a serious face, more photos of the newborns, of the four brothers when they were younger… One of your father holding you when you were just a baby… you liked that photo. It was a sample of what could have been and was not... your eyes also fell on another of your favorites. In it, Aemond carried you on your shoulders while you had disguised yourself as Visenya. You were six years old and... you remembered having told him that he would be Vhagar... you looked away. At least your grandmother, who you knew was in charge of that, had had the decency to put two pictures of you on that hall cabinet…yet your eyes widened when you realized that these weren't the only pictures of you in the hall…there was a picture of you, a prom picture on the that you were dating Brynden Rivers, who had been your boyfriend until a few weeks ago... you were not embarrassed by the ridiculousness of the photo, nor by the fact that your ex was already considered one of the family... if not because you realized he was a bloody copy of Aemond, right then and there. They both had that Targaryen presence… and both were missing an eye… Brynden gracefully concealed it in front behind a lock of white hair, Aemond exposed it with his eyepatch… all this time you'd been dating a copy of Aemond... and you wanted to die... your grandmother needed to take that picture off there, for your sake. It shouldn't have taken long... no one was going to miss it... you took the photo when, behind you, you felt a presence that hugged you tightly by the hips and he took you with an affectionate growl in a hug...

"(Y/N)!!!" your uncle Daeron shook you in his embrace while you continued with the photo in your hand. Please, that picture needed to be removed from there. Getting a hug like that, you almost thought Daeron had missed you, almost seemed so, almost…

"Uncle" you replied, hugging him back, without letting go of the photo. You would throw it away as soon as you could.

"But how beautiful you are! How much have you grown in the last year!" he told you affectionately, stretching your cheeks, as if you were still a girl. Frankly, Daeron was the nicest of all your uncles, of the whole family. To him, you were still a little girl.

“(Y/N)” your grandmother waved behind you, getting your attention. Daeron took the opportunity to continue on his way away from you and you hugged your grandmother. You hugged her lovingly, still holding the photo in her hand. She knew what it was like not to feel like a dragon surrounded by these. You saw her twist her face when she saw you in those shorts and the top that left little to her imagination. You knew she was going to ask you… “Aren't you cold like that?” she told you just after the hug ended. You knew what was going through her head, she had always been too religious, but in that respect you had come off as a Dornish woman, wild and flawless.

"It's what it takes in Starfall" you replied with a shrugging smile. “It is much hotter there”

"Yeah, yeah... Tomorrow we'll go shopping, if that's okay with you..." she commented to you with a sweet smile. You agreed. Brilliant. You were going to buy the same thing but newer, only you didn't answer. "Why haven't you gone up to your room?" she asked you seeing that you had waited there until she had appeared. "This is your house, too," she told you as you two began to climb the stairs that led upstairs. You carried the suitcase, the shoulder bag and the photo. You'd rather do it than Cole did, who had stayed outside checking something about the car. With Alicent, it seemed as if that really was your home, but you knew it wasn't.

"Oh, Grandma, can you take this picture out of the hall?" you told her, giving her the frame with a smile, just as she finished going up the stairs. She looked at you confused as she took it in her hands.

"Why? It's the most current photo I have of you... and you're so pretty... and with that boyfriend so well dressed... ”she told you smiling as she looked at the photo. You were surprised that she didn't get any resemblance. But it didn't miss you either. Brynden had to seem good-looking to her because he looked like her children when they were younger.

"It's just that we've broke up" you scratched the back of your neck with an embarrassed smile, and she looked at you confused. You could read her mind 'Well, he hasn't lasted long'. It was what she wanted to tell you, but she just tried to smile and looked back at the photo.

“Oh, I'll take it off then. Better. You're too young for boyfriends "she told you approvingly "Even so I would like to have another photo of you, to put it in the hall, since you were not in the family photo..." you continued walking to your room. They could have waited for the photo as well, but they had taken it just a few days before you arrived. “Aemond was so demanding to take the photo for us… and then your father…” she began to tell you… In other words, you weren't in the family photo thanks to them… you sighed. It was not going to be an easy summer.

Finally, you arrived at the room that served as yours. Even though it didn't have anything recognizable as yours, you told your grandmother she was the same as you left it and thanked her. She left you alone to unpack, but you just lay tired on the bed. You wrote Brynden several messages telling him how ridiculous the anecdote with the photo was. You still got along, and you could tell that he still had a crush on you. You did not remember why you had left him, except for a simple whim knowing that the time to return to King's Landing was approaching... to return to the side of who you wanted to be, unconsciously, you had ended up doing everything for Aemond... Brynden took advantage of to call you, even though you knew it was just a pretext to hear your voice. You spent a while talking to him, only to end up telling him that you had things to do. You kept lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was clear that everyone was interested in you except the one you were interested in... How wrong you were...

"By all seven, and where does this macabre crossover come from?" Daeron asked his mother, who was sitting at the kitchen island, changing the photo from the hall. Alicent looked at him raising a confused eyebrow.

"What is a crossover?" she told her son, who laughed at his mother's doubt and decided to open the fridge in search of a bottle of water. That kitchen was huge, like everything in that house, but there had been a time when that monstrosity had made sense, a time when everyone lived there and not just Alicent, Aemond and Aegon, as they did now.

“It's just that he looks like Aemond,” Daeron commented to his mother, pointing at your ex in the photo she'd removed from the frame. Alicent started to say something, when Aegon appeared with a smirk, his eyes red and puffy with exhaustion.

“Who resembles the most beloved of all my brothers? Please, let me know,” he said, sitting down in front of his mother on that island, ready to have breakfast, although it was already lunchtime. Besides, he was already well within his chance to mess with Aemond. He was not going to lose an opportunity to do what he liked most in the world.

"He's the boyfriend, well, now ex-boyfriend of (Y/N)" Alicent commented "She asked me to remove the photo because they broke up" Aegon took the photo and looked at it with a scowl while Daeron and Alicent continued talking.

"Well, the girl starts strong," laughed Daeron as Aegon continued trying to understand what the hell was going on, how was it possible that you had grown so much? At what point had all that been lost? "I'm sure she has Daddy issues" he continued joking "Only instead of having them with you, because it's obvious that you've never been with her, she has them with Aemond" Daeron addressed his older brother who laughed sarcastically. Aegon thought it must be a coincidence.

"What's that?" he asked again Alicent, who was always lost in the conversations of her children.

“Ask Helaena to explain it to you. She's the one who studied psychology,” Daeron told him, turning to leave the kitchen, drinking from his water bottle.

“(Y/N) has already arrived. She is in her room” her mother informed Aegon, who only sighed leaving the photo aside of her “It would be fine if you go say hello”

“Yes, of course, now in a while. She will be… she will be with her things. I don't want to disturb her,” Aegon snapped, looking away. At what point had you grown so much? He had lost everything... he hated himself... you were all he had and he hadn't even known how to be there for you...

"This is the last summer she's going to be here," his mother explained, and Aegon snorted sarcastically, screwing up his face.

"She has another one. She turned seventeen two weeks ago,” he said with a roll of his eyes, as if someone was going to tell him how old his daughter was.

"No, Aegon, no. (Y/N) turned eighteen,” his mother told him with a disapproving scowl. And Aegon froze. "She will start the University after this summer," Alicent explained to her, but he didn't listen anymore. Perfect. Now he really was the worst father in the world.

You had finally opened the suitcase when you heard a knock on the door without much conviction, you said that you could come in and you continued putting your clothes in the closet. When you turned to put on it another piece of clothing, you found your father looking at you with the same sadness with which he always looked at you, with his hands in his pockets. Like every time you saw him, you felt like you weren't ready for him. Neither of you both was.

"Hey" he greeted you in a whisper, and you smiled. You knew it was the most he could give you. Were you okay with that? No, but you couldn't demand much more of him. Aegon Targaryen was not a good man and you were too generous to hold it against him. Disheveled and with the face of having gone out to a party. This is how you would always remember your father.

"Hey" you returned the greeting in a more animated way while you continued taking clothes and leaving them in the closet. For a moment there was an awkward silence in which neither of you knew what to say. You saw how he sat on the bed and kept looking at you.

“I like your top” he told you, looking at you with what seemed like a trace of affection, and you smiled back.

“Grandma hates it. I've seen it in her face when she's seen me” you commented to him as you continued to put your things away and he laughed.

"Well, it's that it shows a lot of… skin for her taste" Aegon looked at you more animated, but still with that absolute sadness in his eyes "You're really prettier since the last time I saw you" he smiled at you and you smiled back. This was the longest conversation you had ever had. That gave you hope that something could change between you.

"Grandma is going to take me shopping for clothes tomorrow," you explained, narrowing your eyes and Aegon laughed.

"Great, so she can go crazy when she sees you with whatever you choose" he said with a sincere smile. Maybe he and you weren't that different. Two completely rebellious but lovely souls. At least that was how Aegon defined himself. You laughed at his comment, as if he had read your mind. "And what happened here?" he said, picking up the shoulder bag that was on the floor and that was destroyed after removing the patch with the Targaryen heraldry. Now there was only the Dayne's.

"Nothing" you told him taking the shoulder bag from his hands, completely blushing. You didn't want him to dig any further into what had happened to it, so… it had all been Aemond's fault. He just looked at you and he blamed himself because you had removed the shield from the dragon house. He looked away before speaking honestly to you.

"I'll buy you another, and have them embroider the Dayne shield on it" he tried to smile at you, as if he wanted to break a spear with that, as if that made up for the years he hadn't been, as if he had understood that all hope of you feeling like his daughter had disappeared...

"Thank you" you said with a sincere smile and he returned it the same. He got up and stretched, tired from the night before. He yawned and headed for the door. Something inside you knew that this was going to be the longest conversation you were going to have with him all summer.

"I will not bother you anymore. I'll let you place your things ”he said taking the door handle, ready to leave.

"You don't bother me, dad" you replied. Your eyes begged him to stay, that he be there with you. You had things to tell him. You could tell him about the entire year you hadn't seen each other. But, you knew your father. He never stayed.

"Glad not to disturb you, (Y/N)" Aegon responded by opening the door and closing it behind him. He didn't look back. He always hated that you didn't yell at him, that you didn't blame him for never being with you. You were too good for him, and he could only hate himself for it.

When you went downstairs to  lunch, everyone had disappeared. You ate alone in the kitchen, watching how the cook went from one place to another preparing the things for the dinner that would be held in your honor that night, with all your uncles. At last, you would see Aemond. In another time, he would have been the first to see you and the last to say goodbye to you. You finished eating and to the surprise of the cook, you washed your plate and your glass. She looked at you incredulously and commented that Aemond had only been polite enough to do that when he ate alone. Yes, indeed only he could do it. You sighed to yourself and got ready to sit in the gardens of the mansion, near the pool. You would wait a while to bathe, then you would read… that was how you were going to spend your whole summer in that house, that was your idea.

"I'm just saying that genetics is what it is," Daeron explained again, a drink in hand as his father poured himself one. You kept looking at Helaena's children. One of them sitting on his father's knee while the other was on his mother's. Silver heads and brown eyes. They hadn't released the Targaryen look and Helaena was arguing with her brother about the fact that their eyes could change over time.

“They are still small. They are only five months old. Babies' eyes change,” your aunt huffed angrily as she rocked the child in her arms. He laughed, as did his brother on his father's legs. Jace looked at her confused.

“Would it be so bad if they gouged out my eyes?” he said with a half smile. You were all sitting in the garden of that huge house, sitting around a coffee table on some swings that your grandmother had put up the year before. Everyone seemed to have their place, and you sat in the only one that was empty. It must had been Aemond's. You recognized him by that expensive cologne that he used and the always perennial smell of tobacco on his clothes. They kept arguing about the color of the babies' eyes and your father came up to you. He offered you a drink, you were old by his standards, but your grandmother quickly admonished him. You were all still talking, waiting for Aemond to arrive for dinner. Well, the others were talking, you just looked at that French door waiting for him to appear, like a puppy in love.

“Well, it doesn't really matter who they look like. They're going to have the last name Velaryon, so…” Aegon shrugged, sitting across from you, but looking at his little sister and intruding on the conversation.

“Really, I don't care who they look like. We were just talking. Here the only one who is obsessed with lineage, blood and dynasty we know who he is…” Helaena snorted, her child falling asleep in her arms. You started paying attention to the conversation because you knew who they were going to talk about.

"No, what? Aemond? Please, no,” your father teased sarcastically. He took a sip from his glass, as if the topic really cheered him up. You had always known the animosity they had, but at that moment, you laughed at his joke, without understanding the depth of his words.

“I still remember the rant he gave me when he first brought Lya home. All because she was a Stark and where this left us that with our Valyrian lineage, and blah blah blah” Daeron began, rolling his eyes, opening a beer.

“At least he scolded you. He spent two weeks with me without speaking to me when I got pregnant. He told me that he thought I was having a tantrum with Jace, but he was glad that it wasn't in the end. Can you believe it?" Helaena said looking at her husband, who only answered her with a shrug.

“He spent his teenage years reading too much about dragons and ancient Valyria. Nothing good can come of that,” Aegon said, to which his mother scolded with a look.

“That's not true… When (Y/N) was born, Aemond didn't say anything. What's more, he looked really happy ” your grandmother scolded everyone with her eyes, trying to defend the coldest of all her children. You blushed. In those days it was hard for you to remember that after all, Aemond had been around even the day you were born.

"Of course not. She is a woman. The problem would have come if (Y/N) were a boy" Daeron sighed "If she were a man and were to continue the 'lineage', which obsesses him so much, it would have been different ”. You turned pale, what was happening with Aemond in recent years? You didn't remember him like that. He hadn't always been like this. They continued talking, finally changing the subject. You realized that too many things had changed for your liking.

At ten o'clock your grandmother decided that you had waited too long for Aemond to have dinner together. You already sat at the table without him. They toasted you, they asked you what you had planned to study, if they had already decided, Daeron encouraged you to study law. Aegon annoyed him saying that you should study Marketing. There were always vacancies in the company. Helaena encouraged you by saying that you could study psychology and then work in her consult. You willingly accepted the suggestions, to finally say you still didn't know what you wanted to do with your life the following year. Aegon took your shoulder in a protective gesture, and told you, whispering in your ear that he knew about the art school, that your mother had told him and that he was more than fine with it. You felt a wave of affection run through your body. You wanted to hug him, but he just nudged you affectionately with a mischievous smile. You smiled at him. It was a start.

At twelve o'clock at night, you were already sitting alone in that enormous room, in front of the gigantic television. The rest of the house had already gone to sleep and you were in the dark. Only illuminated by the light of the screen. You had the volume turned down to a minimum while watching the adult cartoons you had watched so many times with Aemond before last summer. They really didn't interest you in the slightest. You were just waiting for him, like a scorned lover. Your ex sent you a message, asking you what you were doing, you were just going to reply when you heard the front door open. You ran to meet him, almost with tears in your eyes. You needed to see him. You needed him to hold you.

You found him coming in the door, well groomed as always, reluctantly leaving his keys on the hall cabinet, and just when he looked up, in front of him. You were, freeze, admiring him with the sad eyes of a girl whose heart had been broken. His pupil dilated, why did you have to wear such short sleep pants? Why had you become an even prettier woman in that past year? He shook his head and cleared his throat.

"(Y / N)" he greeted you as if he had seen you yesterday, as if you hadn't seen each other for a year... as if nothing happened between you. He walked towards you with a slow and sure step.

"Uncle Aemond" you greeted him the same, with the same coldness that he had used. In another time you would have run to him to embrace him, but those were not other times. They were what they were, and you hated them with all your might.

"Now you're going to call me ‘uncle’, hm?" he told you, approaching and raising an eyebrow provocatively. For the first time in your life, you felt stupid talking to him. “All your life you have called me Aemond and now you call me 'Uncle Aemond'. Prefect” he released full of irony, as if he really wanted you to get away from him.

"You've also always come for me and this year you haven't," you blurted out, crossing your arms, indignant and hurt with him. You looked at him, but he just laughed. He just laughed, looking you up and down, his lips parted, as if he was trying to provoke you. He scanned you up and down with his one eye and laughed, as if his mind was running through a thousand thoughts that you had no idea about. He looked away, hating himself for what had just crossed his mind and he headed towards the kitchen without saying a word to you. To his displeasure, you followed him closely. He knew you wanted an explanation as to why he hadn't come looking for you, but it wasn't a simple explanation, or anything he wanted to talk to you about.

You saw him sit at the kitchen island after opening the fridge and grabbing a plate of leftovers from dinner. He was going to dinner alone and you sat across from him in silence. You needed an explanation, but all he did was snort at the way you sat across from him. He leaned back in his chair and let his hair down, just as he removed his eye patch, silently admiring you, and you admired him too. A true Targaryen. That was what you had in front of you, a sharp-jawed dragon with a powerful presence. That violet eye scrutinized you in silence. He pursed his lips. Always cold. Always stoic. He had been like this for everyone except you. Now this was with you too.

"Have you had a lot of work today?" you asked him, as if that justified his lack of interest in you. You looked at your hands, nervous, waiting for an answer. All the gallantry you had with other men went overboard with Aemond, with him you just felt like a little girl, despite already being a woman.

"Hmm" he did not want to answer you. Dry mouth, trying to swallow saliva to talk to you.  You were beautiful. That damned year had made you even more irresistible. Those perfect purple eyes. Those eyes of his blood, of his lineage… he had imagined so many times that last year that… your eyes locked with his as you knelt to suck his… he shook his head at him. He was a fucking monster. He should see you for what you were. He hated himself for not doing it. "How was your flight?" It was all he could think of to tell you, just before starting to eat.

"Well, it was very quiet" you replied. You looked at him again and saw how he smiled a superior smile, slight, almost imperceptible, but there it was "I missed you..." you whispered to him. You noticed how your nails played with the skin of his hand, going up his arm. You expected him to also tell you that he had missed you, but perhaps he was too direct with you, verbalizing something that neither of you wanted to accept.

"I think we should keep our distance, don't you?" he spoke to you with a cold tone, and almost cruel. The glowing blue prosthesis lit in the dark, her features accentuated by the shadows from the kitchen. "We both know what's wrong with us"

"I don't understand you" you told him, but of course you understood, you wanted him to hug you, you wanted him to kiss you, you wanted him to make love to you. You blushed at the idea. What was going on in your head? He laughed at your words, cocky and arrogant.

"Of course you understand" he said, turning to look at you, like a wolf on his prey, as if he couldn't control what he felt for you anymore "You're not stupid, (Y / N). You are no longer a child and you know perfectly well the effect you have on others... the effect you have on me...”You widened your eyes at his confession. So…so, Aemond was interested in you? That's why he'd spent the last summer so far away from you. He felt attracted... "Of the two of us, the responsible adult is me, so it's my turn to mark the distances first. That’s why I didn't go to pick you up"

“Aemond…” you started to say, but he cut you off quickly after downing half a glass in one gulp, as if he could end up with his dry throat.

“Stop, (Y/N), enough. Please” It was all he asked of you, as if it were so simple for you “We are going to distance ourselves from each other. It will be the best” he repeated to you again, and you did not even continue listening to him. You got up from the chair and ran away. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

[aew-regression-cove]

regressor rafe cameron headcannons

!!! this post is a) based on vent regression and other angsty ideas and b) this post includes swearing, mentions of drugs, alcohol & potentially more? Idk just read with caution !!!

tagging (my obx moots) - @agerefandomrambles ,, @jjtheresidentbaby ,, @tinylilacbun / @tinylilacbun-recs ,, @kkayyerr ,, @chimindity (pls let me know if you'd like to be removed from this list!!! 😅)

his regression is 100% involuntary and vent regression.

I can see the first time he regressed being after he tried to take the money and stuff to pay back Barry in season one and Ward got involved causing him to be kicked out. Barry reluctantly let him stay with him and was incredibly confused by the tears but let Rafe get on with it for the night. (The two didn't discuss it when they were both awake the next day)

Lots of tears when he's regressed 😭 — he absolutely hates himself for it every time it happens.

^ He gets angry at himself and Barry has had to stop him from hitting himself in the head or pulling his hair before.

Barry: "oi- no. country club don't start that shit a'ight. you're fine."

He would probably smoke weed or something (provided by Barry who realistically would probably take advantage of the Rafe's headspace and charge extra for stuff- although he'd stick to quite light things, wouldn't give Rafe coke.)

Rafe has put holes in walls and smashed mirrors and had to get bandaged by Topper or Kelce. I feel like Kelce would ask more questions (causing Rafe to snap at him) whilst if it's Topper handling the situation he stays quite quiet. (He's seen this happen with Sarah before 😶)

Rafe just wants to make Ward proud!!!

Chews his nails and fingers like crazy.

^ When he started dating Sofia he was doing a little better and hadn't needed to really regress however it still occasionally happened, Sofia was the one who had convinced him (whilst he was regressed bcs he'd never agree when big) to get a (plain and neutral) teether and a stuffed bear. He's so embarrassed about it and would hide it in a cupboard until he regresses and Sofia goes and gets them. He denies needing or wanting them.

Talks to Sofia about Sarah and Wheezie and how he misses his sisters 😭

I can see him maybe showing up to the chateau like once because Barry kicked him out and he has literally nowhere to go and he's regressed, crying and just wants Sarah. When he shows up everyone is on edge, confused and expecting a fight.

Would apologise profusely to Sarah for everything. (ask either of them that the next day and they'll both deny it ever happened.)

ⓘ if you want to reblog, let me know and I'll decide to temporarily unlock the post or not <3

[damedechance]

» read on ao3 (3/5) » listen to playlist » start over (pt 1)

Pairing: Feysand

Rating: E (like, very much so)

Summary: How unseemly it was–for a professor to be alone in his office with a student like this. With the door shut behind them, hazy morning light and flexing fingers between them. Indecent, really.

read snippet below:

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

dont_ignore_me.eml

Early morning light streamed in through the windows, a light mist collected over them and casting everything in a muted, silvery blue. The overhead light was off, but someone had turned on his desk light, because their hands were illuminated by a dull yellow glow as they retracted each finger into a fist, and hid them behind their back.

Feyre Archeron whirled around, her features already preemptively arranged in defiance. Her jaw tight, eyes narrowed, chin tipped up. But the way she had jumped the second he walked in–and the light flush of pink over her cheeks–betrayed any sort of daring she wished to convey.

Did I scare you?

He exhaled, a sharp burst of air from his lungs that instantly melted the strained grin on his face into something loose and delirious. He allowed himself to collapse, shoulder against the doorframe, and put both hands in his pockets so that she wouldn’t see them shaking.

To lay eyes upon her was an indulgence, one he consumed greedily. All the rivulets of bronze that cascaded over her shoulders. Misty blue eyes that bore into him, these moonish globes over stardusted cheeks and a frown that shouldn’t have been so endearing, but his eyes were caught swinging back and forth over that dipping shape again and again.

While his fingertips burned. She wore a plush cream sweater, just barely tucked at the front. He could have pulled it loose in an instant, had his hands underneath it and stretching across her skin in as much time as it took him to take a breath. He’d have her mesmerizing little sighs pressed up against his ear–unpolluted by wires or static.

I want to draw you.

An impulse that made complete sense to him, now, as his eyes traced this mere inch of skin revealed by the space between the hem of her pleated skirt and the top of her socks. He’d like to trace it with his fingers instead, feel her hands gripping his arms, his shoulders, his hair–shoving him down.

She was wearing boots, and she tapped the toe of one against the heel of the other as she fidgeted beneath his focus.

“Hello, Feyre darling,” Rhysand said, eyes flicking back up to her face.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Tag List: @melting-houses-of-gold, @areyoudreaminof, @starfall-spirit, @octobers-veryown, @sourlemons262, @bibliophiliaxvignette, @shadowriel, @freyjas-musings, @headcanonheadcase, @rhysiedarling, @dxnniiix, @sunshinebingo, @tothestarsandwhateverend, @asnowfern, @separatist-apologist, @corcracrow, @thelovelymadone, @lulling-night-sky, @foundress0fnothing, @ultadverb [Pls let me know if you'd like to be removed or added, no pressure at all!]