#it seems p inevitable he's going to go out in a way that forces him to hurt his friends and family

[tears-of-taelia]

[cryptfile]

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter III: Dreams 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: You miss Aemond, yet you can’t stand to be near him. Will performing a new song about your separation make you feel better?

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, possessive Aemond, fighting, smut, oral (f receiving), spanking, thigh riding, P in V, thumb in bum, spit kink, degradation

Word count: 5750 A/N: Thank you always my love @theoneeyedprince ♡

“This is the third day in a row that guy comes in here, orders a coffee, and pretends to work on his laptop as he stares at you”, Alysanne whispers in your ear and points to the silver haired man sitting in the back corner of the campus coffee shop. 

He’s clad entirely in black, and his long hair is neatly tied in a low bun at the base of his neck. 

“You should go talk to him!”, she urges with a gentle push on your shoulder. 

“What? No. He’s not been staring at me”, you shut her nonsense down, slightly embarrassed by your friend's pushiness. Alysanne is such a hopeless romantic; always convinced that the love of your life’s lurking around the next corner, constantly looking for a ‘meet cute’ to thrust you into. 

“Oh, come on! He’s definitely been checking you out! Maybe he’s just shy?”, she argues, staring at the stranger unabashedly as he sips his coffee. Her lack of discretion fuels the nerves bubbling inside you, eager to end this embarrassing conversation as soon as possible. 

“Aly, please. A guy like that doesn’t get shy. Typical rich fuckboy”

He certainly is good-looking, and probably knows it as well, dark designer clothes a stark contrast to the surrounding patron’s jeans and sweatshirts. He looks to be around your age, a student as well, you’d guess. 

Alysanne hums in response, moves to stand by the display of sweets by the register, and places a cinnamon bun on one of the small dishes stacked on the counter. 

Before your protests stop her, she walks towards where the stranger is sitting, a wide smile plastered on her face, 

“Hi there! My lovely friend and coworker over there made these earlier today. Would you like one?” 

Her voice is unnaturally cheery as she places the dish on the table next to the stranger's laptop. 

He looks up, nods stiffly in confirmation, and quietly mumbles a “thank you” before quickly returning to type on the keyboard, eyes again on the screen. 

“Would you like to talk to her? I can ask her to come over here”, Alysanne offers, voice still upbeat, so energetic it nearly comes across as intrusive.   

The stranger seems slightly thrown off by her forwardness. He looks up at her in surprise, but stays silent. 

To anyone else, his stoicism and unfriendly demeanour would be enough reason to leave him be. But not Alysanne, who turns around to catch your eye and gesticulates for you to come over with an exaggerated wave of her hand. 

From behind the register, you’d watched the scene unfold in horror, certain that your friend would embarrass you to the point where ‘rich fuckboy’ would tell everyone on campus about what a freak you are. 

You slowly make your way over, eyes boring holes into Alysanne as you force yourself to smile, dreading the inevitable faked  niceties you’ll have to exchange with the strange, silver-haired man. 

His face is even prettier up-close. 

High cheekbones, strong jawline, sharp nose, beautiful eye- 

Your gaze stops at his left eye. The baby blue iris is covered by a thin mist of white, and a red, angry scar slashes through the socket, starting at his forehead and ending at cheekbone. 

“Hope you like it”, you blurt out, trying to grab Alysanne’s hand and tug her away from the unbelievably awkward interaction. She’s still smiling, dodging your hand while her attention stays on the stranger in front of you, 

“Would you like her number?”

Alysanne persistence causes dread to pool in your gut. God, she could be so forward it was disturbing; completely ignoring what you thought to be common social decency. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest as the stranger hums at your friend’s question, 

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about the open mic last week. Did you write that song?” 

“‘Planets of the Universe’? Um, yes, but it’s not really finished, um, I mean, I just sang it for fun, I was kinda drunk last Friday..”

Your babbling reflects how the stranger makes you feel; nervous and unsure. His face is impassive, and his tone so unemotional it borders on stern. 

You only performed that silly song because your friends were pushy and you were buzzing on way too many margaritas. Why does he care about who wrote it? 

“You’re not a guitarist, I assume?”, he asks and you notice the corners of his lips briefly turn upwards, as if to prevent a smile from breaking out. 

God, the audacity of this rich fuckboy. 

“No, but like I said, it was just for fun”, you bite back. 

You don’t care for his condescending tone, or his efforts to make you feel bad about your sub-par guitar skills. Does he not understand what ‘just for fun’ means? 

The stranger’s gaze is still locked on you as he hums in response. He stares with an intensity that leaves you feeling even more unsettled. 

“You’ve got a very unique voice” 

The unexpected compliment takes you by surprise, and a warmth spreads over your face; heating up your cheeks. 

“My siblings and I play a bit of music on the side, for fun” he says with an emphasis on the last part, mimicking you, “I think your voice would go well with the sound we’re trying to create”

He sounds very matter-of-fact, like he’s offering you a business proposal. You notice something shine in his intense gaze; something inviting that makes it hard for you to concentrate on what he says. 

“The song you performed has great potential, with a proper guitarist backing you up, that is. If you’re interested, we’re meeting up tomorrow night” 

You’re briefly lost for words, not expecting him to be so forward. Alysanne is practically vibrating with excitement next to you, glancing over at you with a wide smile and big, expectant eyes. 

“Sure, I’ll stop by after work” 

Your infatuation with Aemond started slow. 

Essentially, it was the small things he did that pushed you to the realisation that he isn’t just some ‘rick fuckboy’, but a quite caring and sensitive man. Albeit with a layer of stoicism obscuring his more tender side. 

Things like him insisting that he needs to walk you home after band practice, even if it’s still bright outside. Or him picking you up in his car when it rains, so you ‘don’t catch a cold’. Or him offering to help you with coursework, surprising you with detailed, hand-written notes tucked in between the pages of your textbook. 

Aemond is caring in such a genuine way, always asking you how your studies are going, how work at the campus cafe is like, if you’d eaten anything. Always straight-to-the-point. And when you answer, he listens to you with such intensity, you’d think whatever comes out of your mouth is of grave importance. For the most part, it’s not. 

You soon find yourself looking forward to seeing him, heart skipping a beat every time he picks you up after you've finished your shift at the cafe. He always waited outside of the cafe, observing you tidying up through the shop window with a cigarette glowing between his fingers. 

When he asks you one day if you’d like to grab dinner after practice, you eagerly accept his invitation, trying your hardest to hide the excitement you feel as he says a quick goodbye to his brother and sister before leading you out of the studio you used for practice. 

It’s not a date, not really, yet when you sit next to Aemond in that dimly lit booth at the rather posh Yi-Ti-inspired restaurant he’d picked, it sure feels like one. 

That night, after sharing a bottle of wine, your face is warm and you’re filled with alcohol-infused confidence. As you talk animatedly about your favourite musician, Aemond regards you with a small smile playing on his lips, eyes intensely meeting yours to take in all your telling him. You feel a sudden urge to kiss him, and though it is chaste and unplanned; a result of your slight intoxication, you feel mortified as you pull back, ready to apologise for placing your lips on his without consent. Before you have a chance, he places a hand on your cheek and pulls your face back towards his, kissing you passionately, though his lips are soft and gentle. 

As you pull away, eyes still closed and mind lost in the bliss of your first kiss, you hear Aemond murmur a quiet “finally”. 

As a partner, Aemond seems to study you just as diligently as he studies everything else. 

He quickly picks up on your favourite things.  

If you’d been admiring a particular flower when you passed by the flower shop on your way to campus, you’d later find a bouquet waiting for you at home. When you went to museums and exhibitions together, he’d lean in next to you, one hand gently on your waist and soft lips right by your ear, and tell you everything he knew about the artist or artwork in front of you. Later, he’d buy you postcards of the paintings you’d shown particular fascination with, so you could decorate your bedroom wall with them. 

Though he claimed that his knowledge of the arts simply stemmed from being a history major, explaining that “art is one of the greatest insights we have to previous decades”, you have a strong suspicion he actually knows so much because there’s a secret love for the arts tucked away inside him, where he keeps the more sensitive parts of his soul. 

Sometimes you’re privy to that too. 

Like the time he wanted to take you out to a fancy restaurant downtown to celebrate your six month anniversary. Being a student, you didn’t really have money to spend on anything besides rent and food, meaning that you hadn’t been able to reciprocate the lovely gifts Aemond had given you since you first got together. 

Determined to give him something meaningful, you purchase a small frame from the local charity shop, print out some pictures you’d taken together from the university library, and put together a little collage of your time as a couple. 

You include a message on the back of it, thanking him for everything he’s done for you; for being such a caring boyfriend. 

As you timidly hand him your homemade gift at the luxurious restaurant, you feel a storm of unease swirl within you, suddenly overcome with embarrassment that you couldn’t get him anything nicer. 

Aemond’s eyes light up in a way you’d hardly seen before. 

He turns the gift over in his hand, admiring the photo collage and reading the little message on the back. 

Grabbing your hand, he looks into your eyes and says a quiet “thank you”, and the gravity and sincerity of his voice lets you know that he appreciates the simple gift more than he can put into words. 

The coming week you stick to the same set list; kicking off each performance with ‘The Chain’ and finishing with ‘Go Your Own Way’. You’d like to pretend that the performances got easier as time went on, but that would be a lie. 

Each night, you’re forced to sing Aemond’s self-pitying words; ‘if I could, I’d give you my world’. You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes each time. What made him incapable of ‘giving you his world’ when you were married? He made it sound like he had no part in your divorce; like all he did was try and love you while you broke his heart. 

Fuck that. 

He broke your heart. And he kept breaking it. Every fucking night he made you sing his martyr complex bullshit. 

It wasn’t anything new, not really. This is how it so often went when you fought as a married couple, it had just taken a new form. The bones of it are the same; Aemond is upset and shuts you out, you try to reason with him and get burnt. 

There’s something about his attitude when you find yourselves in a fight. He could turn so condescending, berating you for your emotions. Like he’s better than you for not letting them get the best of him; for not shouting or crying. 

He thinks showing that something hurts him is a sign of weakness. That he’s too smart to let his insecurities and doubts overtake his senses. So he can pretend he doesn’t feel such unbecoming emotions. 

Even when they prove too strong to push down. 

Aemond has been quiet for the entire trip back home, jaw shut tight and eyes refusing to meet yours. 

You know something’s off in the way his usual stoicism doesn’t feel natural, but forced. He’s holding something back, keeping something from you, and you can’t figure it out for the life of you. 

As you enter your flat, he finally breaks the silence. 

“Did you like that?”

His voice is colder than you’re used to. You recognise the tone though, from when he’s had enough of Aegon’s endless shenanigans. 

You step out of your heels and turn around to face him, “Like what? The party?”

His face is set in a frown and he irritably clicks his tongue at your obliviousness, 

“You know what I mean, don’t play dumb” 

You really have no idea what could’ve prompted his sour mood, so you stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. You don’t feel like playing these games with him; they won’t lead anywhere. 

If he’d just tell you what made him upset, you could solve the issue and move on.  

He sighs at the lack of answer, “You liked all that attention, didn’t you?”  

Oh. 

He’s jealous. 

“Oh come on, Aemond, this is great for the band! We’re getting recognition! We’re recording our first album!”

You don’t want him to rob you off the excitement you’d felt today, talking to one of Westeros biggest record labels and finally getting the recognition you’d worked so hard for. 

He turns to face you, features still stern as he backs you into the wall, 

“But did you like it? The way that guy from the record label was eyeing you?”, he asks again. 

You know Aemond has a tendency to get protective of you; fussing over you and insisting that you listen to him. And when he’s caring, and when you feel anxious, it feels comforting to have someone protect you so fiercely. But you’re not a child, and he doesn’t have to treat you as one. 

“Why would I like it?”

Your challenge makes him move closer. You see the way his pupil is blown wide, the heat in his gaze radiating off him. 

“I think you did. I think you enjoy the attention”

It’s almost laughable; the fact that Aemond Targaryen, undoubtedly one of the most alluring people you’ve ever met, feels threatened by some sleazy guy from a record label. How could he think some guy flirting with you would affect your affection for him even in the slightest? 

Still, there’s something intriguing about the dark look in his eye. It’s so passionate; the way he observes you. Like he wants to devour you. Punish you. Claim you. 

It sparks something alight inside you. You want to match his fire.  

“Maybe I did”

You have to bite your lip to prevent a smirk from breaking out. Will he fall for the provocation? 

Aemond’s eyes narrow. They travel from your face down to your body, and his arms come up to cage you against the wall of your hallway, 

“You like tormenting me, is that it?”, he asks lowly and presses the tip of his nose to the side of your face, trailing it down your cheek. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, lowering your lips to press kisses onto his neck, 

“Yes”, you say against his skin, a light chuckle escaping your lips. 

It’s almost cute when he gets like this, and so flattering in the most twisted way. He’s just as enchanted by you as you are by him. 

He startles you by pulling away, grabbing you by your waist and flipping your body so you’re suddenly facing the wall. 

He rucks up the short skirt of your cocktail dress with much more force than necessary and a firm smack lands on your ass. The sudden sting of pain makes you inhale sharply and you feel your pulse elevate with excitement.  

Behind you, Aemond drops to his knees, kisses your stinging backside, and pulls at the flimsy material of your thong until it tears in two, falling to the floor. 

His insatiable display causes desire to pulse within you; an ache that nestles itself between your thighs and beats as fast as your heart. 

Pushing on your lower back, he urges you to lean forward as he continues to soothe the aching flesh of your ass with sweet kisses. 

The chill air of the room feels strange against your hot, wet cunt, and you wish he’d touch you in the place you needed him most. The place that painfully pounds with want for him. 

As if he could read your mind, Aemond grabs the front of your thighs with his large, warm hands and he presses his face against your exposed cunt, unwilling to waste any more time as he swipes his tongue over your swollen clit. 

You moan in gratitude and your forehead falls to make contact with the wall in front of you, the sweat of your forehead sticking to the cool surface. 

He knows exactly how to work you; how to make you squirm and tense up and reach your peak in no time. 

With each movement of his tongue against your clit, you feel your peak grow closer; an embarrassingly fast release only your beloved could elicit. 

As you lose yourself in the pleasure, and your hips begin to move in tandem with Aemond’s tongue, his debauched kisses lessen, and he pulls away from your cunt, wiping his sticky face against the back of your thigh. 

You let out a frustrated whine, turn around to face him, and look down at him, still on his knees. 

“That’s just cruel, Aemond”

He looks so beautiful kneeling in front of you, long hair dishevelled and cheeks flustered pink. 

“Maybe I like tormenting you as well”

He still has that darkness dancing in his eyes, but now accompanied by the playful grin that’s spreading across his face. He stands, leans in so closely your body gets pushed against the wall behind you, and places one of his legs between your naked thighs, 

“Beg me to fuck you”

He rocks his jeans-clad thigh against your exposed core as he makes his demand; blue colour quickly darkening from the stain of your arousal. 

You throw your head back and moan at the pleasurable friction, the harshness of the fabric providing wonderful relief to your aching clit. Your hips quickly meet the rhythm of his thigh, and when he lowers his face to bite at your nipple through the thin material of your dress, you feel your previously denied release approach once more. 

You move yourself more forcefully against his thigh, and as your movements turn sloppy from pleasure tightening inside you, he pulls away yet again.  

You know you look like a mess with your hair frizzy from the friction of the wall, spit covering the fabric over your nipple, and the lower part of your body fully exposed; inner thighs sticky from arousal. 

“Aemond, please”, you whine as he straightens up, face wholly entertained by your miserable state. 

“Beg me to fuck you”, he repeats, this time slower and with emphasis on each word. 

You bite your lip and look at him. You can see the hardness of his cock straining against his jeans, but you know he’ll never relent; never give you what you want until you give him what he wants. 

“Please”, you plead, hands moving forward his zipper to undo his trousers. 

He tuts and slaps your hands away, 

“Beg”, he repeats, face returning to its previous, stern expression. 

You’d like to think you’re as good as him at playing these games. But you’re not. You don’t have the patience. 

“Please fuck me Aemond. Please make me come, please make me feel good, please stretch me out on your cock, please-” 

Your pathetic surrender is cut off by his lips on yours, kissing you passionately, stealing your breath. 

Pulling down his zipper, he takes his length in hand; rock hard and glistening with arousal. He pushes your body up against the wall and you quickly catch on, wrapping your legs around him as he enters you in one swift motion. 

“Fuck! Thank you!”, you cry out when he finally gives you what you want, and an amused snort espaces his nose. 

Aemond wastes no time in ravishing you and sets a brutal pace, pelvis repeatedly hitting your clit as his cock hits your g-spot. You’re unable to do much more than to just take it; take the mind-numbing pleasure he’s forcing upon you. 

For the third time, your peak is within reach, so close your cunt starts to tighten around Aemond’s cock. To your dismay, his pace slows, and you’re back to begging,  

“Please, I’m so close. Please let me come Aemond”

He pulls out, smiles at the devastated frown on your face, and turns you around once more. 

This time, he presses your body against the small side table by the front door, pushing his hand on the back of your head so that the side of your face makes contact with the wooden surface, ass prettily propped up and glistening entrance waiting for him. 

He presses the slick tip of his cock against your leaking hole, and pauses without entering. His large form looms over you as his hand reaches for your face, thumb stroking your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal your teeth, 

“Who do you belong to?”

His voice is lower, and calmer, than before. You look up at him; at his lust-filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips. 

You. Always you.

“You” 

Aemond’s thumb is still on your lower lip. He leans down and pushes his length fully into you again, making you let out a cry in blissful relief. 

God it feels so good. 

You see him purse his lips together, spit collecting between them, and he slowly lets it drip down to where his thumb is. 

Onto your lower lip, your tongue, your teeth. 

He smears his spit around your lips and tongue with his thumb, pace of his hips picking up to thrust into you harder. The table beneath you rocks against the wall aggressively loud. 

“Would you let anyone else fuck you like this?”, he asks, trailing his spit-soaked thumb down your body, stopping between your asscheeks to push at your puckered hole. “Never”, you assure, moaning as he pushes his thumb in, never ceasing the pace he’s set as he fucks you on the table. “Didn’t think so. You’re my little slut. Mine. No one else will ever see you as fucking cockdrunk as I do”

Maybe it’s the heat of his tone. The dark, possessive passion that excites you, even in its volatility. 

Maybe it’s the way he knows your body. How he can turn you into a begging, pathetic mess by the briefest of touches. 

It’s hard to decipher what makes your orgasm feel so utterly consuming, but when it hits, and your body shakes from the force of it, you know that no one else will ever have this effect on you. 

You. Always you.

You’ve made it a habit to go back to your hotel room between the sound check and the show, not able to bear spending more time around Aemond than absolutely necessary. 

Both of you had tried to keep up with the cordial act, but even Erryk had started to catch on to how forced each of your interactions felt. Whenever you or Aemond addressed the other, everyone around you tense up and the air feels thick; like you’re all just waiting for what’s bubbling beneath the surface to finally erupt. 

Tonight, as you’re getting ready for the tour’s fifth stop in White Harbor, no amount of breathing exercises seem to lessen your nerves, making your hands clammy and heart flimmer in anxious anticipation. 

You’re finally going to perform one of your new songs for Rumours. 

What if the fans hate it? 

Writing has helped you deal with the aftermath of your separation; a tedious effort to make the painful end of your relationship into something meaningful. A song about lost love. 

What if it sounds awful live? 

Recording separately means that this will be the first time the band actually plays the song, as opposed to each member recording their own part in solitude. 

The song sounded good in post-production. It’ll sound great live too.

You try to repeat the comforting phrase to yourself as you spot Aemond and Alys in your peripheral vision; her arms around his neck, his lips coming down to brush against her cheek. 

You don’t know if you’d rather barf or cry at the display, but when Aemond’s seeing eye briefly searches for yours, your stomach turns in disgust.

The intro of your new song starts to play; upbeat drums accompanied by a melancholic guitar melody. Aemond plays it flawlessly, just like you knew he would.

This is it. Your time to shine; to actualise the pain that’s been wearing you down for the past months. To make it into something that means something. 

Your music.

‘Now there you go again, you say, you want your freedom’

‘Well who am I to keep you down?’ 

You don’t want to look at Aemond, don’t want to mimic the staring contest he challenges you to each time he sings ‘The Chain’ or ‘Go Your Own Way’. 

You’re not doing this for him, you’re doing this for yourself. To make sense of the suffering he’s caused you. You’re doing it for the fans; all those who can resonate with what you’re singing.

‘But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness’

‘Like a heartbeat drives you mad in the stillness of remembering what you had’

‘And what you lost’

Oh but gods, do you want to throw him a quick glance though. 

See hurt in his eye. 

See his jaw tick in anger at your words. 

‘Thunder only happens when it’s raining’ 

‘Players only love you when they’re playing’ 

Now you understand why he wanted you to do backup vocals on his new songs. You feel so powerful as you make him sing your lyrics, a sudden rush of hubris getting the best of you as you steal a glance of him.

‘They say women, they will come and they will go’

‘When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know’ 

You’re disappointed to find him in his usual state, stoic face turned away from you.

The recent rage-filled, passionate tone his voice had adopted is gone. He sounds just as calm and precise as he usually does. 

‘Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision’

‘I keep my visions to myself’

‘It’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams’

‘Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?’

‘Dreams of loneliness like a heartbeat drives you mad’

‘In the stillness of remembering what you had’

‘And what you lost’

Like the previous nights, you’re in a rush to get back to your hotel room as soon as the show ends. 

As are your bandmates; no one really enjoys the tension that seems to be a permanent feature whenever you are all in the same room. 

As you’re about to jump into a taxi with Helaena outside of the venue, you realise that you forgot the tote bag you keep your notebooks and music sheets in backstage. You tell her to go ahead and quickly make your way back to retrieve your forgotten bag. 

A security guard lets you back in and you spot your tote immediately, laying on one of the many cheap fold-out tables lining the walls of the room. As you make your way towards it, you hear someone clear their throat in the other corner of the room. 

You’ve no idea what he wants, but you turn around in an instance, leaving your bag on the table. 

Aemond is sitting by himself in a dark corner of the large room, stomping out a cigarette onto the silver ashtray he's holding in his left hand. He places it on the ground and leans back in his seat, 

“I never said that, you know”. 

His voice is low. He sounds tired. 

“Said what?”

You’re still sadistically disappointed by the fact that he’d acted so indifferent during your performance of ‘Dreams’, and it reflects in your voice. He has a talent of bringing it out of you.

“I never said ‘women come and go’, or whatever. The reporter said it” 

His voice grows more irksome with each word, matching yours. 

Sure, he hadn’t said it. But he might as well have. 

“Whatever, Aemond”, you sigh, too tired to engage in pointless discussion with him. You turn to leave, reaching for your bag, but he stops you once again,  

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t perform that song again”.

You let out a startled, joy-less laugh at his audacity, “Too bad”

“Then change the lyrics. It’s obviously about our… relationship” 

You can sense strain in his voice. He’s holding something back.

Maybe you finally got to him.

“So are your new songs”, you counter. 

He is such a hypocrite, it’s almost laughable. An unbecoming characteristic of his that reared its ugly head more frequently as your relationship got worse. 

“I never say they are though. You’re quoting me, hard to assume it could be about anyone else”

His voice is low and dark, you have to focus to properly hear him. 

“Thought you didn’t say that?”

You have to bite the inside of your lower lip to keep yourself from grinning as you add, 

“Maybe the song is about the reporter?” 

The provocation works. Aemond swiftly stands up, seeing eye dark and threatening as his voice grows louder, 

“My songs aren’t filled with blatant lies, you’re calling me names and shit” 

His nostrils are flaring as he breathes heavily, hand flexing in an attempt to stifle his rage. 

You’d got to him. 

“You can’t be for real, Aemond! Every fucking time you perform your new songs you're staring at me on stage, singing about how I can ‘go my own, lonely way’! You have no right dictating what I write or how I express myself”. 

He’d gotten to you too. You can’t hide your irritation any longer, a whole week being in his insufferable presence proving to be too much.  

It’s his turn to throw a condescending laugh your way. 

“Well, you’re the one who kept going on about how lonely you were”

Back when you were still together, when the fights had became a permanent, unavoidable recurrence, you had accused Aemond of never truly letting you in, leaving you feeling lonely in your relationship. 

But there’s a difference between feeling disconnected from your partner, and being unable to be on your own. 

“You couldn’t be alone for a second, Aemond, that’s how fucking lonely you are. How long did it take you to hook up with Alys? 3 days!?”

“Because you left me!”, he shouts back. 

And there it is; the anger that he pretends he doesn't have within himself. The ugly, raw emotion he thinks he’s too good to let overtake his senses. 

His voice isn’t cold anymore. 

His face isn’t indifferent. 

His eyes shine with heartbreak, but so do yours. 

“You chased me away with your fucking obsessive behaviour! You deserved to be left!” 

Sometimes when you fought when you were married, you’d hold yourself back, still trying to protect Aemond’s feelings to some degree by not purposefully hurting him just because you were angry. 

Not anymore. 

He grimaces slightly at your words and you feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

He deserves it. 

You can’t bear to look at him, and you can’t hear anything either, heartbeat thumping in your ears so loudly it’s giving you a headache. 

If you stay, and see that the fire in his eye has been extinguished by regret, you might cave in. 

You can’t. 

So you turn around, grab your bag in a haste and storm out of the door, rushing to get hold of a taxi on the busy street by the venue. 

You hold it together in the car ride to the hotel. You thank the driver and offer him a tip, you enter the building and go to the elevator, smile at an elderly couple who engage you in some polite smalltalk about the weather. 

It’s not until you enter your hotel room and lock the door behind you that you allow the tears to fall. 

They seem endless, and all you want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. 

Seeing the empty space, the empty bed, makes you feel so lonely a stinging pain goes through your chest. You're pulled back to the memories of living with Aemond, coming back home to him; sleeping in the same bed as him. 

You miss him so much it hurts. Not the person you’d just had a fight with backstage. You miss the Aemond he was before; your Aemond. 

You think about the Aemond in the museum, who’d tell you about the history of the Water Gardens and Prince Maron Martell.

You think about the Aemond that kissed your forehead before each show. 

You think about the Aemond that loved you. 

You go to your closet, stretch your arm all the way to the back, and search for what you know to be there. Your hand finds the soft sweatshirt and you pull it out from the dark corners of your hotel room closet, quickly pulling off all of your clothes until you’re standing in nothing but your underwear. 

Aemond’s uni hoodie still smells like him. You cry harder, uglier, as you put it on, burying your nose in the fabric and inhaling deeply. 

Maybe the Aemond you miss still exists in your dreams. 

You get under the duvet, nose still nuzzled in the soft fabric and body shaking from the violent sobs leaving your body, and fall asleep.

A/N: Before you ask, no. She doesn’t know if Aemond met Alys exactly three days after their separation. She’s exaggerating for emphasis, as one often does when fighting. The point is that he “moved on” suspiciously fast.

Planets of the Universe is a demo song that never made it onto Rumours, but it so good; very raw and real. TY for reading 🩵

[hanbinics]

'tis the damn season — m.s.

pairing ⟶ matthew sturniolo x !fem reader genre ⟶ angst, pining. word count ⟶ 4.3k

warnings ⟶ smut, unprotected sex, p in v, cheating.

snow blankets the small new england town, turning every road, roof, and branch into a picture-perfect image of the season. it’s the kind of stillness you can only find in winter—the muffled quiet that settles deep in your chest and makes you nostalgic for things you haven’t thought about in years.

you tighten your grip on the handle of your suitcase, gaze locked on the sturniolo household still standing tall before you. it looks the same as it always has with its weathered shutters and the christmas lights strung haphazardly along the gutters. the same inflatable santa bobs in the front yard, defying the frigid wind. it’s all so achingly familiar, and yet you know you’re only paying this much attention to avoid walking up those cement steps and facing the inevitable.

it's a strange feeling being here again, but you don’t have much of a choice. your parents had moved away after you left for college, uprooting the life they’d built here for a quieter one halfway across the country. visiting them for the holidays would have meant burning up the little vacation time you had left from school.

the sturniolos had offered without hesitation. they’d been like a second family to you growing up, and their door was always open. it was a comforting thought—or it would be if it didn’t mean facing the one thing you have to force yourself to stop thinking about.

before you can knock, the door swings open.

matt leans casually against the doorframe, hands shoved into the pockets of his baggy jeans. his hair is slightly mussed, like he’d just rolled out of bed, but he still looks good. he’d never really had a baby face in his teenage years, but somehow the cut of his jaw seems to get sharper every time you see him, the shadow of stubble decorating his pale skin in a way that nearly has you clenching your thighs. what remains almost always the same, however, are his eyes; bright and steady, holding an unreadable expression that flickers briefly only when landing on you.

“you’re early,” he says, voice low and even.

“you’re predictable,” you counter, lips twitching into a half-smile despite the way your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice.

he raises an eyebrow, but you don't miss the subtle twitch of his mouth, like he's trying not to smile back at you. when you think he's going to respond, a light and airy voice cuts in before he can.

“matt? who’s at the door?”

your stomach tightens. you don’t have to see her to know who it is. the cheerful lilt in her voice is unmistakable, and you’d be lying if you said you haven’t spent an embarrassing amount of time looking through photos of her and matt on his mother’s facebook page. try as you might, that whole “forcing yourself to stop thinking about him” thing doesn’t always work.

“i’ll get your bag,” matt says quickly, stepping aside and avoiding your eyes entirely as you step into the painful world of complete nostalgia.

matt’s fiancé, willow, is everything you aren’t. she’s the type of girl that’s effortlessly kind, her smile bright enough to light up a room—forget needing a christmas tree. she reminds you of the kind of girl your mother used to beg for you to be, but she could never quite smooth out your rough edges, much to her dismay. you can’t help but think about how much she would love matt’s soon-to-be-wife, the thought making your gut coil painfully.

willow doesn’t seem to notice. she’s all too warm in the way she greets you, pulling you into a hug like you’d known each other for years.

“it’s so nice to finally meet you!” she breathes into your ear, her enthusiasm genuine. “matt’s told me so much about you.”

“has he?” you question, forcing a smile. but your curiosity is genuine, and you find yourself turning to chris just in time to catch sight of his shit-eating grin.

“you serious? kid couldn’t stop asking about how long you’d be here, when you’d be here. ‘s like havin’ to calm down a kid waitin’ to see santa,” he teases. you know he’s probably exaggerating, especially when matt mutters an obscenity while punching his brother’s shoulder, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through your body anyway.

in all her perfectness, willow doesn’t seem to think twice about chris’s teasing. a laugh falls from her mouth instead, the pretty girl still beaming as she turns to you and nods.

“he really does talk about you all the time—about growing up here and all the memories you guys share. it’s sweet,” she admits, gaze full of nothing but adoration as her hand finds matt’s once he’s close enough to her, his usually pale cheeks harboring a bit of a pink flush to them now and his smile somewhat uncomfortable.

your heart twists painfully at her words, but your face remains neutral, only mustering up the smallest upturn to the corners of your mouth in response. you’re sure there’s truth to matt talking about you, but it mostly serves to remind you that he’s so curious because outside of these little trips home—which are few and far between—the two of you don’t talk.

you could say it’s because you’re both just so busy, that it’s hard to maintain a friendship with so much distance between the two of you, that your lives are just going in such different directions. but deep down, without a smoke screen and the fear of wearing your heart on your sleeve the way matt always has, you know unanswered texts and missed calls from the boy you’ve always considered to be home has truly driven a wedge—one you feel you can’t dig out anymore.

while matt says nothing about everyone basically speaking for him, you can tell he’s avoiding your gaze entirely, and guilt swirls in your chest even as mary lou and the rest of the sturniolos parade you around the house, showering you with the kind of attention you’ve never been fond of simply because it puts you in the spotlight.

but you let them because you return the love these people have always had for you, a genuine smile resting on your mouth when mary lou finally ushers you to the couch with a warm cup of hot chocolate tucked between your icy hands.

“sweetheart, it’s been too long!” she exclaims, shaking her head. “how’s life treating you? are you eating enough? you’re staying through new year’s, right?” she asks, kind eyes expectant. you can’t help but laugh softly at her string of questions.

“just through christmas,” you correct her, but the words feel hollow in your mouth and guilt comes with the delivery. it never fails to feel as though you’re running every time these trips come to an end.

“you should stay longer,” the older woman immediately responds, undeterred. “it’s not the holidays without you here.”

you breathe out an awkward laugh at that, the rest of the family beginning to chime in about the fact that you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you want, memories of past holidays soon being brought up. it’s all nice, and it makes you feel all the warm fuzzies that you don’t normally allow for yourself, but it doesn’t change your mind.

staying here any longer is dangerous, and you know it. for as long as you can remember, you’d ached to get out of here. growing up in a small town, surrounded by the same people and the same days, drove you absolutely crazy. you’d had big dreams from a young age, and you knew you’d do nothing about them if you stayed here.

as the family chatters around you, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you. you don’t have to look at him to know it’s matt, but you do anyway. he’s leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a quiet intensity. he hasn’t said much since you’d arrived, but then, he’s never been all that talkative. your mouth twitches at the corners, a soft, almost sad smile threatening your visage. you think he might return the sentiment, but you watch with disappointment as he pushes himself from the granite countertop supporting his rigid spine.

“you know where the guest room is,” he finally says, his voice cutting through the chatter.

all you can do is nod as you watch him disappear, your timid smile now disappearing all together, nothing but a quiet “thanks” falling from your lips that he doesn’t acknowledge.

the first night back was always the hardest. the familiarity of everything—the creak of the stairs, the hum of the heater kicking on—is both comforting and suffocating. it should be of no surprise to you when you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night in need of a distraction, but you quietly curse yourself anyway as you pad down the creaky stairs as carefully as you can.

when you turn the corner, you’re surprised to find matt already in the kitchen, his back turned to you as the soft refrigerator light pours over the otherwise dark room. you’re silent for a moment as you stand in the open frame, arms crossed over your chest while you just watch him, relishing in the fact that he’s not staring at you with those longing blue eyes—the ones that seem to be constantly trying to figure you out while simultaneously reading you like a book.

after another few seconds, you finally build enough courage to speak. “couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

when the brunette turns, he doesn’t seem all that surprised that it’s you standing there, but you suppose it isn’t odd. you’d know the sound of his voice anywhere, and apparently it’s the same for him. still, it doesn’t calm the rapid pace of your heart inside your chest when he looks at you.

“usually up around this time anyway,” he admits with a shake of his head. you watch as he reaches for another glass from the cupboard, and then sets it next to his before filling them with water. “willow isn’t great at sharing the bed.” a roll of his eyes accompanies the confession, but you don’t miss the fondness to his voice, and though you laugh quietly in response, it comes out painfully forced.

“you’re, um... you’re really happy, huh?” you find yourself asking, voice barely above a whisper.

a beat passes. matt’s gaze flickers from you to the glass of water his fingers occupy the rim of before finally answering, “yeah. willow’s... she’s great.”

the words hang in the air, their weight pressing down on both of you. you nod, forcing a smile. “she is.”

there’s another few seconds of awkward, tense silence, the only sound heard being the contact of glass against granite as matt slides one of the cups towards you carefully until you can reach it for yourself. you offer a polite smile as you step closer to him, fingers wrapping around the coolness of the glass. you want the uncomfortable weight settling around the two of you to go away, but you don’t know how.

finally, the brunette clears his throat. “you leaving after christmas?” he asks, his voice steady but quiet. you figure it’s just a way to change the subject, but your gaze narrows slightly with curiosity as you look at him, nodding your head once.

“that’s the plan,” you admit, though it feels sour on your tongue.

you watch as he nods, his jaw tightening. “figures.”

your fingers tighten around the glass, eyebrows furrowing. the only light coming through the kitchen window casts shadows across his face, making him look a bit older, more tired.

“matt...”

he shakes his head, cutting you off. “don’t. it’s fine.”

you want to tell him that it’s not, that you’re sorry, but you can’t get a word in when a humorless chuckle leaves his mouth, and he begins to shake his head slowly now.

“’m used to you runnin’. it’s been radio silence for years.”

this time it’s you who laughs, lacking the same humor he couldn’t muster seconds ago. “what am i supposed to say to you, matt? ‘congratulations on your engagement?’ ‘happy holidays?’ ‘thanks for letting me crash here while i pretend everything’s fine?’” you ask incredulously, watching as his own gaze hardens.

with his jaw tight, matt sets his glass down on the counter with a little too much force behind it. “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

“don’t i?” you shoot back, the words sharper than you intended.

the air is thick with tension between you, crackling with electricity. it’s almost suffocating as the brunette steps closer, his gaze locked on yours and his large hands anchoring themselves on the granite countertop on either side of you, caging you in. your breath hitches in your throat, and you can only hope that he can’t hear the ridiculous pounding of your heart inside your chest, your mouth pressed into a firm line as you look up at him with curious—yet knowing—eyes.

“this was a lot easier when you weren’t here,” he finally says, his voice low and strained as he studies you.

you swallow hard, knowing you shouldn’t answer him nor entertain this pull between the two of you, but you feel like you’re being tossed out at sea where it’s inevitable to crash into the ocean rocks.

“i know,” you finally answer quietly, but your voice betrays you, shaking ever so slightly, and you know it’s all he needs.

for a moment, neither of you move. then, like magnets, you find yourselves drawn together, his mouth inching closer to yours while you press up on the tips of your toes to meet him there, until finally, you’re kissing him.

it’s heated once the two of you actually connect, matt’s strong hands finding your waist immediately. he uses the grip to pull you against him as if he can keep you there, tethered to this moment despite the truth lying just beneath the surface. you tangle your fingers in his hair, tongue greedy and imploring as years of unspoken feelings spill out in every touch, every breath shared.

as the kiss grows hungrier, sloppier, both of you pouring everything into it—love, anger, regret—his hands roam your back before sliding under the hem of your sweatshirt, his touch searing against your skin.

“tell me to stop,” the brunette breathes into your mouth, his voice breaking. it sends a pang of guilt through your abdomen, but you don’t listen to him. instead, you pull him closer, your hands clutching at his hoodie as though letting go would shatter you completely.

as if frustrated by the fact that you’re letting this happen, matt presses your spine into the counter behind you, his hands sliding from beneath your sweatshirt down to the backs of your thighs where he digs his fingers into your skin for a better grip and lifts you onto the counter, his desperate mouth never leaving yours. the kitchen is freezing, but your body feels like it’s on fire, the heat and frustration between the two of you melting away every last thread of restraint.

clothes fall away in a blur, your breaths mingling in the cold air as his hands explore every inch of you, like he’s trying to memorize what he can never have again—what he knows will be gone soon. you’re still trying to adjust to every sense being so overwhelmed with matt’s presence that you hardly notice the fact that he’s already working on dragging your panties down your thighs, your hips and legs thrashing around on autopilot to help him out.

when his fingers make contact with your sopping pussy, your head almost immediately falls back, a breathy moan leaving your mouth. “fuck, matt. need you so bad,” you admit to him, the groan that leaves his throat causing your pussy to throb with desperation, walls fluttering when the rough pad of his thumb presses down on your clit.

he plays with you for a few seconds, giving into the way your hips buck forward in search of more friction, more attention, but eventually the brunette must decide enough is enough. you watch as he takes his hand from between your glistening inner thighs in favor of pushing his sweats down from their place on his hips, the fabric of his boxers following suit. you’re almost amazed at the sight of him already so hard for you, but you can’t say you’re surprised. being in matt’s vicinity is enough to fill you with the need to ease some of the tension between your legs, so you can understand how the dam of years’ worth of need for one another finally breaking could get him to this point so quickly.

after stroking himself a few times, you watch with hungry eyes as matt pulls you to the edge of the counter, a whine escaping your lips when the tip of his hard cock brushes against your clit. you can tell by the subtle smirk on his mouth that he knows how badly you want it, but you’re too eager to care that he can see right through you in the moment.

“matt,” you say again, his name falling from your mouth this time as a warning not to tease, but he cuts you off with a quick, hungry kiss to your mouth before parting once more.

“say it again.”

you blink at him, breathing heavily as your brow furrows in confusion. “what?” you breathe out.

“that you need me—say it again,” he elaborates, and while sirens immediately go off in your head, your heart aching at the desperate gleam in his pretty blue eyes, you find yourself swallowing thickly before nodding slightly.

“i...” you trail off, watching his eager expression carefully, knowing you shouldn’t.

but you’re selfish.

“i do. i need you, matt.”

you don’t have time to feel guilty. your mind goes completely blank when he finally pushes into you, it not being gentle, but not completely careless either. it’s everything—raw and frantic, but deeply, heartbreakingly intimate. you cling to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

it doesn’t feel like just sex, but a confession. a plea. a goodbye.

as if reading your mind, matt’s voice breaks through the haze of your chaotic mind. “why do you always leave?” he asks, his voice rough and barely audible as he moves inside of you.

tears sting your eyes, but you don’t answer. you can’t. instead, you pull his face from your neck and kiss him, swallowing the words you can’t bring yourself to say.

i have to.

if i stay, it’ll ruin you.

it’ll ruin me.

when he finally pulls away from your mouth, you bite down on your lower lip to stifle a cry as he fucks into you deeper, his movements desperate, like he’s trying to convince you to stay with his body since words are failing him at the moment. you can feel in his movements that he blames himself for this, and it breaks your heart. you don’t understand how he can believe this has to do with anything other than the fact that you’re entirely a coward. that allowing yourself to feel what you feel for him scares you. that it could make you stay.

“i hate this,” matt whispers to you, pressing his forehead against yours.

“i know,” you choke out, tears slipping down your cheeks. “i do too.”

his rhythm slows with the moment, his hands moving to cup your face as he kisses you softly now, the intensity giving way to something tender, almost reverent. it’s like he’s trying to say everything he never had the courage to despite knowing it’s too late—that nothing could have changed the outcome of this.

and then, with the realization, his hips are moving again, picking up in pace, and your head feels fuzzy. he’s fucking you like he hates you—like he loves you—and your heart clenches in your chest at the same time that the walls of your pussy begin to flutter around his relentless cock.

“matt, oh my god��i’m coming!” you cry out to him, one hand digging into the middle of his spine while the other cradles the back of his sweaty head, pressing his face further into the crook of your neck where his hot, labored breath hitches against your damp skin.

each slow, deliberate movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, but it's the intimacy of it—the way he holds you as though you might vanish—that makes it almost unbearable.

you come with a string of cries, some jumbled and indecipherable, and some of his name, your body jerking with the ripples of your orgasm that he works you through with his fingers against your puffy clit. your nails rake across his back as you listen to him murmur your name like it's the only word he knows, his breath hitching as he buries himself deeper inside of you. his previously perfect movements falter with his orgasm, fingers tightening on your hips like he’s afraid you’ll slip away as soon as the moment is gone.  

he doesn’t move when it’s over, instead pressing his forehead into your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut while soft shutters wrack his body. you can feel just how tense every muscle is, his hands clinging to you with a desperation that mirrors the one buried in the depths of your being. but it's still not enough. it still doesn't change anything.

“you’re still leaving,” he says after a long silence, his voice breaking. your lower lip trembles, and you’re glad he can’t see you just yet.

��i have to.” you nod, your fingers brushing through his short hair.

you watch as matt pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dull and glassy. “you’re gonna ruin me,” he breathes out, his voice cracking at the end. “y’know that, right?”

again, you nod, your chest tightening painfully.

you don't have the heart to tell him you already have.

morning light streams through the window, golden and soft, but it only makes the heaviness in your chest worse. your bag sits by the door, packed hastily in the early hours of dawn while the house was still quiet, the weight of everything practically crushing you.

matt hadn’t spoken to you after last night. you hadn’t expected him to. after sneaking back upstairs, the realization had hit you like a tidal wave: nothing had changed. what you and the brunette shared in the kitchen—desperate kisses, the raw and aching connection, the unspoken words in every touch—hadn’t erased the fact that he’s engaged, and you don’t belong here anymore.

when you finally build the courage to head downstairs, nobody is awake, and you’re grateful. and you’re painfully aware of how incredibly cowardly it is, but running without the offer of closure has always been the more appealing option for you. it leaves no room for confrontation and hurt, or at least none that you have to face until you’re all alone again with regret and hatred swirling deep within your aching core.

you’re already thinking of what you’re going to say later when you inevitably receive a few confused and probably hurt messages about the fact that you’re leaving unannounced when matt finds you by the front door. the same hoodie he wore last night hangs loose around him, his face unreadable, though his eyes carry the storm you’ve come to know too well.

“leaving already?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

you inhale shakily, but nod, fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. “yeah. figured it was time.” figured it was easier like this, is what you don’t say, but you don’t have to. he knows. and you know he hates you for it.

you watch as he steps closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. there’s a pause, and then, “last night—”

“don’t,” you cut him off softly, shaking your head. “please, just... don’t make this harder than it already is.” your voice is quiet, and it breaks at the end, but otherwise your expression remains neutral.

the silence stretches between you, heavy with everything you refuse to say. the words press against the back of your throat, tears threatening the corners of your eyes, but you know better than to ever let any of it escape. words won’t fix this. they won’t undo the lines that have already been crossed or change the fact that you’re leaving. again.

“i mean it, you know,” matt says suddenly, his voice breaking, “that you’re taking a piece of me with you. that you’re ruining me.”

your eyes burn, but somehow you force a wavering smile. you want to tell him that you’re leaving a piece of yourself behind, but you don’t.

“isn’t that the way it’s always been?”

he doesn’t answer, but the look on his face says enough. his jaw is tight and his fingers twitch inside his pockets, flexing and unflexing. he hates you.

but his chest heaves, quickening with the beat of his aching heart, and his eyes are shiny with emotion you always seem to elicit. he loves you.

as you step outside, the cold air bites at your skin, but it feels like a relief compared to the suffocating weight of the house, of what waits inside for you. every day. every year. you don’t look back, but mostly because you can’t.

as you drive away, the road stretches out before you, empty and endless, but your heart stays behind—a piece of it, anyway. a piece you know you’ll never get back.

you’ll come back to this town some day—maybe next christmas or the one after that. but you know it won’t matter. the hurt will still be there, lingering like the ghost of what could have been.

matt, however, you know you’ve lost. and you can’t help the shaky smile on your lips as you leave yet again because you absolutely deserve it.

©hanbinics

divider credit; @issysh3ll.

[tayraedoll]

Silver Stag

The bonus chapter of Old Man as promised! Reader has reached the end of mating season and decides to poke the bear (stag). Maybe it wasn't the best idea.

18+ MDNI

TW: P in V intercourse, scent marking, biting, blood, bondage, tentacle s3x, edging, swearing

*squelch squelch squelch*

The sound of your bare feet slapping the marshy ground of the swamp seemed to echo in the silence of the bayou. Your mind screamed at you to quiet your steps, but in order to do that you'd have to slow down- and that was just not an option. Every breath felt like fire in your lungs, your legs pleading for a break; but you couldn't stop, if you stopped - you'd lose.

Not that losing would be a bad thing, you were actually looking forward to it. You just wanted him to work for it a little harder this time.

The bastard was correct, this was your third heat in the month you'd been locked away in your lover's room. The second heat passed much like the first one had- you came into heat, he chased you, he caught you, he fucked you mercilessly for 72 hours, and then he bathed you when you came out of it. Now, you were familiar with the signs of your upcoming cycle, so when you felt your skin flush and temperature spike you formed a plan. This final heat caught you at the very end of the mating season, so the biological effects were not quite as potent as your previous two heats. Your mind was still hazy, but you had a much greater capacity for strategic thought processes; you were not going to let the moment go to waste, you were not going to just lay there and wait for Alastor to stuff you with his cock. You were going to make the buck put effort into claiming you this time.

When you woke up with all the telltale signs of a doe in heat you took off into the bayou. Alastor was not in bed when you awoke, he never was, but you knew your scent would tip him off and he would inevitably come after you. The electric current running up for spine and the way your fluffy tail puffed out instinctively told you The Radio Demon was much closer on your heels than you thought.

You leapt over fallen logs without breaking your stride. There was no destination in mind, just running as far as you could and not looking back. A clearing appeared up ahead and you forced your tired legs to pump faster, this set a new record for how far you made it into the pocket dimension. A smile graced your lips- victory was yours.

Just as you broke through the trees you were abruptly ripped back into the forest's maw before your eyes could even adjust to the change in lighting. Your back hit a tree, the breath momentarily knocked out of you causing you to gasp. Yellow fangs and red irises filled your field of vision, a dark chuckle causing your ears to twitch.

"And just where were you going My Doe? Out for another stroll in the woods?", Alastor goaded you as his arms caged you against the tree.

You smile with mock innocence back up at him while batting your lashes,"Just trying to clear my head. Woke up a bit feverish, figured the fresh air would do me some good."

His hand came up to cup your jaw, holding your face still as he began rubbing his cheeks against yours. "Hmm, I wouldn't stray too far if I were you. I don't want you to catch a cold", as if on cue, a cool breeze blew by which caused his still-potent buck pheromones to swirl around you. You felt your body relax, wanting to let your mate take control; but you shook your head in an attempt to clear it, you may have been caught but you could still avoid making this easy for the stag. Alastor narrowed his eyes as he watched you struggle to fight off your biological instincts. He pressed his body to yours, you could feel every muscle quiver with the force he was restraining himself with. You smiled, perhaps you could get him to lose control first.

Leaning up on the very tips of your toes, you wrapped your arms around his neck and ran your nose up the column of his throat and jawline. He shivered at the soft caress, his claws digging into the bark of the tree behind you. You kept running your nose slowly across his sensitive skin while you unbuttoned his shirt, listening to his breath hitch with every swipe across his pulse point. "I won't venture too far into the forest. It would be a shame if I ran into some other buck all alone out here", with that you bit down hard on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, tasting his blood on your tongue.

His viscous snarl reverberated off your very bones, before you could even comprehend the movement you were flying through the air before bouncing onto your shared bed. Alastor stepped out of the shadow portal he had thrown you through and loomed over your smaller frame. His knees forced your legs apart as one hand curled around your throat, applying just enough pressure to reduce your breathing to small pants.

"Is that what you think of while I'm fucking you? Imagining it is some other buck's cock bruising your cervix? You are MINE in EVERY way possible! But if you truly require a demonstration of ownership, I will happily oblige, Ma Biche."

Shadow tendrils slithered forward and shredded your clothes off your body before fastening you to the bed. You were already dripping wet and he hadn't even touched you yet, just the sheer display of raw power from your lover had heat pooling in your core. You moaned sensually as slick poured from your needy hole- now that you had riled Alastor up you were ready to finally submit.

You watched as your buck languidly took off his coat, neatly folding it before placing it on the side table. His bowtie was next to be removed at the same glacial pace; Alastor was not moving with any sense of urgency, as if he wasn't wasting precious minutes of what was left of the rut. A low groan escaped you, your body felt like it was on fire and you needed him to hurry up and touch you. Your brows furrowed in confusion when- instead of climbing on top of you as expected- The Radio Demon sat in his chair and proceeded to simply stare at you as you writhed naked on the bed.

Your mouth opened to ask him what the hell he was doing across the room from you, but the snarky comment turned to ash in your mouth when a cool, slippery sensation spread up your sensitive inner thigh. Glancing down, a shadow tentacle had wrapped around your leg and was slowly inching up to the where you were burning for touch the most. When the appendage flicked your clit you let out a breath of relief; biting your lip and arching your back off the bed as it moved in slow, measured circles around your pearl.

You were so lost in euphoria that you nearly forgot that Alastor was there. "Do you think any other buck would be able to make you feel this good?", he asked over your moans, you completely missed the tense edge his voice held. The tentacle gives a harsh slap to your clit, nearly sending you over the cliff of ecstasy, "No one else can take care of you the way I can My Doe."

"Ah- Alastor! Hmph, right there!", you cry out. Just a little longer, just a little more and that coil would finally snap. Alastor knew you were close, he knew what you needed- just one more press to your clitoral glans and you'd make a mess on his sheets. With that thought, he halted all movement. A pathetic whine left your throat and you turned to him exasperated.

"My, my- what a needy little thing you are. What happened to all that sass hmm?", the demon said in a saccharine tone, his gaze fixed on your face and the disappointed pout of your lips.

"Please Alastor, I'm sorry! Please just- just touch me. I beg you, please!", tears began forming in your eyes. The heat was taking over your brain; you needed him- you needed his hands on you, his voice whispering words of praise- you needed his dominating presence. You felt that you'd go mad if he did not take you right at that moment.

"Oh ho ho! Begging now are we? We really are desperate! Well, since you asked so nicely...",

The tentacle returned to circling your bud, this time accompanied by another that prodded at your desperately needy entrance. Your body jolted, back arching off the bed as the second appendage spread your lower lips and sank into you. A loud squeal escaped you as you threw your head back, every nerve in your being ignited.

Your fingers dug into the bedsheets below you as the limb curled in just the right spot, pushing against that sensitive area over and over again. You reached your peak even faster than before, stars filling your vision as your body tensed- ready to explode with the orgasm you were denied.

Just as your world was about to shatter both tentacles fled from your core. You choked out a loud sob, tears flowing freely down down your face and pooling on the sheets and in your hair. But they were not just tears of anguish- now you were PISSED. "What the fuck are you doing Al?! Why won't you touch me? Why won't you fucking let me finish?!"

"Because you frustrate me Darling. I am simply returning the favor", the demon answered with a wave of his hand. "Now, you may think twice before even thinking of another buck coming anywhere near you." His smile was sardonic, clearly enjoying how he was tormenting you. If your wrists were not pinned by his shadows you'd throw him the double bird.

"You can't just keep edging me for the next 72 hours!", you seethed.

Alastor didn't reply verbally, but his smile dimmed ever so slightly. He knew you were right, even now his instincts were screaming at him to take you...to breed you. But Alastor was a master of self-control, he had never even taken a mate to satisfy his rut before you. No, he wouldn't keep up this game for the entire mating period...but he would fight to make it last as long as possible.

With that resolve in mind, the tentacles dipped through your folds once again.

Your core was aching, and not in the way you wished it would. You lost count of how many times you clenched around nothing, how many times that delightful appendage pulled from your body at the very last second. Sweat drenched every inch of your skin as you trembled; every sensation was magnified ten-fold- your skin burned at every touch like it was a branding iron, every squelch of your pussy loud as an atom bomb, and you had completely forgotten what everything besides Alastor smelled like.

It was going on 24 hours now. 24 hours of being driven right to the edge and then crashing just short of the finish line. You thought you'd get a break at hour 18- Alastor always took a break at that time- but when your eyes met red irises he tutted at you. "Breaks are for good girls."

You couldn't continue this any longer, you wanted to give up; but what would giving up mean? Sleeping? Surely not, your body was prepared to fight this out for another 48 hours; so you submitted instead. Tired of fighting, you let every limb go completely limp and melted into the mattress below you. Your buck could do what he wanted with you, you'd take this torture if that was what he wished. In a small voice you whispered, "I'll be your good girl Babe, I promise."

The second you caved your mate was on top of you, hands running up your torso and fondling your breasts while he rubbed his cheeks against yours again. This time you blissfully allowed your mind to be overtaken by the fog rather than fighting it off. The velvety softness of fluff and skin against yours alerted you that Alastor had already disposed of his clothing. Your wrists were freed and you were quick to wrap them around your lover, crushing him to you yet feeling like he still was not close enough.

Alastor ran the claws of one hand through your sweat-saturated hair, "Look at you Sha, absolutely beautiful. Now, isn't this easier? Now we'll both get what we want." You moaned erotically when his cock brushed through your folds, giving a harsh slap to your bruised clit before lining up with your entrance. You just had 24 straight hours of foreplay, you were absolutely soaked and ready for him to finally fuck you.

You screamed in sheer ecstasy when his member finally split your pussy open. With how pent up you were your first orgasm ripped through you just as he bottomed out, your core tightening and legs spasming as the coil released at long last.

Alastor immediately set a brutal pace- you weren't the only one worked up from the last 24 hours. He slammed his hips into yours, reaching your cervix with every thrust. Where you couldn't cum before, now you couldn't stop. Each drag of his cock through your walls had them clenching around him. You fisted your hands in his hair, nails digging into his skull and neck as your legs wrapped around his waist. He let out a guttural growl, hooking his arms behind your knees and pushing them to your chest in a mating press.

The coil wound impossibly tight again, your entire body going stiff as every muscle locked up. Your head pulled back, the tendons in your neck popping against the strain as your jaw practically unhinged in another scream that choked out as your body knocked the wind out of itself.

You don't remember closing your eyes, you barely have the strength to open them again as you ride out your high. Your arms are now laying limply at your sides, feeling like they were filled with sand and nearly impossible to move. With another low growl, Alastor bites down your shoulder as he finds his first release. Even after his climax however, he still keeps pounding into you never slowing his pace. You whimper as your core starts to wind and tighten again.

Hearing you, Alastor releases your shoulder and presses his forehead to yours, staring deeply into your eyes. "Ma Biche, we are only getting started. We have a lot of time to make up for."

48 hours later you are sprawled across Alastor's chest, his hand running down the length of your spine-including your tail- as he hums softly. You nuzzle your face into his neck, you are exhausted but don't want to fall asleep- once you fall asleep he leaves, and you are not ready to be parted from him just yet. "Will you stay with me? Please? I want you to stay." You speak so softly that your words are barely audible even to your own ears; you tense up, ready for his rejection.

Alastor stops humming but continues to rake his claws down your back, "I suppose I can afford one lazy day in bed with you Sha." He presses his lips to your temple. "I may not be ready to part from you either. The other residents will surely be used to our absence by now, I am quite positive this hotel will not burn down without us for a bit longer."

He turned on his side, wrapping his arms around you and cocooning you into him. You return his embrace with a smile before it falters, your teeth worry your lower lip as you wonder what your relationship will be like now that the rut is over. Did he get what he wanted from you and now you were disposable to him? Were you nothing more than a soul he owned now?

"I can practically hear the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours Darling. What's on your mind?", Alastor pulled away slightly to look at your face, using his thumb to rescue your lip from your teeth.

"What happens now?", you whisper, looking at his chest to avoid his eyes. "I'm afraid you won't want me like this now that your hormones aren't going haywire. I understand if you don't...it will just take some time to go back to the way things used to be."

One clawed finger gently pushed your chin up to force you to look at his face; his eyes burned with an intensity that stole your breath from your lungs. "Sha, what in Lucifer's kingdom makes you think I do not wish to continue this with you? Do you really think I am in the habit of bedding little does and then discarding them? No, I am afraid that you are stuck with me for the rest of our respective afterlives. YOU signed the deal remember? I will not be letting you go EVER."

Tears formed in eyes at his rant, you surged forward and crushed your lips to his, feeding all the passion you felt for this damned old man into the kiss. When you eventually pull away for air, you snuggled back into his chest, resting your nose against the bite you left on his neck and breathing in the scent of him.

After a few minutes, just before sleep could take you, a new thought struck you, "Am I really your first? You seem awfully competent in the bedroom."

A low chuckle meets your words, "Instincts Darling, and I am not a blushing virgin like so many seem to think. I simply have standards and was waiting for the right mate."

You smile into his skin, "Ya know... you're pretty spry for an old geezer. I wouldn't mind teaching an old dog new tricks next season; although, I wouldn't want to break a fossil such as yourself."

A record scratch echoed through the room; before you could lift your head up to look at him, you found yourself pinned on your back with The Radio Demon smiling down at you dangerously.

"Oh Darling, you just earned yourself another 12 hours."

Tags:

@stattikdemon

@vxllys

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@lady-intellectual

@shealizxx

@cryssyd

[miniwheat77]

Seductive. (Captain Price x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, smut, p in v sex, rough sex, age gap, (let me know if I missed any)

(Summary): Reader takes some advice from a friend on base and seduces her Captain.

(This has been in my drafts for forever, I hope you like it.)

Your eyes narrow as you look upon her, very clear fake laugh leaving her lips as she places her hand on his shoulder. He doesn't notice, but you do. You can see the look in his eyes as she does, what she's doing. It's working. She walks away from him and makes her way over to you. You're sitting at a table in the mess hall, sandwich in hand.

“What are you doing?” You ask your only friend on the base you worked on. Her name was Katy, the only tolerable female on base. She might've been a little bit of a barracks bunny but you usually ignored that. She was nice and funny and you got along with her quite well.

“What?” She says. “You’re totally trying to seduce him.” You laugh. After witnessing her chatting up your commander. “Yeah? So?” Your eyes widen. “What the hell. You whore.” She shoves you. “Oh come on, don’t be such a prude.” She rolls her eyes. “Katy. You know you can’t have relations on base.” You chuckle. “What they don’t know won’t hurt em.” She smirks. “You’re not interested in anyone at all?” She asks. “No.” You say, confused. “Lame. I was going to tell you how to get what you want.” She smirks. You roll your eyes. “I’ll let you know if I ever need your expertise, but you know I’m leaving soon.” She scoffs. “I know. It’s bullshit, you’re supposed to stay here with me.” She pouts. “It’s only for 6 months and I’ll be back.” You chuckle.

You’d been recruited for task force 141, and you were leaving in a couple of weeks. She was very upset that you were leaving but you were excited for something new. After finishing up lunch, the both of you returned to your posts. You weren't sure how you got recommended to be in task force 141, you hadn't even met anyone apart of it besides the few time's you talked to Laswell, but it wasn't her task force. It was different and you weren't sure if you were ready for it.

The two weeks leading up to the day you were leaving, were crazy. Almost every single day Katy convinced you to go out, you spent almost 2 full weeks hungover at work. It was awful, but it was some of the most fun you’d ever had. The time seemed to drag on, you were nervous and excited at the same time for something different. You were waiting on a bench patiently for your helicopter to arrive, the one that'd be taking you away. Katy was sitting next to you. Talking to you before you'd inevitably leave. She was worried but she'd never show it. She was good at hiding her emotions. She had been through a lot before she entered the military, so she was good at concealment. When the helicopter arrived, she gave you a hug and you finished your goodbye's to the other few acquaintances you had on base. They were sad to see you go, and they were worried as well. 141 went on some crazy missions and they were worried about you. "Don't get dead." Katy smiles, you could see the hurt in her eyes.

She was upset when you left but she’d be okay. She had guys on base to keep her company while you were gone anyways.

The ride to the base task force 141 was on took quite a few hours. They were off in the middle of nowhere in Iran. Working toward eliminating Hassan Zyani. The Iranian terrorist.

When you arrived on base, it was pretty early in the morning. "Hi." A man smiles. He's attractive, very attractive. You smile and take his outstretched hand. Shaking it. "I'm Captain John Price. It's nice to finally meet you." He smiles. His accent takes you a little off guard, forgetting that this base is going to have Military from all over. "Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N." You smile. He nods his head. "I've heard a lot about you. A lot about how sharp you are for your age." He smiles. "Really? I didn't know that people talked about me." You chuckle. "Oh they do. It's nice having you here Y/N, I'll show you around.” He spins around on his heels and you know you'll fit in just fine here.

Your first few weeks with 141 were busy. Nonstop missions, always up to something. If you weren’t out on a mission, you were inside of an office helping people out with research and all kinds of paperwork. You spent a lot of time with your Captain and Laswell. They enjoyed your company and your expertise with technology. Your relationship with each of the members of 141, and those in alliance with 141 were close knit. You got along so well with everyone right away and they took you in as one of their own. Joking and playing with Soap, but knowing he’d ring someone’s neck for you. Slight gestures that always made Ghost smile under his mask. Sharing sweets with him, laughing when he didn’t like it and would spit it out. Catching him smoking with his mask slightly lifted. Him threatening to kill you if you tell anyone. His eyes would darken and he’d glare if someone said something slightly aggressive to you. Playing small pranks on everyone with Gaz, he was like your evil twin. But the couple times Price got stern with you he was always there to help the situation. Usually a “take it easy cap, she’s new.”

But you didn’t really mind when he got stern with you. If you needed correction, you’d take the advice.

The only thing that really started to bother you, was the growing feelings you felt for your Captain. You didn’t figure he’d go after you, significant age gap, the job you both worked in. It just seemed impossible. You wondered if he was married but ended up asking if he had any kids and he said no, he’d never even been married. Your heart jumped. Literally wanted to beat out of your chest in excitement. He was single. Your only concern now was the significant age gap. If he didn’t mind, you definitely didn’t mind.

You spent many nights up late, daydreaming. You thought about the way he smelled, the way he has to taste on your tongue. The way his facial hair would scratch at the skin between your legs. You were groggy most days but managed to hide it. Your Captain always kept everything professional with you. He never gave you a reason to have such a growing crush on him despite his protectiveness. He was a little rough around the edges, raised his voice sometimes, very stern. You day dreamt about that too, how rough he could be. His calloused hands moving with the curves of your body. Sometimes you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face, get him out of your head. But not even an ice bath would take away the growing heat you felt between your legs when you thought about him. You suffered like this for longer than you liked to admit. Longing stares at him during meetings. Constant concern about him on missions. It was getting a little dangerous how you felt about him.

You sat on the edge of your bed. It was pretty late at night. You were running out of options. You had one left, and you were growing desperate. With a sigh, you pull your phone out. Quickly dialing her number.

“Hey Katy.” You smile as she answered. “Y/N! Hi! How is everything?” She asks. “Everything is great, but I need advice.” You laugh. “Oh? With what?”

You take a deep breath, standing up and stepping further into your room to ensure nobody would hear you. “Do you remember when you said to ask you, ‘when I wanted to get what I want’ you remember that?” You say. She squeals through the phone. “You like somebody? You’re going to try to seduce them? You whore.” She laughs. “Yeah, if I told you who it was you’d probably freak.” She looks confused but you can’t see it. “What?”

“It’s my Captain.” She gasps. “Y/N! You little minx!” She laughs. “Just.. tell me how to do it.” You breathe. “Okay okay.” She laughs.

“First, start being friendly. When he makes a joke, put your hand on his shoulder, on his knee if you’re sitting next to him. You can fake a laugh, but don’t be obvious.” She says. “I’m listening.” You smile. “Your base isn’t that strict right?” She asks. “No?” She smiles on the other end of the line. “In the morning, before you put your uniform on, go out to get coffee. I’ve done it before in just a tank top and shorts. But you have to track his pattern so you know where he’ll be. Make sure he’s in the room, you don’t wanna seduce the wrong one yknow?” She laughs. “When you’re training, just wear a sports bra and shorts. Tight shorts. Ask him to help you train, and don’t be afraid to make some suspicious noises when you’re working out.” She smirks. “When you’re stretching, whimper. They like that.” You’re laughing. “You seem to know a lot about this.” You laugh. “Of course I do.” She rolls her eyes. You take a deep breath. “Start with those, and I’ll think of some more.” She giggles. “Okay. You’re a life saver.” After some more sly words from her, you talk a little more about everything going on. Once you’re done, you say your goodbyes and hang up.

The nervousness you felt in the morning after the conversation with her was almost too much to bare. You made your way into the mess hall, shorts and a tight tank top just like she said. You knew your Captain didn’t sleep all that well so he was always the first awake. You make your way into the kitchen, your eyes burned from being tired but you needed this. Needed him to pay attention to you. When you step into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes tiredly, his eyes nearly bulge out of his head. He has to stop himself from choking on his coffee. He had never seen you dressed like this before. He has to kick himself for acting like a horny teenage boy, it was pathetic. You don't notice anything different about him as you finish getting your coffee, mumbling a small 'good morning' to him.

Over the next couple of weeks, you do as she says. When he'd make you laugh in any way, you'd put a light hand on his shoulder or thigh if you were sitting next to him. You'd come out nearly every morning in something revealing. He didn't seem to show any interest in you which sucked. You started to think maybe he just wasn't interested in you, but after more conversations with Katy, she said to keep up and not let up quite yet. To keep doing it for a while. So you did. It didn't take much to do it anyways.

“Morning Captain.” You say tiredly. “Good morning.” He smiles. He breathes out. He didn’t expect this, the way you looked under your gear. “Why are you awake so early Ah?” He asks. “Didn’t sleep good. Was thinking about working out but Soap is usually my spotter and I know he’s not awake yet.” You sigh. You laugh, sitting across from him at the table. You needed to try something else, so why not this? John perks up. “I could spot you if you need help.” He breathes. He’s trying not to sound too eager. “Oh I’d hate to ask you to do that..” you say innocently. “Oh, it’s no problem. I don’t mind.” He smiles. “Okay. I’ll go get changed and I’ll meet you in the gym?” He nods his head. “Sounds good sweetheart.”

You walk quickly to your room, changing into an even more revealing outfit. You wait around in the gym, doing your usual workout routine. When your Captain comes in, he freezes when he sees you. Sports bra, even tighter shorts. He breathes out, trying to collect his thoughts. Was he really this deprived? Thinking this way about you?

He sets all of his belongings down and makes his way over to you. “Ready?” He asks. Standing over the bench press. You nod your head. "You've stretched already right?" He asks. You nod your head with a smile. You lay down and get adjusted onto it. You grasp the bar, lifting it off of the rack and beginning to lift it up. “Let me know when it gets to be too much.” He says. You nod your head trying to breath through it. Katy’s words echo in your ear.

You start small, small breaths of air leaving your lips, and you get a tiny bit louder, very small moans escape your lips and you don't notice anything at first but as your whimpers got louder, breaths of air leaving your lips with each raise you do, you finally catch it. John stepping back. Having to adjust his hardening cock. The tightening he felt was uncomfortable and he couldn’t take it. You notice this action, having to stop yourself from smiling. It was fucking working.

Katy you devil.

You hang up the bar, struggling a little as you did so. “Did good Y/N.” He smiles. “Thank you, I’m trying.” You laugh. Your body had a slight sheen of sweat. He could see the way your cleavage looked. Beads of sweat. You probably tasted so sweet, he wanted to run his tongue along your skin. He has to shake the thoughts away. So dirty. It was fucking working. You were so surprised. John works out alongside you for only a few minutes longer before excusing himself to go do 'work' which you knew wasn't true. He was rock hard and needed relief, or at least to get away from you. The moment he leaves the Gym, you're picking up your phone to give Katy a call.

When she picks up, the first words out of your mouth are "It fucking worked!" to which she laughs. She asks if you hooked up but of course you say "Not yet." following this up by telling her what had happened with the Gym.

"Maybe you should surprise him in his office if that's where he went. Might walk in on a little something." She laughs. You laugh, shrugging it off. After a little more conversation, you make your way to his office. Maybe she was right. Maybe you might. As you approach you don't hear anything. But you think, he might hear your footsteps and it would be awkward for you to walk away, it'd seem suspicious. So without thinking you come up with some kind of lie and walk right into his office. Your breath leaves your body, a gasp leaving your lips. He gasps out, eyes going wide as he rushes to cover himself up. "Fuck, I'm so sorry." You gasp, rushing to cover your eyes. "I'll.. I'll come back later." You mumble. You step out and he groans in frustration, he needed to catch you before you got away.

He scrambles up to follow after you. Opening up his office door. “Wait- Y/N!” He calls after you. You stop immediately, turning around. “Come here.” He breathes. You nod your head immediately, following him back into his office. “I.. what did you need darling?” He asks. His face is blushing red, and he slicks his hair back, he hadn’t even put his hat on. “I.. I was…” you pause for a second. He’s standing right in front of you, hard. Little beads of sweat on his forehead. You glance down, backing up into his office door and closing it behind you. “I was going to ask if you needed any help. But I guess you answered my question.” You smile. His eyes widen at how forward you’re being, but he’s not going to deny this. He’s breathing hard, he seems nervous.

He takes a step forward and smashes his lips against yours, pushing you back into the wall behind you. He’s got a tight grip on you as he kisses you, teeth knocking against yours with the force of his lips moving with yours. He reaches for the shorts you still have on, pushing them down your legs. Once you’re bare, he lifts you up by your thighs, walking you over to his desk and sliding some of his paperwork off to set you down onto it. “Such a fucking temptress.” He breathes. He leans into you and you hold onto him by his neck, kissing him again. He’s got his hand wrapped around your lower back, hips rubbing into yours. The seam of his pants is stimulating you, making you moan out. He unbuttons them, unzipping them and pushing them low enough to expose his cock. Your eyes widen slightly at him. He spits in his hand, lowering his hand to slide it over your hole, earning a gasp from you. He slides his cock right into you, filling you completely full in one thrust. He clamps a hand over your mouth as a cry is about to leave your lips. “Stay quiet for me darling.” He chuckles. He holds it there as he begins fucking you, your body lurching with every hard thrust he takes. He raises your thighs higher up on his hips, pushing you further back into the desk, until the cold wood is pressed right up against your back. You clutch the edge of it, trying your hardest to stay quiet as he hammers his hips into yours.

“Been such a fucking tease-“ he grits his teeth. Holding onto your thighs. “Walking out there in basically nothing in the morning.. wearing those tight clothes- fuck.” He tilts his head back. Groaning out. “I didn’t think it’d work.” You look up at him, lazy smile on your lips. “You seduced me?” He smirks. You bite your lip, staying quiet. He snorts. “Bad girl hm?” He rubs at your clit with his thumb, and you tilt your head back once again. “Bad, bad girl.” He growls. Your knuckles are turning white with how hard you’re holding onto the desk, a death grip as he pounds you. He pushes a hand down around your throat, pushing down on you lightly. “You didn’t have to work too hard at it baby, just didn’t think you’d go for an old man like me.” He chuckles. “Oh… you have no idea.” You smile. You bite your lip lightly, gripping his wrist. He grits his teeth, he’s getting close. He draws his hand back, squeezing your breast, earning a whine from you. “Rub your clit.” He breathes. You look up at him, raising your hand. “Gonna show you how good I can make you feel.” He breathes. He pulls you closer to him, holding your thighs at a good angle. Instead of full thrusts, he starts grinding his cock into you perfectly. He rubs right up against the spongy spot inside of you and a cry leaves your lips.

He wants to tell you to quiet down, but he doesn’t care who hears anymore. You’re his, all his. “Oh my god-“ you cry out, letting your head rest back on his desk. “So tight on me sweetheart.” He grits his teeth. He keeps the steady pace, and your legs shake slightly as he pushes you closer to your high. “I- I’m gonna cum Captain.” You breathe. He smiles, “cum for me baby, that’s a good girl.” He growls. “Keep rubbing your clit.” He breathes. He’s right there too, praying you’ll cum before him. You tilt your head back, body lurching forward as you reach your high, and once he knows he’s ridden it out for you, he starts thrusting again. It only takes a couple until he’s spilling into you with a groan. You’re breathing hard as he helps you up, standing between your legs still.

“You’re a bad girl you know that?” He laughs. You smile. “Just for you though, Captain.”

“Good. Because I’m going to keep you to myself.” He laughs.

This was just the start of something scandalous.

[shotmrmiller]

Inevitable (Ending 1 to Situationship)

Pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x AFAB! Reader

TW: Major Character Death, blood, hurt/ little comfort, a g o n y

Simon closes his eyes in defeat. He had been dancing with death for too long, and it'd finally come to collect it's dues.

This particular mission had been long. He knew it would be. Price had debriefed him on it months before— since it would only be them two. They were the seniors of the task force. They've done a similar mission before, so it seemed only natural that they did it again.

But it didn't mean it hadn't been shit since they arrived.

Almost 9 months out in the freezing cold, MRE's every day, waiting for the chance to finally get their hands on vital information that would save millions.

It was a tiny town in Russia, Oymyakon. Home to about 500 people. Soldiers, mostly. The plan had been to wait for a large portion of the small militia to move cities— to another safe house in the nearby city of Khara-Tumul. What prolonged this mission was that while Ghost and Price knew they'd move, they didn't know when. And it had been imperative that the duo get out here not to miss this slim window.

To Simon, this had been a perfect way to not be distracted with the situation back home. With you.

You had been with him for years now, and he always loved going home to you. A warm flat, a home-cooked meal, and the love in your eyes every time he came back from a mission. But then something he hoped wouldn't happen, did. Simon's past chose to catch up with him now. Now, when he finally had something to look forward to in life.

One day, outside his door, was an envelope. He had felt a crushing pressure on his chest. The blood in his veins was cold, and his hands trembled as he picked up the envelope. He squeezed his eyes as he let out a shuddering breath— praying to whatever higher power that the enemies he has made throughout the years don't know about you. He practically rips open the package and his worst fear is confirmed. Photos of you and Simon out on a date. He even remembers the said date because you had been wearing the sexiest leather booties he'd ever seen. Simon had made you wear them as he fucked you into the mattress that night.

Which meant that Simon had to end it with you. He was about to go on a mission for an unprecedented amount of time and he would not be here to protect you. So a month before leaving, he treated you coldly. Harshly. A way he'd never dream of being with you. He would hear you crying in the bedroom and it was a knife to his heart, but to him, it seemed like it was the only way to keep you safe.

Then, a moment he'll never forget. He said that he didn't feel the same for you as he did before. Thought it best if you both went your separate ways and that it had to be within the next two weeks because he was selling the flat and moving away. That whatever of his you had, to give it to him. Any sleeping shirts, photos, and the bloody ring he promised himself you'd wear to your grave.

He was a witness to how you broke at his words. God. He, at that moment. wished his enemies just took him and be done with it. Relieve him of the agony he caused to himself by hurting you. You wailed, agonizingly loud, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and dripping from your chin to the floor for what seemed like hours.

Til your heartbreak turned to rage. You spit venom at him. That if he had another 'cunt' waiting for him somewhere. That if he ever even loved you. You always were his strong merciless woman with fire in your veins and smoke in your lungs. How hard it was to be him, sitting on the couch and blankly stare at the telly without rising to your jibes. To tell you the truth. That there has been no one before you and there won't be one after you. But he forced himself to ignore you as you shoved all of your belongings in your luggage before throwing him the engagement ring and slamming the door.

Gone.

After this, he lived up to his namesake. He was a ghost from your past life. As if he had never been there in the first place. You moved away, far away, and it was bittersweet for Simon because this way you could disappear, out of the limelight. Breathing. Alive.

And he kept an eye on you, from afar. Just to make sure you were safe.

It worked. Both fortunately and unfortunately. You moved on, it seemed. Not from him, which he is so grateful for, but your life went on in every other aspect. It went uninterrupted up until his deployment.

It was supposed to be a simple but long mission. Wait for them to clear out before cleaning house. But even with all the careful planning, and no fucking mistakes, it went tits up.

Somehow they missed one. One fucking enemy. Simon had been standing behind John and turned around after hearing the crunch of broken glass behind him.

One shot to Simon's shoulder, another to his stomach, and then another to the right side of his chest. Before Simon falls, John shoots the last man dead. He throws himself to his knees next to Simon, gloved hands on top of each other as he presses hard into the bullet hole bleeding the most— the one in his ribcage.

"Christ, Ghost. Stay with me, son. We'll get you out of here and patched up in no time, yeah?"

Simon can't hear anything past the rushing of blood in his ears and his own heartbeat, pumping out blood from his wounds with each pulse. Simon's losing too much blood, too fast, and he knows it.

Price is panicking, voice warbling on the radio calling for medevac, but the wait time is 45 minutes. Far too long. And Simon had beat the devil once, long ago. Everyone knows he can't be beaten twice. He opens his mouth and blood bubbles in it as he tries to speak.

"I'm not making it, Captain."

"The hell you're not, Simon, stay with me!"

Simon grabs John's wrist with the little strength he's got left and whispers out, "Captain. John. Please," before digging into the inside of his glove, and pulling out something before clasping it in John's hands and squeezing.

"Please."

John looks at his own hand and nods, eyes glassy with years before he sniffles, clears his throat, and tells Simon of how his daughter had just learned how to argue back when he wouldn't give her any more juice because she's had too much.

Simon is still gripping John's hand as he drops his head back in resignation —before he imagines the family he could've had with you. Pretty little girl with curly hair, your eyes, and all of your attitude. In another life, he thinks, he'd find you there too. In any life, he'd love you.

He wheezes an inhale once—wet, painful— and exhales, and then his chest stills. Hand gripping John's goes limp. John lets out an agonizing scream through his teeth before he presses the button on his radio so hard it cracks.

"All stations— this is Bravo. We got the intel...One KIA."

---

You're in your bed, toasty and warm, when there's a knock on your door. You sharply raise your head before turning to look at the clock.

8 a.m.

'Who in the hell is at my door at this hour?'

You begrudgingly throw the covers to the side, hand on the swell of your belly before rolling up from your side to sit on the edge of the bed, and step into your slippers. One hand underneath your 3rd trimester bump, you drag your feet towards the front door and open it.

A tall man with mutton chops and a black beanie is standing in front of you. He looks down at your heavily pregnant stomach and closes his eyes, softly shaking his head with a, 'Bloody fuckin' hell.'

Your face is contorting into confusion when he opens his mouth to say, "You must be Simon's fiancee."

Your heart starts to pound into your ribcage. You don't even try to refute his claim because you have an inkling of what this is about. 'Please god, no.'

"It is with deep regret that I am here to inform you of the untimely death of your fiance, Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley. He died on active duty, contributing his best to our cause. The reputation gained by your fiance is a fine one, and I hope the knowledge of this affords you pride and comfort during your sorrow. I extend my heartfelt sympathy to you."

Your throat is closing up, choking you as tears well in your eyes. Chest is on fire because you can't breathe and your chin is trembling with the struggle to not weep and fall on your knees. Taking a deep shuddering breath, you clench your teeth. You're livid. Whatever the fuck this is, it isn't good enough for your Simon.

Voice warbly and wet, you hiss, "I could've gotten a casualty letter from the bloody military if I wanted to hear you spew your shit," ending it with a sniffle.

"You're right. May I come in?"

Throwing the door open, you shuffle inside as John steps inside. You're about to sit down when you hear a "Let me.", before the chair you're about to sit on is pulled back. Holding the underside of your belly, you let out a huff as you drop your weight to the seat.

You turn to look at John and you see the clench in his jaw before he opens his mouth to try and speak but he cuts himself off with a clearing of his throat. He takes a second before swallowing and grips the back of one of your dinner table chairs before attempting to speak again.

"Simon was one of my best." Your eyes soften at how frail and shaky his voice sounds.

"He was always at my six. Said it was to be the eyes I didn't have at the back of my head. But I know he always had his facing an open area whenever I was turned around. He died for me. Had he been standing anywhere else other than behind me, he would still be here," and he breaks down, shaky sobs leaving him.

You slowly get up, hand to your lower back before moving to him and giving him an embrace as you wail into his shirt— mourning the loss of a loved one.

It seems like a long time before John taps your upper back and says, "Come. This cannot be good for the baby. You need some relaxing tea, eh?"

With hiccupping breaths, you pull away to look at him before nodding.

"Come. You're gonna make it for me. I wish to get to know what kind of extraordinary man you must be. Simon would not have given his life for less."

He gives a self-deprecating chuckle before he digs into his pockets, before holding his fist out, dog tags glinting under the light and a small white square between his thumb and index. That square has your address written in shorthand and it had a bloody streak over a part of it— the streak the shape of a finger, as if ripped out from someone's hand.

"His dog tags. As well as what Simon on his dying breath. He carried this with him, and by the state of how crumpled it is, he had it everywhere with him."

You take the chain, putting it around your neck— tags resting against your belly— before taking the paper. It's a photo of you. You're in a flower sundress, skin glowing under the rays of the sun with a blinding smile and rosy cheeks. You knew this photo. Simon always claimed it was his favorite. That he loved your smile here because He had made you smile like that.

Your tears are slipping from your eyes and dripping onto your pajamas before picking up the dog tags and pressing a kiss onto the cold metal, then letting them drop. Little baby Riley gives a swift kick to where the tags landed on your stomach.

@thychuvaluswife

[dindjarindiaries]

Clouded

summary: One year after Eriadu, you and Hunter unknowingly seek one another for comfort, achieving a new kind of vulnerability that could change everything.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: mentions of character death (tech), angst & fluff, grief, hurt/comfort

rating: T

note: This story is being done in collaboration with @p-aulinart, whose “Hunter's mental health runs” WIP completely inspired this. The drawing will be available on her blog soon!

word count: 3.101k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

Even Pabu seemed to hold the weight of this day within the dark clouds that hid the sun from view. It cast a gloomful shadow across the island, swallowing up all its life in the same way grief often did. For you and the rest of the Batch, that feeling was all too familiar—especially today.

Today marked one full year since Eriadu.

You exhaled and held the mug of tea even tighter between your hands. The stone underneath your elbows was rough, but it was more welcome than the sharp ache that tore across your chest each time you let your thoughts and memories linger. The fast pace of the last year had helped to distract you all from the inevitability of this day arriving, no matter how painful those events were.

It wasn’t lost on you, any of you, that you only had the peace you had now because of him. His sacrifice had meant something, and while it should have made it better, it still didn’t erase any of the pain.

Everyone was dealing with it in their own ways today. Wrecker had already embarked on a fishing trip with some of the other islanders. Omega was with Lyana, who was no doubt acting as her perfect distraction. Crosshair didn’t want to see another soul, which meant you wouldn’t be seeing him again until tomorrow at the earliest. You were seeking reassurance in nature, letting the painful memories wash over you like the waves lapping at Pabu’s shore.

Hunter was harder to figure out. It was ironic, considering he was the one you knew the best of all. But he had grown less and less communicative as this day lurked closer, and hiding his emotions was a skill he had mastered as greatly as those he used in battle. It was the reason why you still had yet to make a breakthrough in your relationship that had certainly crossed all the necessary lines.

Your lips pulled tight as you blew another worried exhale through your nostrils. Your worry for him swallowed you up almost as much as your grief did.

It was still early in the morning on the island. Even without the dark clouds overhead, the sun would only just be starting to shine. It was quiet, and while that would usually give you peace, today it was unsettling. It gave you too much freedom to think, to remember.

And the sky looked too much like the clouds did when you were up that high on Eriadu, the ones that had ultimately hidden him from view as he…

You stopped that thought by focusing on lifting your mug to your lips and drawing a long sip of your tea. Blinking back the tears, you lowered your drink and closed your eyes, hanging your head and steadying yourself with a few breaths.

You forced your thoughts to go to Echo, and you hoped he was surrounded by enough support from Rex and the others to get through this day without the rest of you. Even though this wasn’t the first time Echo had to grieve someone on an anniversary like this, no loss was easier than another. You made a mental note to try to comm him later if you could.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching over the landscape. You opened your eyes and lifted your head, looking down from where you still stood just a few levels above the shore. A distant figure was getting closer as they jogged along, and it easily became apparent who it was.

Even just seeing Hunter caused the worried knot in your chest to loosen, but he quickly tied a new one deeper within you. The humidity on Pabu had led him to forego a shirt, and as he slowed to a stop right in front of you, it became easier to see the glistening beads of sweat that clung to his toned muscles. His chest heaved as he set one hand on his hip and raised the other to push some of the curling strands of hair away from his face.

Damn. It was like the galaxy had heard your silent plea for a sweet distraction from the tumultuous turmoil of this day and delivered in the best way possible.

It was impossible not to stare, even if he hadn’t noticed you yet. That alone was still concerning; his senses should have been able to pick up on you quite easily at this distance. Your brow furrowed as you forced yourself to focus on his expression. His brown eyes, normally golden when the Pabu sun decided to shine, were even darker than usual before he shut them tight.

You clutched your cup of tea when you noticed his set jaw and quivering lips. It wasn’t exhaustion that had stopped his run. That wasn’t even what was causing his chest to heave.

Hunter reopened his eyes and looked down at his waist, reaching to the side you couldn’t see at this angle and taking something from it. When he held it in both his hands, treating it with all the care in the galaxy, your fractured heart shattered within your withering chest.

He had taken Tech’s broken goggles from Shep’s collection, where Omega had left them for safekeeping.

You lifted a hand to cup your mouth as you continued to monitor Hunter. His left thumb had only just traced the indicator light when he closed his eyes again. Hunter lowered his forehead to the goggles at the same time his body lowered into a crouch, as if he was folding in on himself entirely. Then, his shoulders started to heave again.

You couldn’t stand by any longer. You left your tea where it was for now and hopped over and across the stone that separated you from him and the shore. Taking extra care not to alarm him, especially in such a fragile, vulnerable state, you kept your footsteps steady. By the time you reached him, he had sat fully on the shore, the goggles pressed between his head and his propped-up knees.

As badly as you wanted to touch him for reassurance, you kept your hands to yourself, instead giving him a worried once-over as you spoke in a soft voice. “Hunter…”

If you were going to say something else, it was completely lost on you, especially the moment he raised his head and revealed his misty eyes to you. The air was knocked from your lungs as if someone had shoved you against the ground. You had been with this squad long enough to share in their lowest moments, but never before had Hunter let you see him with tears in his eyes.

And here he was, not only sharing that vulnerability for a moment, but also freeing a hand from the tight grasp he had on Tech’s goggles to wrap around your arm. The gentle tug he gave it was the only invitation, or desperate plea, you needed to act.

You took your place beside him, and you were ready for him when he all but crashed against you. The hand that had been on your arm wrapped across your back, his fist catching the material of your tunic as his face buried itself against the inside of your shoulder. You secured one arm around him and lifted the other to the back of his head to keep him there.

If this, your embrace, was where he needed to be right now, then you were going to make him feel as safe as possible within it.

You didn’t say anything, because there was nothing you could offer that would dull the pain. Hunter’s hand that still clutched the broken goggles to his chest made that sentiment even more true. You just rested your head against his and looked out upon the cloudy Pabu horizon.

The light in such a moment of darkness was that Hunter had ended up in exactly the right place at the right time, which brought warmth to your chest. The place he had run to was the same place you were planning on spending this morning. It was a spot you had shown him a while ago, on a night where you were hoping to make a breakthrough with him.

If you had only known then that he just needed a little more time, even if this wasn’t the way you planned on earning such vulnerability from him.

You sat with him until he was ready. Hunter lifted his head from your shoulder, and you loosened your grasp on him. His hand slid over your back until it found your hand, which he gently interweaved with his own—as if the movement was as natural as breathing. The corners of your mouths pulled up in a small smile, though it faltered when you caught sight of his bloodshot eyes.

Hunter’s gaze couldn’t meet yours, and he kept his focus on the goggles again as he spoke. “He should be here.” His voice was so genuinely distraught that it was almost unrecognizable, even lower and hoarser than usual.

Your free hand cupped his cheek to brush a fallen tear away from his eye. You still didn’t say anything, instead giving him another once-over as you waited to see if he had more to offer.

“He deserved to see what he gave us.” Hunter looked up, his gaze scanning the Pabu civilization behind you. “This life. I was supposed to keep him safe so that he could.”

You clicked your tongue and shook your head at him. The hand you kept against the tattooed side of his face had started to run soothing strokes with your thumb across his damp skin. “It was his own sacrifice. His own decision.” You offered him a reassuring nod, though his eyes still couldn’t meet yours. “He chose to let us get away safely.”

Hunter’s grasp on the goggles tightened, but not nearly enough to further fracture the broken glass. “And who put him in that position?” It was then that his stare found yours, void of any of its usual sparkle. His voice faltered when he answered his own question. “I did.”

You frowned. “You all knew the risks with every single mission you did. You think those guys were ever too scared to tell you no?” The light tease at least earned you a small sparkle in Hunter’s eyes. That was a major win in your book. “If Tech didn’t agree with your directive, he would’ve said as much. I mean, it was Tech. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself.”

Hunter huffed, and the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips overwhelmed you with a wave of relieved warmth. He looked down at the goggles again, but this time, his brow was lifted in fondness. “True.”

You traced the outline of the tattoo on his cheekbone. “And he wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the life he gave you carrying a burden of guilt that isn’t yours to bear.”

Hunter looked at you again. His gaze was searching, and you never once looked away as you went on.

“‘Adapt and move on.’ Isn’t that what he used to say?”

Hunter held his breath before he responded with a single nod. As he exhaled, his entire body began to relax, including the tight grasp he had taken on both your hand and Tech’s goggles.

“That’s obviously much more easily said than done, but…” you paused, raising your gaze to the cloudy sky for a moment as you thought, “try to think of what he would have wanted you to do rather than what you think you were supposed to do.”

Hunter blinked a few times as he processed your words. He looked down, but this time, his focus was on your entwined hands. Another small smile appeared on his lips as he let out a soft chuckle. “I know what he would’ve wanted me to do.”

You brightened. “Yeah?”

Hunter nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else. Your brow started to rise. “What is it?”

Hunter kept looking at your hands, his thumb circling yours before he spoke. “Like you said before, Tech could never help himself. If he noticed or knew something that no one else was acknowledging, he just had to point it out himself.”

You hummed when he paused. Hunter’s stare rose to yours.

“One of the last things he ever approached me about in private was…” his chest inflated with an uncertain breath, “us.”

Your brow shot up in disbelief. Hunter set down Tech’s goggles in his lap and raised his hand to your wrist, gently lowering yours from his face to set it between his own and yours that were still entwined.

Hunter let out a soft huff. “I don’t know if it was what he was experiencing with Phee or what.” You smiled at that, even if it reminded you of another fracture in your heart. You would have to comm her later too to make sure she was holding up okay. “But Tech told me what he saw between us, and it didn’t make sense to him that I wasn’t acting upon it.”

You were beaming, ready to fold entirely for him, but you still held on to your resolve and quirked up an eyebrow. “And why didn’t he tell me the same thing?”

Hunter was trying to fight a guilty smile as his gaze found Tech’s goggles again. “Because he knew I was the only one standing in our way.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Well, he’s not the only one who knew that.”

Hunter looked back up at you. His brow was furrowed in severity, but before you could rush to reassure him that you were joking, he spoke in a firm yet achingly soft voice. “Then it’s time for me to get out of our way.”

Your lips parted at the genuine weight of his words. Hunter’s gaze flickered between them and your eyes, a silent invitation that wasn’t necessary—because you were already closing the gap.

The moment your mouth met his, an unprecedented warmth washed over you, as if the clouds had parted to finally let the bright sun shine once again. You parted from Hunter to realize that’s exactly what had happened. Overhead, the gray clouds hovering over Pabu began to split, allowing the bright sun and blue sky to take over.

Real subtle, Tech. Of course he was still within the clouds. In your mind, he had never left them, even when they had hidden him from sight that day.

Hunter’s gentle hand wrapped around the back of your neck to bring you back to him. Your smile melted against his as you lifted your free hand to his chest, running it along the warmth of his skin until you reached the back of his head. Your fingers caught the curling strands of hair and held on to them, minding the sensitivity he would have to the feeling as you kept him in place.

But Hunter was the one who wanted you closer. He eased the goggles into a safer position before inviting you to take their previous place, all while he continued to meet each passionate, desperate stroke you offered. It fueled your shared fire of longing even more, causing your entwined hands to unravel as you kept one in his hair and let the other explore.

No one would see. That’s why you had picked this spot. But even if they did, you didn’t care. Not when you had finally gotten the breakthrough you’d been waiting too long for.

You parted only when your lungs demanded it, though you rested your forehead against his. Lazy yet pleased smiles were exchanged between you as you gently panted in time with one another. Now that the Pabu sun had emerged, your back was to it, and its golden glow was catching the flecks in Hunter’s gaze.

Breathtaking, even more so than his kiss had been.

The beautiful sight of them was taken from you when he closed his eyes and let out a soft chuckle. He reopened them and looked down at the goggles that sat on a rock nearby. “Thanks, Tech.”

You laughed, closing your own eyes as your nose brushed his. “Is this what you planned on doing today?”

“No, but… I’m not surprised.” You reopened your eyes when you sensed Hunter’s stare on you. He was beaming. “Tech was always the best problem solver.”

You smiled, leaning away from him only to make your observation of him even more obvious. “Well, you certainly dressed for the part.”

Hunter gave himself a quick once-over, as if he had only just realized what he was—or wasn’t—wearing. A blush crept up his neck, and he tried to shrug it off while you laughed. “It’s too warm here to go on runs with a shirt.”

You raised your brow. “Really?” You drummed your fingers against his bare chest. “Or were you just hoping I’d notice?”

Hunter’s blush intensified, but he still managed to let a charming smile shine. “Maybe a little bit of both.”

You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck, this time letting yourself fall into his embrace rather than vice versa. Hunter held you close, his warm skin muffling your words as you spoke. “At least you can have a workout partner, now.”

Hunter was surprisingly quick with his cheeky response. “What kind of workout?”

You burst out laughing and shook your head. “You’re really wasting no time, are you?”

You caught the sight of Tech’s goggles nearby. The heavy weight of what you’d been feeling all morning threatened to return, but you leaned further into Hunter in a silent plea for him to take some of it for you. He did.

“Let’s just get through this day first.”

Hunter’s agreement came in the form of his comfort, which was his head resting against yours. This grief wouldn’t disappear, but at least now, you had someone to share it with—and so did he. Everything else would fall into place soon enough.

All thanks to Tech.

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb @jellybeanstacey0519 @violetlilly2020

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Possession

Gale x F! Sorcerer Tav

18+ enemies to lovers (sort of), antagonistic relationships, crossed signals, misunderstanding, physical roughness, rivalry/jealousy, mean domGale, rough sex, manhandling, semi-public sex, consensual voyeurism, light humiliation, masturbation (m!), fingering (f!), oral (f!), face sitting, p-in-v, pulling out

With natural challenge and charge between them and a misstep at connection, an unexpected competitor appears in camp. Things come to a burning head between sorcerer and wizard...

Masterlist

-

Magic ran through her body. It was deep inside her bones, a force she could not reason with even if she tried. As vital as breath.

So as Gale explained Weave to her, she rested her chin on a curled hand. Giving him a highly bemused smile that he was entirely unaware of.

"The simplicity that Magic of the Weave - An Introduction supplies is quite misleading. Though those unfamiliar must start somewhere, I suppose." He held the small tome up in demonstration, letting it fall flat in his palm to a page he had affixed a colored tab to.

"Like here!"

He began reading aloud a passage, Tav smiling wider at the unconscious raise of his pointed finger.

"While that is accurate," He snapped the book shut, turning to look at her. "To distill the Weave so crudely down to a new student is akin to stealing their capacity for wonder. So much of the power of the Weave is in its limitless beauty, to rend it so small is a disservice."

"Not all spellcasters experience magic in such a profound way as you do." She offered, that bite of jest falling back into her words.

"Ah, I've forgotten." He sighed, leveling her with a withering stare. "I'm speaking to a sorcerer."

She felt her smile widen even further.

"And I'm speaking to a wizard. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you kiss those books to sleep at night."

His ears filled with blush, pulling the tome off of his lap and setting it with an annoyed thump on an ever growing pile.

"As I've said, no sense of wonder." He sniped.

This was a dance they did. He would talk her through a concept she was already familiar with and, inevitably, get frustrated with her teasing. But he kept coming back, a new topic, a new book, to dissect to her. A dog with a bird in its teeth.

"I really do think it's sweet. Your love for your craft. Maybe you'll be a teacher one day, you clearly have a knack for it." She sighed out her last words in a mock weariness.

"Though I could argue I experience magic just as deeply as you do, wizard. Maybe I should be the one giving you lectures."

His eyes seemed to light at the thought, turning to her expectantly.

"No," she raised her hands. "I'm not going to be the one to break that hopeful glint in your eyes. My relationship with my magic is not nearly as fulfilling."

He stared at her, stubborn. Turning fully towards her, eyes held in unwavering interest.

"You're very irritating." She stated.

He scoffed.

"I'm well aware. But go on, enlighten me."

She gave an exaggerated eye roll, then fell quiet. Bowing her head in concentration, allowing the slow closing of her eyes.

The sound of rustling fabric next to her as he leaned forward.

As she focused in on her power, the sensation, the fluid of it, she felt it rise along her body. Lifting the ends of her hair, air crackling with chill. She leaned her head back, feeling the delicious cold move up her spine.

Speaking in a hushed, vulnerable voice.

"It's ice water in summer. It's the chill of early morning. It's the plunge of a hand into a cool river."

Her eyes slid open, her gaze falling back on her hands. Now alight with glacial magic.

"It's the hunger of winter. It's the icy maw that swallows the unprepared. It's the frigid grip on skin, stealing breath away. Lulling so sweetly into sleep, burning alive."

She stared at the curl of her palm, frost lines traveling in slow pulses down the valleys of her veins.

"What you call Weave I know as blood. Inescapable and as giving as a blizzard. It's not about learning, it's about controlling."

Her eyes finally rose to his and found him scribbling in the front leaf page of Magic of the Weave. Looking up at her expectantly, his hand pausing as she fell quiet.

"Are you... writing this down?" She stared at him in disbelief.

He looked down at his pen, then back up at her, innocent confusion tilting his head. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"By Drizz't's Blades, can you not be an academic for one second?" She huffed, rising to feet.

"Just like a wizard, you bear your wounds and their taking notes. Gods."

He looked at his work again, his own frustration creasing his brows. Opening his mouth to surely argue.

"Save it." She held her hand up flat. "You've got your research. Frigid drow is a compelling footnote in your paper. Goodnight, Gale."

Her feet took her away on frosted grass. Hands clenching at her sides, ice cresting over knuckles. Feeling his eyes following her back.

Turning the corner on the largest crimson tent.

"Karlach! I need thawing!"

-

"You know he didn't mean it like that."

Karlach's blistering hand rubbed in circles along the ice holding her bare back. Melting it down only to have new sheets bloom behind her hand.

"I dont know that." Tav hissed, the tight hurt in her chest speaking.

"Oh, come on. He's far too sweet on you to be studying you like an experiment."

"He's not."

"He is. Hells, Tav, it's obvious."

Tav rose her legs to her chest, leaning on her knees. Pushing her chin into the curve of her folded forearms. Angry tears spiking her eyes, quickly turning to frozen rain pooling.

"That's just how wizards are, mate. They digest the world through books. If anything, it was a massive compliment that he was taking notes."

She picked at the seam along her knee. Turning her head into the fold of her arms with a shaky sigh. Focusing on Karlach's heat to bring her body back down from the threatening squall.

"I just want to be..."

She tried to gather her words, but an angry lump sat frozen in her throat.

"I know, baby. You want to be understood. But that shit hurts."

Tav nodded, reaching back to squeeze Karlach's knee.

"Thank you." She sighed, ice water slipping down her temple and the curve of her nose.

"Of course, Frost. Elemental bitches gotta stick together."

Tav let out a wet laugh, chill air leaving her in a burst.

Leaving her tent, she gave Karlach's shoulder one more grateful squeeze. Misty eyed again, seeing how happily she pulled a frozen Clive to her chest. Her spell set to last through the night.

Though her ice was often a burden, it was setting up to be a sweltering night. Passing by each tent, she tapped on canvas. Setting the temperature down with an incantation, hearing grateful sighs and soft thank you's from within as she made a loop. Slipping a bottle of cooled blood into crimson canvas, chilled fingers taking it eagerly.

She eyed the deep turquoise tent, soft light still dancing inside. Sighing, she stepped forward on quiet feet. Stopping to kneel down and straighten the piles of books that he had haphazardly left.

Crouched on haunches, she rose her hand. Pressing a cold palm into canvas. Giving him a little extra in silent apology.

Hearing no acknowledgment outside of a pausing of movement, she rose back on feet.

"Goodnight, Gale." She hushed.

Turning back to the lone point of her black tent, at the lowest slope of their small world. Faded with scrubbed away symbols of Lolth. Smiling at Minthara's tent opposite hers.

Her fellow drow laid inside, leaned back on her hammock. Sharpening a dagger with the precision of a practiced war matron.

Giving her an affirming nod as she cooled her tent.

"I'm retiring for the night." Tav spoke in Undercommon, the words sliding out so much more natural. Minthara respoding in kind.

"I'll take watch." Rising from her lounge, she sat her dagger back with a snap. Heading up the slope.

"Rest well, sister."

Finally alone, she entered her tent. Content to wallow in her sharp hurt.

As she settled, lighting a candle, pulling a spidersilk robe around her waist, a new shape revealed beneath her pillow.

She cut her eyes, picking up a tome.

Impractical Magic, Volume 1.

Another sat beneath it.

Book of Poetry.

She flipped through them. A beginner's book, written by a wizard, about the nature of elemental sorcery and a small book of poems. Recognizing her own speech patterns from her attempt at explanation earlier in the prose.

She shot to feet, angry chill rising through her neck. The books gripped in her fist.

Ripping aside turquoise canvas. Casting Private Sanctum on his tent as she stormed inside. Tossing the books at his feet.

"Are you mocking me?"

He glanced at the books, eyes rising to hers. Turning his head in that maddening tilt.

"You have wildly misunderstood my intentions."

Her hands twitched into fists again, breathing hard through the frost.

"Okay, then dumb it down for me since you're so superior. My meager education couldn't possibly rise to the occasion."

He rose to feet, his breathing picking up with hers.

"Why do you keep inferring that I find you lacking? How have I made that impression?"

She nearly screamed, biting her icy tongue. Turning from him to face the tent wall as furious tears rose again.

"Hey, don't turn away. I'm trying to understand!"

His hand pulled on her bicep, and it snapped a fracture in her frozen lake.

Wrenching his wrist, she forced his arm behind his back. Flipping him to the ground, knee pressed into his spine. Taking his hair in a tight bunch, forcing his head into a turn on his pillow.

He gasped, his back arching into her hold. Body so unbearably warm beneath hers.

"Don't touch me." She commanded. Pressing her knee harder.

He tried to nod, but her fist held harder into his hair. A soft moan left him, hips rising into a curl.

"Don't go into my tent again. Or I will do far worse than this."

"Is that a promise?" He gasped.

She raised her lip in a snarl. Lowering her head down to his ear, hissing into the well.

"You're too soft and warm to talk back, wael faern. Or do I need to show you that?"

"I'd love a demonstration, if you don't mind."

She smiled dangerously, pinning his arm under her knee. Hand snapping down on the side of his throat.

He breathed hard under her constricting fingers, eyes fluttering up into lids as her cold tongue drug up the curve of his ear.

She pressed the full freeze of her body into his back, chuckling darkly as he shivered.

"Too cold? I thought so."

Rising off of him with a shove, she twisted her fingers into her magic. Glaring down as he turned to stare flushed at her.

"Enjoy the heat."

With a pull, she removed her chill on the tent. The air filling sweltering again as she ducked out into the night.

-

"No Gale today?" Astarion clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. Shouldering his pack to accompany her.

"No. I'd rather not see him." She responded in a clipped voice.

"Cold." He lilted. "But I do so enjoy that about you."

Karlach and Minthara met them at the crest of the trail. Blue light still bathing the sleeping world.

"Any reason we're heading out so early, soldier?"

"She's avoiding her kicked puppy."

"Do you want to stay back, Astarion? I'm sure you could use the beauty rest."

"Would you like me to educate the spawn on manners, sister?"

"Gods, I'm going to hate you two together."

Her eyes darted back to the distant point of camp. Seeing a soft light ignite inside his tent.

"Enough talk. Head out."

-

"Shadowheart! To me!" Tav called.

Rolan moaned out what sounded like 'Where are we?' His eyes rolling loose in sockets as he coughed.

"My camp, we're not close enough to Last Light. Now focus on breathing." She hitched his arm higher over her shoulder.

Minthara took up his other side, face stoic.

"Shadowheart! We have wounded!" Tav called again, eyes tracking around the camp.

She rushed down the hill, hands lit in magic. Potions gathered under her arm.

"Injuries?" She urged, Tav and Minthara laying him on a soft patch of grass. Halsin came up behind Tav, his hand coming to Rolan's forehead. The other braced on her back as he kneeled down.

"Shadow wraiths. The curse almost got him." Karlach gasped, running up to the gathered help.

"He's very near death." Halsin urged, hand lighting along his forehead. "Something's wrong, he's burning up."

Tav leaned back and whipped off her robe, kneeled in her underclothes.

"Lift him." She instructed. Halsin appraising her with an impressed glint.

The druid lifted him easily into a slump.

"What's going on?" Gale's voice rose over their heads.

Tav arched her thigh around Rolan's lap, taking up his weight into her shoulder. Her chest pressed to his, she snaked her hand inside of his robe and untied it at the waist. Letting it fall back as she spread her hands on his bowed back and pressed into him.

Halsin and Shadowheart took up at his sides in front of her. Speaking healing magic into his body.

"Breath, faern." She hushed, pulling him to her.

Rolan's breath filled and emptied shallowly against her neck. Burning into her skin.

"I'm going to get colder now, take a deep breath." She warned in a soft voice.

She focused her temperature down, feeling him try to pull away weakly.

"Good, that's good." Halsin encouraged, spreading a hand between hers. "He's stabilizing."

Rolan whimpered into her shoulder, arms coming up to grip into her back. Body shaking with cold and frustration. Tears hidden in the fall of her hair.

"I know, I know." She hummed, hands running through his long hair. "You're alive. Feel your anger."

Rolan wouldn't leave her side, even after his body had cooled. Leaning his head in exhausted shame.

"We'll head out for Last Light, first thing in the morning." Tav instructed, her gathered companions nodding. The fire burning low between them.

"Return Rolan to his family and secure the whereabouts of Oliver. We should search where we last saw him."

Rolan's head rose, staring down at her.

"Family?"

"Yes, we found your siblings in the prison at Moonrise. They were on their way back to you when we found you."

His eyes filled with tears again.

"You saved them?"

She nodded, then was taken into him.

He pressed a kiss into her lips, hands cupping her face in desperate joy. Pulling away with spilling tears.

"Thank you." He breathed.

She smiled up at him.

"No trouble."

Rolan smiled back, then turned his head. His eyes widened in confusion, then settled into a cold stare.

Tav followed his gaze.

Gale sat across from Rolan, glaring dark under his brow at him. Fingers digging on his thighs.

"Something you'd like to share?" Rolan chided, tilting his head in a slow challenge.

"Oh, not presently. After all, your health is far too important." Gale's voice came out in a low warning.

The air crackled with malice. A silent combat taking place between eyes.

"Gods, you wizards are like fish too close in a pond. Get over yourselves." Shadowheart scoffed, rising to feet.

"I'll set you up in my tent tonight." Tav turned to back to Rolan. "I'll occupy myself elsewhere."

"I'm sure there's enough room for the two of us." Rolan purred, eyes lighting in petty accomplishment as the shadow darkened next to them.

"And I'm sure you'll freeze to death."

"Mmm, I'm still a mite warm, actually."

Gale rose to feet, shoulders hard with effort.

"Tav, a word?"

"My tent is there." She pointed down the slope, rising to feet. "Get some rest. We have a long walk come morning."

Gale came to her side, rushing forward. Caging her body forward with his own. Fast steps forcing her body to a brisk walk.

His hand came up to pull on her wrist, finding her pace not removing them quickly enough.

"I will end you." She promised, his hand falling away with a huff.

"Okay, we're beyond the treeline. I think we're far enough from the wizard I just helped."

She crossed her arms, leveling an unamused stare at him.

"What do you want to say?"

"Why did he just kiss you?" Gale hissed. Ducking his head down low to her.

"Ask him. I haven't detected his thoughts."

"That's not funny."

"It wasn't a joke."

He huffed breath hard, chest heaving. Eyes burning.

"You're impossible." He growled.

"I'm a drow. Bitch comes free." She tilted her head up at him. A mean glint in her eyes.

"Why? Are you jealous, wizard?"

His back bristled, eyes widening in contained rage.

"Do you need healing, too? Do you have wounds for me?" She stepped forward in a challenge. "Show me where it hurts, and I'll lick it better."

He held his ground, and she stepped forward again. Egging him on.

"Come on. You're clearly angry with me." She smiled. "Spit your venom."

"I'm not angry with you."

"No?" She stepped into him.

"Then why are you so warm?"

His eyelids lowered into a grimace, panting as she pressed into him.

They breathed into each other's space, his hands arching in hard clenches at his sides.

"Then what are you feeling towards me, Gale?" She hissed, staring into his dark eyes.

He finally snapped, crashing his mouth into hers.

His mouth pushed, desperate and mean. Wide hand gripping into the back of her hair. Breathing hard through nose. Tangling into her in angry pulls. Demanding fingers pulling at her clothes.

She pulled out of her robe, ripping into his ties. Disrobing him with the same aggression. Pressing her body hard into his in rolling waves. His heat battling her rising cold.

"Down." He growled into her swollen lips. Pulling her by the hips roughly to the forest floor.

"I don't take orders from you." She breathed, falling under his body.

"Shut up." He hissed, pulling her bralette down to her ribs in a hard yank.

Mouth diving on a hard peak.

Her back curled up in pleasure, gripping into his hair.

He lapped at the buds, playing mean fast strokes that he pulled up into his lips. Sucking in hard popping pulses.

Her head arched back, panting into the grass. Cunt flooding with slick, hips arching up into the tone of his belly.

He forced his hand between them, cupping her cunt and pushing her hips hard into the earth.

"I'm going to make you regret kissing him." He promised in a dangerous rumble. Eyes glaring up at her in dark slits.

"Do it, then." She breathed, her eyes burning ice.

"I dare you."

He ripped her panties off, eyes smoldering anger. Wrenching under her thighs and lifting her hips high into the air. Forcing her thighs onto his shoulders, holding her up by her ass.

She cried out into her palm when his mouth latched onto her clit. Pulling vicious wet suckles, his arm locking behind her hips as they tried to squirm away. The pleasure near unbearable, his anger leaving her merciless.

Her shoulders writhed on the grass, hips trying to give out. He cracked his hand down on her ass twice, rising her hips back up with a growl.

Her eyes rolled marble in her head as he took her apart, gasping shallow breaths. Already a shameful mess. Delirious with wrenching pleasure.

Frost spread across her belly, orgasm circling dangerously tight. Muffling pleading moans in her throat, coming out as choking whimpers.

He laughed into her cunt, dragging his nails hard down her thigh to get her to gasp her mouth open. Leaving pink scratches in his wake.

Her mouth fell open, the pain pushing her pleasure into an unrelenting high. Gasping out in Undercommon.

"What was that?" He murmured, pulling back to stare down her belly at her.

She glared at him, tightening her thighs around his head in warning.

"No, no, use-" He sucked hard on her clit in hollow pulls of his tongue, her thighs falling back open in a shudder. "-your words."

"Fuck you." She hissed.

"Not what you said." He retorted, pushing two fingers inside her without warning.

She twisted, cunt clenching hard on his fingers. Hooking into punishing slow strikes.

He slapped her ass again. Demanding an answer.

"I said-"

She clamped around his head, twisting him down to the ground. Straddling over his face.

"Rip me apart, wizard."

His eyes lowered into dangerous slits. Grasping her by both hips, forcing her cunt into his mouth again.

She shuddered as he latched back on in near biting pulses. Completely engulfing her clit. Reaching up to pull on her throat, forcing her into an arch forward to push his fingers back inside. Slamming into her beneath, sending jolts up through her pelvis.

She gripped into his hair, face crumpling in desperate pleasure. Hand cupped over her mouth to not shriek.

His eyes cut to the edge of the trees. Pulling her hand down by the forearm and forcing it behind her back.

Her eyes followed, rocking with the force of his fucking.

Rolan stood wide-eyed on the edge a tree, hard cock in his hand.

Gale's hand spread up over her hips and belly in clear petty possession. Cupping her breast, pinching her nipple between his long fingers. Rubbing his nose in it.

Tav couldn't take it anymore, being displayed like this pushing her over the edge. Body buckling as she came hard into his mouth.

He grasped onto her hips, quickly forcing her onto her belly. Cock pushing inside her in a viciously savoring thrust.

She cried out into the dirt, her orgasm still in its throes. Clenching hard onto him, his breath hissing out with his thrusts. Rocking her forward in hard snaps.

"Look at him." He whispered, lifting her head by a pull of her hair. Winding it into his fist.

Her glazed eyes locked with Rolan's. Both of them aghast with shameful pleasure.

"See how much he wants this?" He hissed low into her ear. "Poor thing, he can't touch you. Not like I can."

As if to demonstrate, he circled his fingers hard into her clit.

She curled her head in, hands clawing at the dirt. Choppy begging cries smothered as a second orgasm threatened.

"Gale, I'm-" She pleaded, hips rising higher as it climbed. His hips slamming faster into her backside in response.

It ripped through her, sending her whole torso into shuddering spasms. Back arching down into the dirt as her cum pushed out to drip down his thighs.

Her wrenching contractions forced him to his end. Hand bracing on her shoulder. Pulling out to spill on her lower back, gasping shallow as his pleasure dripped down her spine.

She heard Rolan's muffled release and looked over, seeing his eyes flutter back into his head.

Gale was a preening exhausted shadow behind her. Rolling her ass in his palms in pure accomplished revelry.

She heard Rolan scurry away towards camp. Gale huffing out a righteous laugh.

"Oh, he's going with the others in the morning."

Tav nodded, too fucked out to regain her role as leader. Pliant and loose under his command.

"And you're going to stay with me tonight." He smiled dangerously, clearly enjoying having tamed her.

"Yes, saer." She sighed.

"Oh, do keep talking like that. You're going to be wonderfully obedient, aren't you?"

~

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.11

Hii guyss, here's part 11 of the story. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist and if you missed part 10.

Your life in Monaco was idyllic, growing up alongside the Leclercs. But everything changes when you're forced to leave. Now, returning to the place you once called home, you're confronted with a dilemma: not one, but two Leclerc brothers vying for your heart. Old bonds and unresolved emotions collide-what will you do when the past and present merge in unexpected ways?

The flight to Austin has an atmosphere that feels like a secret—something intimate and quietly thrilling. Charles, seated beside you, has been nothing but attentive, noticing every detail, from making sure you’re comfortable to offering his arm when you leaned back to rest. His casual charm wraps around you, making it feel like you’re the only two people in the world on this journey.

"So," he says, turning toward you with a small smile. "Tell me what you're listening to these days."

You shrug, feeling a little shy under his gaze. "Honestly, it's a mix. I’ve been exploring a lot of different genres. And…well, I’ve been trying to sing a little myself.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “You sing? I never knew that about you. I’m impressed.”

You wave a hand, brushing it off. “It’s just a hobby. Nothing big.”

He chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Well, you’re going to have to sing for me, then. I could even play the piano for you.” His tone is light, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that suggests he’s serious about wanting to hear you.

The idea of singing for Charles stirs something nervous but exciting inside you. “I… I don’t know if I could. You’re kind of a hard audience, Leclerc.”

Charles tilts his head, leaning in just a bit closer. “Hardly. I’d be the most appreciative audience you could ask for.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that only makes you more aware of how close he’s getting.

The distance between you shrinks as he continues, his voice low. “You know, you’ve changed a lot since we were kids.” His gaze softens, taking in your expression with a sincerity that leaves you speechless. “More confident, more sure of yourself… It’s… really nice to see.”

You swallow, nerves catching up to you as you meet his intense gaze. “I don’t feel that different,” you say quietly, but the warmth in his expression makes you think otherwise.

The plane hums around you, yet you feel wrapped in silence, each second stretching with a gentle, almost electric tension. Your hand brushes against his as he leans a little closer, the world fading to just the two of you. You’re barely aware of how close you’ve gotten until you can feel his breath on your cheek, a soft warmth that sends your heart into a frenzy.

“Charles…” you start, your voice trailing off as your eyes meet his, neither of you moving back, just caught in a slow, inevitable pull toward each other. His gaze flickers to your lips, his own parting slightly, as if considering something he hasn’t fully allowed himself to want until now.

Then, just as his hand shifts, like he’s about to close the last bit of distance between you, a sudden ding cuts through the silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re beginning our descent into Austin. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened and your seatbacks are in their upright position.”

You both jolt slightly, breaking eye contact as the moment dissolves. Charles lets out a quiet chuckle, his expression tinged with something that looks almost like regret mixed with amusement. “Seems like our timing needs work,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through his hair, still close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him.

As he shifts back into his seat, your heart races, cheeks flushed from the near-kiss. Charles gives you one last, lingering look, his lips curving into a knowing smile as the plane begins its descent.

When you arrive at the hotel, the front desk clerk smiles, handing Charles a single key card. He furrows his brow as he glances over the reservation details on his phone, realizing the mix-up. "Um, this can’t be right. I booked two rooms,” he murmurs, looking back up with a helpless smile.

The clerk checks and apologizes, explaining that due to an overbooking error, only one room with one bed is available. You exchange a glance with Charles, both of you feeling a little awkward but trying to keep it light.

As you reach the room and step inside, the spacious but clearly single-bed setup confirms the clerk's words. Charles scratches the back of his neck, laughing a little. “Well, I guess the couch is mine,” he offers, gesturing to the sofa in the corner. “It’s only fair.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “Charles, no. You’ve got a race coming up; you need to actually sleep. I’ll take the couch.”

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Right, because being crumpled up on the sofa is definitely going to be restful for you.” There’s a playfulness in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

After a back-and-forth that neither of you seems eager to win, you let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. We’ll both just sleep on the bed then. It’s big enough, and… we’re adults, right?”

He nods, a bit more serious now, but there’s a hint of something else in his expression that you can’t quite place. “Right. Just a bed.”

The two of you settle into a routine, each trying to keep it casual. As the night wears on, you change into comfortable clothes, and he does the same, both of you tiptoeing around each other with an odd, excited tension. When it’s finally time to settle in, you lie beside him, keeping to your side, feeling the heat radiating from him even though there’s a good amount of space between you.

After a moment, Charles turns his head slightly, his voice low. “Are you comfortable?”

You nod, though your heart’s racing. “Yeah… It’s fine.”

There’s a pause before he says, “This… sort of reminds me of old times.” His tone is soft, nostalgic, almost like he’s letting his guard down.

You smile, letting yourself relax a little. “Yeah, like when we were kids. I’d almost forgotten how much time we used to spend together.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and reassuring. “It was always easy with you.”

Silence settles over you again, this time peaceful, yet electric with unspoken words. As your eyes start to drift shut, you feel his hand barely brushing yours, lingering there like an unspoken promise. You let it stay, and somewhere in that quiet closeness, you fall asleep, feeling like everything is exactly where it should be.

Part 12

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12, @boherahpsody, @urfavouritef1girly, @meglouise00, @charlesgirl16

[munsonsmixtapes]

🦇💞✈️

for the requestssssssss

can be fluff or smut

:)))

Eddie x fem!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) reader sucks in Eddie’s nipples, anal, Eddie forces reader to watch herself in the mirror, Eddie and readers are friends with benefits, jealousy.

When Eddie suggested that the two of you should take a vacation together, you were more than happy to accept. Not only were you looking forward to having sex somewhere that wasn’t either of your rooms, you were excited to potentially finally becoming a member of the mile high club. With how much you and Eddie had slept together, it seemed almost inevitable.

The flight had taken off and you had been counting down the minutes until you could roam the cabin and drag Eddie to the bathroom. It was as if he was trying to torture you with his short shorts and very cropped, very tight t-shirt that showed off his happy trail very nicely, his nipple piercings peeking through the thin fabric, driving you mad.

You could feel how damp your panties were and were becoming more desperate for him by the second. You were whining at him in his ear so no one else could hear you and he was just as desperate as you were, covering his hard on with his tray table and his hands as an extra precaution. It was embarrassing and he practically leapt from his seat as soon it was safe to roam the cabin and took you with him, his hand gripping yours tightly.

You made your way down the aisle to the bathroom, trying your best to be discreet, but neither of you could have given less of a fuck if anyone knew what you were about to do. In fact, you kind of thought it was hot. Eddie opened the bathroom door and pushed you inside before slamming the door closed and locking it. As soon as it was safe, you threw him against the sink and took his shirt off, tossing it behind you.

You felt drool collect in your mouth as you took in his nipple piercings, desperate to have the cool metal in your mouth, to hear it clink against your teeth. You reached up and ran your thumbs across them and Eddie watched you intently, knowing exactly what you were going to do.

You pulled him flush to you body and took his nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the piercing, loving the way the metal moved around in your mouth. Eddie white knuckled the sink and let out a whimper as you worked on him, your cunt dampening at the sounds that were falling from his lips. You gave the sensitive skin a hard suck and Eddie through his head back as he let out a loud moan.

“So good, sweetheart,” he whined which told you that you continue. You took the skin between your teeth and looked up at him as you gave it a pull, causing him to come completely undone. He grabbed onto your waist and moved his hands up your shirt so he could dig his fingers into your skin. You let out your whimper then moved to Eddie’s other nipple to give it some love as well.

As soon as you saw that he was losing it, so desperate for you that he was whining your name. You gave his nipple one last suck then pulled away, nodding to yourself in satisfaction as you looked down at the reddish purple marks you had created that shone with your spit.

“Need me bad, huh?” You asked as you unbuttoned his jeans. You could see the tent that his dick had made and you were eating up the way you could make him come undone so easily. His pants his the tops of his shoes and it gave you a better look at his boner.

“So bad,” he replied and you pulled down his underwear, causing his cock to spring free. It was the hardest you had ever seen it and it was spilling with pre cum which made you wonder just how long he had been having trouble.

“Y/n-”

“Shh,” you put your finger up to his lips. “It’s okay. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Do you have a condom?” You reached into his back pocket and pulled out a condom before opening the packet before rolling it into his cock. You then removed your own underwear before lifting your skirt and lined yourself up with him and you worked together to insert himself into you.

As soon as you both were situated, you moved together, your hips bucking together as he pumped in and out of you as fast as he could and you held into his shoulders as your head fell back, loud moans escaping your lips.

“Fuck, Eddie, so good.” You were already going dumb and you had just gotten started. He continued to pump in and out of you and he turned your bodies to the side. He then grabbed hold of your face, forcing your heat to turn to the right to look at the two of you in the mirror.

“Look at how you look, sweetheart,” he commanded. “Look at how well you’re taking my cock. Taking me so well.” You watched yourself moan in your reflection and Eddie put on a devilish smirk as he watched you watch yourself, obsessed with seeing how you were looking at yourself. He hoped that you had thought you were as hot as he did.

You reached your orgasm and Eddie turned you to face him again, that devilish smirk making another appearance. He knew exactly what he was doing, knowing exactly how much you liked to watching yourself in the mirror at he fucked you senseless. You always wanted to see what he saw.

He pulled out and just when you thought he was going to dispose of the condom, he turned you around to face to the sink and you gripped the edge, letting out a moan as you felt his dick enter your asshole. He grabbed onto your hips, pushing his dick and out of you, pulling moan after moan from your mouth, the both of you watching your reflection, eating up the way you were coming undone as he fucked you in the ass.

“Look at you,” he smiled. “Still taking me so well, princess.”

“Eddie,” you moaned. “Feels so good.”

“I know,” he replied smugly. “Know you love the way I fuck you.”

You knew he said those kind of things to all of the girls he hooked up with and you didn’t like that. You didn’t like being on a long list of girls he messed around with, wanting to be the only one he slept with even though you knew that wasn’t even close to a possibility.

“Stop,” you commanded and Eddie immediately pulled out, searching your reflection for any sign of discomfort. Sure, he liked to degrade you sometimes, but he’d always stop what he was doing just because you asked him to.

“Did I hurt you? Did you not want me to do that? I’m sorry.” His apology came out rushed, but that was only because he was nervous that he had done something wrong. He never wanted to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. Your comfort was always his number one priority.

“No,” you shook your head. “It was great. I just-“

“What?” He was hanging onto your every word, desperately wanting to know what you meant.

“I can’t do this, Eddie.” He didn’t know what was going on, but what he did know was that he definitely should have pulled up his pants. He disposed of the condom and cleaned himself up before pulling up his pants before continuing the seemingly important conversation.

“Do what?” He had no fucking clue what you were talking about and just wished that you said what meant without beating around the bush.

“I can’t keep hooking up with you knowing that you’re doing the same things with other girls.”

“What other girls?” There hadn’t been any for months. Not since he met you.

“Your long list of women you rotate through. The many notches in your bedpost.”

“Sweetheart, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Sure there were other women, but that was before you.” Your mouth fell open at his confession. There was no way that Eddie “Casanova” Munson was actually sticking to just one woman.

“Were?”

“Yes, were, as in, past tense. I-I haven’t slept with anyone else since we started hooking up. You’re the only one I need. The only one I want to go to bed with every night. I-I’d love to be yours if you’d let me.”

Eddie didn’t date and he certainly wasn’t a boyfriend either, but he was willing to be that just for you. It was honestly the biggest honor you could have imagined.

“You always were,” you smiled before pulling him in for a kiss by his shirt. Just as he responded to it, there was a knock on the door, signaling that you both should have headed back to your seats.

Eddie took you by the hand and unlocked the door before leading you back to your seats where you sat, sharing your second, third, and fourth kisses as an official couple.

[xhoneygirlxx]

Still Adore You (With Your Hand Around My Neck)

Epilogue: Destroy Myself

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: this is the beginning of the end. the start of a chaotic relationship you just can't seem to leave.

warnings: Eddie and Reader are in their 20s. Modern Au! kind of mean Eddie. rated R for smut, 18+ only Minors DNI!! unprotected p in v. cream pie. swearing. shitty writing and grammar errors.

*if i miss anything let me know*

a/n: hello my loves! this is part one to my still adore you series! i hope you guys like it as much as i do. thank you all for the love and support you've given me, i love you all so much <3

Also if you are an ageless/faceless blog you will be blocked. please have something on your profile so I know you are not a minor and are not a bot.

series masterlist

I pray my salvation makes it to the pearly gates,

Bring the suffering that I face,

All the things that I face,

Destroy myself just to wait for you.

When God created the Earth, he picked two of his children to live amongst the paradise he built to be our parents - Adam and Eve. The Garden of Eden was beautiful, a place like no other. The only rule that God gave was for them to not eat from the one tree, the tree of knowledge of right and wrong, good and evil.

They had plenty of other trees to eat from, other fruits to feast on, but when the serpent came speaking words of temptation, Eve gave into him and took a bite from the forbidden fruit, Adam would soon follow after her.

Because of the rule was broken and they went against God, they were banished forever and were cursed with the pain of mortality. Their children and their children's children would face pain and sorrow, hurt and sickness, and ultimately death.

Like Eve, you gave into temptation as well, the warnings you received and how you ignored them all for the name of love. From the very first time you met Eddie Munson warning signs flashed, blinding you with the bright lights. Caution tape blocked you from crossing that line but you inevitably ignored it, ducting under it and continuing on your way.

You walked straight into the line of fire for the promise of nirvana, for just a taste of the sweetness of his love. For the longest time you thought Eve was stupid for falling for the devil's tricks but when he came to you with the prettiest brown eyes and lips that you wanted to kiss for hours, you finally understood.

Dying by the hands of the man that you love is probably the worst death. His strong grip squeezing the air out of you so slowly, smiling at you as he did it felt like torture, but what a way to go. You'd still adore Eddie with his hand wrapped around your neck, with his heavy palm crushing your windpipe, and you'd die so full of love.

The night breeze cools the heat of your skin, hitting your sweat soaked hairline and creating chills that ran up the skin of your arm. The night was still young as they say, the party inside still going in full force. Sweat bodies and clouds of smoke filled every room, creating a sort of heat that quickly became too unbearable.

Quickly finding refuge in crackling embers of the firepit. Unknown people and nameless faces fill the chairs around you, mingling with one another. Despite the happy nature and good vibe of the atmosphere around you, you sit with a permanent frown. Pissed isn't even the word you'd want to use for how you feel at the moment.

Furious, enrage, even spitting angry would be a better description for how you felt towards your friends right now. A random house party in a random place was not how you wanted to spend your Friday night, but then Annika and Nikki looked at you with their big pleading eyes and the end was history.

"We'll stick next to you the whole time," they said, "We promise we won't leave."

Only an hour in and their promise was nothing but a lie, leaving you the minute you stepped through the threshold shouting that they'd return shortly. You didn't expect any less honestly, Annika only wanted to come here for the possibility of hooking up and Nikki was more interested in the arrival of her possible new girlfriend Val.

You always found something to do whether it was people watching or drinking until your vision began to blur. Tonight was different however, being the designated driver you were banned from drinking any alcohol and people watching was only fun for the first forty five hours.

Now you sit playing on your phone, scrolling through every app on your phone until your friends finally arrived. You continue to look at the bright screen in your hands reading through old notes that you had yet to delete, too engrossed by the amount of grocery lists to realize that half of the group left the circle.

"You know this is a party, right?" A gruff voice asks.

Lifting your head slightly, you look up from under your eyelashes to the man across from you, scowl written on your lips. The orange glow highlights him in the best of ways, making him even more alluring.

Brown curls fall from the the bun that sits on top of his head, framing his face so beautifully. His lips pull into a smirk, making the deep crevice of his dimples pop out. Big doe eyes sparkle at you, glimmering in the heat of the flames.

His outfit is basic, a band tee with a faded logo, showing off how well loved it was. The holes in his black skinny jeans show off the tiniest hint of black ink that hides beneath the fabric. The fire and moon fight over the rings that sit on his hands, both going back and forth on which one glints in the silver. A loose cigarette sits tucked behind his ear and a sweating bottle of beer rests in his strong hands.

He's captivating, alluring you like the serpent did Eve. You don't engage, promptly scoffing and then rolling your eyes back down to your phone.

"You know my uncle always said if you roll them hard enough, they'll get stuck."

You hear it before you see it, the grin that sits on his face. It adds gasoline to the already burning inferno that rests inside of you adding turbulence, causing roaring flames.

"Good, hope they do." It's bitchy, ice cold like a winter's breeze. Instead of hurling an insult that you, he laughs. A true genuine laugh that you'd compliment if it weren't for the anger pumping through you.

Shutting your phone off, you drop it into your lap and cross your arms over your chest. Sighing loudly, you look at the curly haired man across from you unimpressed, eyebrow arching sharply.

He takes your challenge of a stare down, watching you over the glass of his beer bottle as he puts it to his lips taking a swig. His gaze in unfaltering but yours isn't. It's not your fault though, not when his neck looks so delicious as he swallows every last drop.

Removing the bottle from his mouth, he catches you eyeing the plump of his lips. Even though you've been caught, your stare doesn't waver, only moving the line of your sight back up to his eyes.

"Ya know, it's not really nice to be mean to your friend." His statement causes another eye roll from you, another loud scoff pulling from your throat.

"You're not my friend," Your words swim with annoyance and it only fuels the man in front of you even more.

Gasping loudly, a ringed hand clutches his chest as if he'd been insulted to the fullest. "I'm not you're friend? I thought the warmth of the fire cemented our relationship."

He curls his lips inwards, biting back a laugh that threatens to sneak it's way out. You're not any better, your bottom lip stinging with the pressure of your teeth that sink into it.

Silences covers the two of you, begging for one of you to break first. Although you put up the toughest of fights, you're the first to lose, a small giggle escaping the lock on your lips. The man isn't far behind you, snorting loudly into the quiet night air.

"First of all, I don't even know your name." You counter, mentally berating yourself for letting a laugh squeak out.

"Oh, you need my name?" He asks, eyebrows raising curiously.

Your eyes squint at the absurdness of his question, "Yeah, that's how making friends works, genius."

Batting his eyelashes, he waves a hand at you in flattery. "I love it when you call me sweet names."

His voice is flirty teasing you to the fullest and if you don't do something fast you're going to melt, and not because the heat of the flames.

"That's my cue to leave." Pushing yourself halfway up from the chair, you're immediately stopped by his arm waving you to stop.

"No, no I quit, I promise." It's said between breathless laughs, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he does.

Smirking ever so slightly, you bask in the sound of his voice. Sitting down slowly, you sigh as if you'd rather not be here regardless of the growing smile tugging at your lips.

Once sat back in your seat, you wait with a tapping foot and crossed arms, trying your hardest to look annoyed. He looks at you smugly, like he's enjoying the little performance you put on.

"If I tell you my name, you gotta tell me yours." He demands, you don't respond just pulling your hand out to inspect the acrylics that rest on your hand.

"I'm Eddie." He beams at you, rolling his tongue over his bottom lip.

You purse your lips, looking him up and down as if you're bored. When you give him your name, he nods slowly and repeats it like it's the prettiest thing he's heard.

"Well there you go, now we're friends." The depth of his voice makes the beat of your heart skip, cheeks burning the more you get flustered.

Shaking it off, you give him a look that the kind that reads "really?", and he only answers by returning a look that says "of course". Sucking your teeth, you look down at the blue fabric of your jeans.

"We can't be friends if we don't even hang out." It's shy, your confidence subsiding harshly under the heat of his eyes.

Now he scoffs, shaking his head back and forth causing the loose curls to move with him. "Don't do me like that, Pookie. Just gimme your number and I'll hang out any time your little heart desires."

"You did not just call me fucking Pookie." You laugh, throwing your head back and clutching your stomach.

You don't see him but Eddie just looks at you like you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, adoration swimming in the dark color of his eyes.

When your laughter ceases and you fall back into your normal position, you open your eyes to see him looking at you. For the first time in your life you finally see what it's like to be looked at as if you hung the stars in their place. It feels good, heart racing and air catching in the back of your throat.

Blinking out of your trance, you nod shakily. "Umm, you said something about my ugh number?"

Eddie reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone and tapping in the code to unlock it. Handing it over to you wordlessly, it's already open to the new contact screen where you punch in the ten digit number. You ponder for a moment before typing in a name, flicking back and forth between the options you have, until you ultimately adding it under your given nickname with a black heart.

Handing it back to him, he looks at it smirking and then puts it back into its rightful home of his pocket. Opening his mouth to say something Eddie is interrupted with the sound of the backdoor opening and the rush of the music inside pouring from the doorway.

"Hey, we've been looking for you!" Annika shouts, stumbling towards you on unsteady feet.

Looking at the clearly tipsy girl, you turn back around to see give a sympathetic look to Eddie, quietly apologizing for your drunken friend.

"I guess that's my que to go." You shrug, moving from your spot on the chair.

Eddie only looks at you tenderly, dimples on full display for you. "Go ahead, Pookie. I'll see you later."

Sending you off with a wink, you walk away from the sanctuary you found. Walking over to your friend, you can't help but look back at the pretty boy you met finding him already smiling back at you.

Threading your arm in your friend's, you allow her to put her weight onto you so she doesn't fall. Unfocused eyes scan to where you keep looking, squinting to find the person.

"Who's that?" She keeps squinting, trying hard to see the man's features.

When her eyes seem to make out what she looks like, she perks up with a dopey smile. "Oh my fucking gawd, he's hot."

Saying it a little too loudly, you instantly clap your hand over her mouth and look back to make sure Eddie hasn't heard. You find him shaking his head, shoulders shaking with a clear laugh as he lights the cigarette that hangs between his teeth.

"Hope you got his number, would be a shot missed if you didn't." She chastises once you remove your palm from her lips. You sigh loudly and pull her along and make your way into the house.

Eddie kept his promise, using all his free time over the summer to see you. It started off innocently enough, late night drives down to the lake, midafternoon hangouts in the Dairy Queen parking lot where you’d sit in the bed of his beat up truck, and hanging out in his apartment watching him play video games.

Friends, that’s all it was in the beginning. Two people opening up to one another, bonding over their shitty childhoods and laughing at jokes that no one else ever understood.

As the heat of the roaring sun became more intense, so did the relationship between the two of you. Touches became lingering like the tickle of the tall overgrown grass by the lake. Kisses were light and airy, reminiscent of the lightning bugs that flew around in the dark summer sky. Eddie’s scent lingered with you even after you’d gone home, similar to sunscreen.

Tangled sheets and messy hair, flustered cheeks and dopey smiles. The two of you shined so bright even the stars that hung from the dark blue night were jealous.

But when the sunsets came sooner and sooner, so did the end of your fairytale. Calls became unanswered, hangouts were no more, and hand holding became totally off limits. What was once warm and sickly sweet smiles, was now cold shoulders and icy attitudes.

You felt stupid, falling for someone that wasn’t even yours. Giving Eddie your heart on a platter when he never even asked. When this all started you knew what it was, signing your soul over to the devil using your blood as ink.

The risks were in plain sight, the rules agreed on with the locking of pinkies, and yet you still broke them. Eddie told you over and over again this wasn’t anything other than some fun, a way to pass the boring summer days faster.

And although it hurt, you still plunged the sword deeper and deeper. What is love without some loss?

The mahogany teakwood candles that burns on the top of your dresser does nothing to get rid of the smell that you and Eddie have created. Notes of dark oat and frosted lavender are being drowned out by sweat and sex.

Cotton sheets soak up the perpetration, the outline of his body imprinted to remind you that he was once there, the only lingering memory of him when he inevitably leaves. Cheeks flushed with red, screaming claw marks on alabaster skin, and bruises in the shape of teeth.

"Fuck, squeezin' me s'good, baby." Eddie's all gritted teeth and panting breath as he wiggles around underneath you.

The ache in your knees is no match for the burn you feel in the pit of your stomach, your hole clenching around the thickness of his cock. Switching between bouncing and rocking your hips, you're hurdling closer and closer to the edge.

Sentences aren't even forming in your brain, only random blabbering falls from your lips in loud whines with the way he punches into your cervix.

"S'good, shit you feel so good." It comes out like a sob, ripped right out from the depths of your soul.

Big strong hands grip at the plush of your hips, finger prints threatening to leave a mark for the next day. A wicked grin forms on red kiss bitten lips, basking in the glory of you crumbling on top of him.

"Yeah? Is it good, princess?" Arrogant and cocky, two traits that only he can pull off without it being a turn off.

Your head wildly bobs, drool escaping from your parted lips. "Uh huh," the only real response you can give him in this very moment and it's all he needs to know he's fucked you dumb beyond repair.

Bending his knees, Eddie starts to fuck up into you with unwavering force. The thatch of course hair that sits at the base of his cock catches deliciously on your swollen and neglected clit, resulting in harsh mewl.

With your own eyes screwed shut you don't see that his have rolled into the back of his head, jaw unhinged with the pleasure of you clasping around him tightly. Regardless of his own peak nearing, Eddie continues to keep up with his facade, making sure you finish way before he does.

"I'm so deep huh? S'deep, shit- so deep in this tight f-uhh, fucking cunt." Teeth bite down on the fat of his bottom lip, holding the whimpers from escaping from his mouth.

The speed of his movements, the loud squelch of your juices, and the intensity of him hitting into your g-spot is enough to make your head dizzy. He's everywhere, his touch, his scent, his voice. He's everywhere, all around you and you don't think that anything else in the world could create the same euphoric feeling he does.

"M'gonna-, ah I'm gonna cum." The end is closing in on you, the wave of ecstasy crashing into the shore. Although it feels so good crossing the finish line, you know when it's over he'll be gone all too soon.

"Me too, sweetheart. Motherfuck-, cum for me." The act that he had put on has finally faltered, cracking right at the seams.

That does it, pushes you right off the edge into the blissful waters of your high. Your already weakening knees have now failed you, letting you drop onto the slick soaked skin of Eddie's tattooed chest.

The two of you continue to whimper and moan as your highs ripple through you. Both of you create lightning, a pair of super bolts roar in the middle of your quiet bedroom. In the heat of your bliss, you're completely ignorant to the consequences of such strong power being created. No matter what the outcome is, at least it was beautiful and for the smallest of moments, it was real.

After the glory has finally wore off you remove yourself from him, letting out a strong hiss when the feeling of him is completely out of you. Letting your body fall to the plushness of your mattress, you allow yourself to cycle through the memory of it all.

Naked chests heave, a silence pulling over both of you like a heavy quilt in the winter. It's comfortable like this, the heat radiating off of your skin mixes with Eddie's, the pumping of hearts syncing into the same rhythm pattern.

While your body settles into the softness of your bed, Eddie's is quick to jump up from his spot with a loud grunt. Fresh red marks flash at you, decorating the smooth skin of his back along with the pretty freckles you used to trace with the soft flesh of your finger tips.

As he sits on the side of your bed catching his breath, you wonder if he misses the feeling of your touch the way you miss his skin. You wonder if he misses the intensity of your body next to his, arms and legs tangled together buried underneath the shelter of his comforter. You wonder if his bed misses the shape of your body the way yours misses his.

The springs of your mattress groan when the weight of his body leaves and for a moment you feel the same way. Footsteps are muted by the fibers of your carpeting. You watch from your spot as Eddie grabs a tissue from your vanity, wiping himself free of any evidence of you and then disposing it into the garbage can with a careless toss.

Muscles flex as he begins to redress himself, hiding the masterpiece that you left on his skin. You hope that they sting when he's under the heated water of his shower, a pang that will go away within a few days while the pang of your hurt will last a lifetime.

His messy curls pull from the neck of his shirt, shaking with the motions of his head trying to get rid of the unruly hair that masks his vision. From the singular foot away that the two of you stand, you pray that he won't leave, that this isn't the end.

"Do you wanna stay? W-we could watch a movie or something." Behind the sincerity of your voice is a girl that mourns the loss of her once best friend, begging him to remember what the two of you had in the beginning.

The clang of his belt ricochets through the room, an uncomfortable hallow sound that you wish to forget. Spinning on the socked heel of his foot, he gives you a blank face. One so devoid of emotion, cold and vacant.

"Don't start doin' this, Pookie. You already know what this is." A clear warning given with a strict tone.

The nickname that used to cause butterflies only brings mountains of sadness. It used to have meaning, a funny inside joke between the two of you now dwindled down to the name of a place holder.

"I just thought-" Going unfinished by the sound of Eddie's deep sigh.

"Not tonight, kay?" He says as nicely enough to placate you and even though you know nothing will come from it, you're still full of hope.

Bending down, he begins to slide his feet into his shoes, the same one's you gifted to him only so many months ago. Watching him tie the browning shoelaces of his vans, you wonder if he remembers the way you smiled while handing him the box, or how he felt when you said you got them just because.

It tugs at your already bandaged heart, the sticky adhesive of band aids doing their absolute best to keep the muscle intact. The rattle of the remaining broken pieces rattle in your ears, muffling everything else around you.

The lanky man stands to full height, grabbing his beloved leather jacket from your floor where it was left in the tornado of excitement. Rounding the end of your bed he makes his way to you, standing over your still naked body.

Bending at the waist, Eddie places a wet kiss on your forehead and pulls away with charming smile.

"I'll text you, pook."

You nod at his words, gripping on tightly to the faith that this whole thing will work out the way you hope. Giving you a wink, Eddie quickly exists your room and just like that you crumble.

On the wet sheets of your bed you curl into yourself, naked and vulnerable in more ways than one. Tears leak from your eyes and sobs rip from the depths of your stomach. It hurts watching him walk out because you never know when it'll be the last time.

You try to think back to when everything changed, where it all went wrong. All of the flashbacks and memories flood your brain, a film wheel of all the happy moments. More tears flow, a nonstop river of all the heartache.

You miss him, what your friendship used to be. At this point you don't even care if he loves you the way you love him, you just want him to care for you like he did all those months ago.

You wish you could go back to that warm summer day where you handed over your heart and let him carve his name in it, so that no matter what you did you'd belong to him for the rest of your days.

thank you all for reading!! i hope you guys like part one :)

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[darknessawaits28]

What a defiant little one you are? {Part. 2}

Hello again my lovies! Here is part two of the "What a defiant little one you are" story! Hope you enjoy lovies! And I take requests as well if you want me to write something different than this story! Thank you for all your love and support! :3 Stay awesome! :3

Warning: The following story below will contain heavy use of smut. Story includes forced sex, heavy smut words, possible bondage, vaginal pleasure, etc. Viewer discretion highly advised.

Song choice for this scene, my personal favorite: Goth (Slowed + Reverb)

"P-Please...don't hurt me" You begged him, tears already overflowing from your eyes and dripping down the sides of your cheeks.

"Oh my sweet little dove, I am not going to hurt you, all I am going to do is mark you, and make you mine forever~" Loki cooed, leaning in close to lap up your salty yet sweet tears.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you awaited the inevitable, hoping that he would change his mind or someone would come save you from this horrid monster.

"Mmm" he hummed, caressing your sides ever so gently until he tapped your chest, your clothes seeming to vanish before you.

"What...how did you...?!" you gasped in shock, not believing that within seconds your clothing disappeared before your very eyes; leaving you with only your bra and panties.

"Magic my sweet, that is how I was able to make those snakes appear to wrap around those pretty little wrists you have, and how I made your top clothing disappear" he smirked deviously, sitting up from your bed to take a peek at your half naked form. "Gods....you are so beautiful."

"Ah...s-stop staring at me like that" you whimpered, turning your head to the side as your cheeks turned hot red from embarrassment.

A soft chuckle escaped Loki's lips as he began to kiss your chest gently, "Do not fret my love, whether you have scars, marks, bumps, lumps, hair, no hair, lots of skin, little to no skin, you're still delicious to my eyes~"

"Y-You don't mean that" another whimper escaped your throat.

"You don't believe me?" He snickered, making a dagger appear in his hands and slowly pressing the tip of it to the edge of her bra. "Why don't I show you."

With quick movements, he cut her bra, the excess slowly sliding off to a perfect view of her breast. "No, no" you bite the bottom of your lip, the cool air of your room hitting your soft bosom, instantly making your nipples hard.

"You see how you react, you want this, just admit it."

"I will never admit to anything" You glared at him, hating that his demeanor was very suave yet his teasing was annoyingly unpleasant.

"Oh you will soon, when I am finished with you" he cooed, leaning down and began to devour your breast, sucking at them as if he was a new born child being given milk for the first time.

The feeling of his warm mouth wrapped around you made you shiver in pleasure. This man had a way with his mouth and you couldn't get enough, even though deep down you wanted to punch the living crap out of him for forcing himself on you. "Loki" you moaned cutely, arching your head back, one of the snakes slithering half of its body towards you and giving your cheek a lick.

Slowly looking up at you, he noticed one of his snakes lick your cheek, "Be gentle with her boys, she's quite the sensitive one" he licked his lips.

With that, he began to kiss down your body, kissing your chest, your stomach, your belly button, and when he reached your jeans, he glanced up at you with a wicked grin. "I can feel your warmth."

"No you don't, stop lying" you sniffled, turning your head away from him because each time you saw his grin it made you even wetter; gods why did he have to be this fucking hot!

Using both his hands, he unbuttoned and zipped your jeans off your legs, tossing it aside and then spreading your legs wide, his eyes instantly landing on the wet spot. "My my, quite the naughty girl you are to be this wet, simply by me sucking on your magnificent breast."

"I am not....my body is reacting to you touching me okay...I can't help it" You turned your head to look at him with such an innocent face.

"Ah, I see....lying to me my love isn't going to work."

"I am not lying!" "It's my body!" "I am not enjoying this a-" you quickly wentt silent as he stared up at you, his other hand slowly entering your panties to grab a hold of your clit.

"I'm listening, what aren't you enjoying?" he questioned, his middle finger moving along your clit effortlessly and in such a gentle yet sensual way.

"Ah...I...ah...I am not....ah....Loki...not there please....I-" you gulped loudly, tears of pleasure running down your cheeks.

"You don't have to lie to me....I know what you do at night."

Hearing his last comment forced your eyes to widen in shock, "N-No you don't...you can't possibly know what I do at night" you struggled against the snakes as a last attempt to escape.

"I do, I know how you touch yourself here, always watching those mortals fucking on that small rectangular box." "And each time you reach your high, you arch your hips up in the air in pleasure, calling out for a man to fuck you."

"Impossible....you can't know that....no one knows that?"

"And not only do you beg for a man to fuck you, but if you aren't satisfied, you use that fake male cock to stimulate your clit, making you cum over and over again until you are a hot sweaty mess."

"Stop...stop it...please" you cried out, feeling your high coming.

"Don't deny your feelings my sweet y/n, you know you have always craved a man to fuck you raw, and hold you close."

"Fuck you" you moaned loudly, slamming your head back against your pillow, your hips arching slightly as you felt yourself cumming, Loki continuously rubbing your clit; basically making you ride out your orgasm.

"That's a good girl, let it all out, release that tension you have" he groaned happily, leaning down to your inner thigh and pressing gentle kisses.

"Ah I-I can't anymore please...I-I can't feel my legs."

"Shhhh" he told you, using his free hand to put a finger to his lips. "Just enjoy it~"

Grabbing a hold of your panties, he pulled them off with ease, and then began to devour your pussy in one fail swoop. The feeling of his tongue slithering and moving about your folds. The feeling was so intense that you whimpered and squirmed against his movements, although, each time you moved, his tongue would hit a soft spot you never knew existed.

"Loki, oh Loki please....I-I can't take anymore...you're going to make me go insane!"

Without you noticing, he towered over you, his middle finger entering your pussy, slowly beginning to finger you. "Do it then my love" he smirked, going towards your lips and kissing you harshly, his tongue entering your mouth, outlining each part. "You are mine~!" he pulled away quickly, taking his finger out of your pussy, turned your head to the side and bite into your neck; marking you as his.

"Ah, Loki" you breathed, closing your eyes tightly, another tear dripping down your eyes.

As he pulled away, blood dripped down his chin, moving your head to face his. "I won't let no other man touch you, you are mine and mine alone, do you understand?"

"Yes" you finally whispered, looking deep into his eyes.

"That's my deviant little girl~"

[tarisilmarwen]

Rebels Rewatch: "The Holocrons of Fate"

In which things get Force Weird and Maul is the actual worst.

Full disclaimer in the name of honesty, I still think Maul's "resurrection" in TCW was stupid. It will never not be stupid.

That being said, I'm glad they decided, "Well, let's actually do something interesting with him." once they had him.

Making him into a Sisyphean/Tantalus-figure--always reaching, never grasping--adds a layer of depth and tragedy to him. No matter how hard he tries, Maul will never gain what he seeks. When it's within his grasp, he will inevitably self-sabotage or have it slip away from him.

We meet him at a time in his life when he's just lost everything, again. He finds new purpose and motivation in the form of Ezra Bridger figuratively falling into his lap--here's someone to carry on his legacy, that he can mold and teach--but in his eagerness to have him, he irreparably damages any chance the boy would have had to learn from him willingly.

But like Sisyphus pushing at that rock, like Tantalus reaching for the grapes above him, he cannot stop trying.

Probably fitting that his question to the holocrons is an answer to the inevitable existential dread of his own existence.

But I'm getting waaaaaay ahead of myself, he hasn't even shown his ugly face yet.

Instead we drop in on Kanan and Ezra, on a CR90, presumably coming back from a mission they headed up. Ezra's asking after the holocron again, still not quite over his obsessive addiction to it, still hyper-focusing on it as the only good thing that could have possibly come out of the mess at Malachor.

"But if not to get the Sith holocron, why did Master Yoda send us to Malachor?" That's a good question. *stares at writers*

Kanan offers up the idea that is was for "a chance to destroy the Sith." Sure we'll go with that.

Their conversation is interrupted by them coming to their destination, a rendezvous point with another Rebel ship.

Thaaaaaaaaaat Maul has almost completely murderized. This scene is one of the ones that does a really good job subtly showing off Kanan's blindness. Ezra offers commentary for Kanan's benefit throughout, Kanan has a hand out to feel, he mentions the carbon scoring smell and inclines his ear towards the sounds coming from behind a door.

The only survivor can only gasp out about a "red blade... after you." ("you" being very specifically Ezra) and that the Ghost was in danger.

Right so I'd just like to emphasize, for the fandom's sake, Maul murdered an entire Rebel ship looking for Ezra.

Kanan and Ezra assume, naturally, that "red blade" means there's a new Inquisitor after them and rush to contact the Ghost. Whereupon they discover that it's Maul who's threatening them now.

And ooooooh Ezra's piiiiiiiiissed.

"No... I betrayed your friends, but I would have remained loyal to you." *rubs eyes* That's... There's not a significant emotional distinction there for Ezra, you know that right, Maul? Of course you don't.

Back when fandom was Absolutely Certain that Maul was going to successfully abduct Ezra in "Twilight of the Apprentice" there were theories flying around that Sabine would have to ply her Mandalorian connections in order to get information about where he might be hiding, since we knew by then her family had ties to Death Watch. Things didn't happen that way, obviously, but it was still nice to get a nod towards that connection.

Maul proceeds to be the world's worst houseguest, forcing Hera to take him on a "tour" of the ship while he comments snarkily about each room.

Like you have room to talk mister Lived In Literal Garbage For Years.

Anyway this tour seems to be mostly a ruse to look for Kanan's holocron, and Maul very creepily and uncomfortably pulls the information out of Hera's head. (Possibly along with Kanan's real name??? It was never actually elaborated on how Maul knows "Caleb Dume", but it would make the most sense he skimmed it from Hera, to throw her defenses off guard for his stronger mind probe.)

You leave mom alone you cockroach.

I know this is serious but boy I would have LOVED to hear the conversation Kanan and Ezra must have had with Sato when they got back.

"Hey we need to borrow a speeder to go out into the desert past the sensor beacon fence where all the spiders are to visit a giant weird Force Moose and retrieve a Sith Soul Jar because a creepy spike-horned Dark Side nutcase kidnapped everyone else on our crew."

I'm just picturing Sato throwing up his hands all, "Just take whatever you need."

Also amusing: the idea of Ezra trying to describe the Bendu to Kanan later.

I absolutely dig this idea of holocrons creating a Force Convergence powerful enough to grant visions. I'm always in favor of Jedi artifacts being just a little bit weird with the Force. I mean, kyber crystals sing and hum to Jedi, lightsabers are a living extension of the Force moving through them, their temples carry thousands of years of emotions and feelings sticking to the walls, why shouldn't their holocrons be able to join with Sith holocrons to make an oracle?

The Bendu says he's neutral but he's also clearly set up this little test in order to help heal the rift between Kanan and Ezra (and he gives a fond little smile when he can sense their reconciliation).

"Why take his weapon?" "He's got to learn to solve problems without it." *WEEPS IN FINALE FEELINGS REMEMBERING THAT EZRA LEFT HIS LIGHTSABER BEHIND AND RELIED ONLY ON HIS UNIQUE FORCE ABILITY TO CONNECT IN ORDER TO SAVE EVERYONE*

Lol @ Maul trying to blunt force the Jedi holocron open. My dude. My guy. You were the one to point out that Sith holocrons can only be opened by a Sith or one who thinks like them. Follows that Jedi holocrons might operate on the same principle? Maybe?

Not sure what the point is of getting to the engine room quietly given the racket y'all made literally a second ago.

This is actually a new part of the ship we haven't seen before now. It's accessed both by a grate in the floor under the main central ladder and the door at the very back of the cargo hold.

And this is a really clever idea with magnetizing the hold, remembering that Maul's legs are metal. They almost pull off their own rescue here.

Bastard.

Sans his lightsaber, Ezra reaches for his blaster holster instead. Except I think that's empty too, I looked but I didn't see it equipped.

Kanan senses his panic and distress from outside and follows in. This scene reminds me a little bit of when Vision!Kanan showed up in "Path of the Jedi". Not sure why, just kind of does.

Ezra instinctively moves to shield Kanan from the krykna, aww.

Ugh this return to that timid, self-protective pose. :( We haven't seen Ezra shield himself like that in ages and it makes him look so much smaller.

Kanan tells Ezra everything Ezra's been desperate to hear for six months:

It wasn't your fault.

I never blamed you.

Forgive yourself.

<333333333

Haven't talked about the music much but this is a nice rendition of Ezra's theme here for this heartwarming moment.

Ah noooooope I like the krykna EVEN LESS now, wtf is this it's creepy.

Ezra nervous little glances as the krykna uncurl. <3

Ezra passing Kanan's mask into his hand. <3

Bendu's "Once a secret is known, it cannot be unknown." was a lot more ominous in the trailers, ngl.

Kanan showing a remarkable amount of trust in Ezra, leaving the decision on whether to open up the Sith holocron or not up to him. Ezra looks trepidaciously at it a moment and then decides not to, passing it back to Kanan.

(And then he never touched the Dark Side again lol.)

I can't even be mad that Ezra got the first blind joke in. At least he beat Maul to the punch.

Hhggngnghhh I hate him so much this rat bastard trash man. He immediately takes advantage of Kanan's blindness to lead him to an airlock and tries to space him.

EZRA WASN'T EVEN OUT OF SIGHT LONGER THAN A MINUTE OR TWO, MAUL, CAN YOU NOT?!

You actually can survive the void of space very briefly. You have about 15 seconds before you pass out, possibly more if you exhale first.

Uggggggggghhhh this scene makes my skin crawl, Maul is literally fresh off his second attempt to murder Kanan and orders the droids to kill the rest and Ezra is standing there completely unaware of the danger he's in or what Maul's done.

Maul bald-face lies to him and tells him his friends are fine. Just imagining the horror of what would have happened if Kanan hadn't made it back inside, how Ezra would have emerged from the holocron vision only to learn the awful truth that Maul had killed everyone he loved, that he was alone, alone with a deranged murderer who had decided he was his apprentice...

*shudder*

As they prepare to join the holocrons, it's interesting to note that Ezra's wish is a bit Dark Side tinted--he wants the answer on how to destroy the Sith--while Maul's is Light--the vaguely described "hope". Hope for what it's not clear at first. Hope for meaning? Hope for purpose? Hope for another chance to fix what he considers the point at which things went wrong? Commentary from behind the scenes has said that Maul's motivation for revenge against Obi-Wan is primarily rooted in his fixation on his failure at Naboo. "If I can just kill this guy, the person who was there when everything went wrong, it will make it all better."

I think, given that Maul had become self-consciously legacy-minded, thinking about the future he planned to create with Ezra at his side, he turned his mind backwards to unfinished business from the past, messes he still had to clean up, in order to move forward.

And that's why he manipulates the holocron vision to show him Obi-Wan's fate.

This sequence is really pretty.

The music cue that accompanies this moment is not overly bombastic, but rather sly, mysterious, and eerie, high vocals mingling with strings to create an odd balance.

The resignation on Sabine, Hera, and Zeb's faces when the droids point their weapons. :(

Hera's elation when she hears Kanan there. :D The very worried Spacefamily books it to Ezra of course.

Maul doesn't see anything from the vision at first, "Only oblivion!" he says, because the path he's on can only lead him there and urges Ezra to "Go deeper!" It just occurred to me that he's basically doing what his old master Palpatine would try to do in Season Four--piggybacking off Ezra's connection and using him as a conduit to achieve what he wants. He pushes Ezra to look harder because he can't see anything himself.

The brighter burst of blinding light could have just been an effect of Maul and Ezra sinking deeper into the vision but also I like to think Maul manipulated the convergence to try to keep the others away because it swells up right when we hear Hera calling for Ezra.

This bit is so cool, the Force is so loud and present in the room that Kanan's blindness doesn't matter, he can physically see through it even with his ruined eyes. Hera's voice distorts and fades as if it's coming across a large distance even though Kanan only goes a couple steps away. The orchestra rouses with full strings and chorus. The negative film effect makes Kanan, Ezra, and Maul look like celestial figures of pure energy.

THE WAY THIS IS BOTH (LITERALLY) ABOUT THE TWIN SUNS OF TATOOINE AND (FIGURATIVELY) ABOUT LUKE AND LEIA, THE CHILDREN OF THE CHOSEN ONE AND THE TWO MOST KEY PLAYERS IN THE ULTIMATE DESTRUCTION OF THE SITH.

THE WAY ALL THREE OF THEM--LUKE, LEIA, AND EZRA--ARE NARRATIVE "CHOSEN ONES" WITHOUT BEING THE IN-TEXT CHOSEN ONE, HOW THE FORCE STILL PUTS THEM IN KEY PLACES IN ORDER TO BRING ABOUT THE FULFILLMENT OF THE PROPHECY.

THE PATH TO LIRA SAN WILL BE DECIDED BY THE FATE OF THE THREE.

Ezra ultimately trusts Kanan and looks away just before Maul can discern where, exactly, Obi-Wan is. The severed connection explodes outwards, throwing them all across the room, and the holocrons are shattered.

Maul's cackling and crazed body language as he stumbles out to escape make it seem like the knowledge that Obi-Wan's alive has actually driven him insane. It's quite disconcerting.

The Spacefamily surrounding Ezra worriedly. <3 You have to wonder if Kanan is fearing a repeat of Ezra's collapse back in "Gathering Forces", if perhaps for a moment he's a bit too still here.

Oh look the two Most Important People in Ezra's life and narrative journey!

The way Kanan keeps his hand on Ezra's shoulder until the very end. <333333

With a few minor nitpicks (mostly that a few of the mysteries aren't well explained or answered, see Maul's knowledge of Kanan's real name) this is a pretty solid episode, a worthy follow-up to the premiere. We continue to settle Ezra's Dark Side temptations, burying them mostly for good in this episode, though the lingering effects it had on him emotionally will continue well into his characterization, motives, and arc down the line.

Maul is an awful bastard in this and such a good villain. :) He's so much more confident and assured of himself, clear-headed and calculating. 0 for 2 on successfully kidnapping Ezra but his menace will still pervade and influence a lot of Ezra's decisions this season.

I'll talk more about the overall effects and purpose of the holocron arc when we come to its end in "Twin Suns" but for now I'll just enjoy this episode once again, it's great.

[secretwhumplair]

The proposal, p.2

1,373 words | Royal arms (sequel to The proposal, p.1)

Content | Captivity, fear for loved ones, implied starvation, political/implied forced marriage, discussion of a trans man getting pregnant

Notes | Rejoice! Arracen is now officially canonically trans!

Some of this probably comes a bit out of left field and that's because I didn't know from the start lol.

Taglist | @whumpy-writings @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @newbornwhumperfly @nicolepascaline @thegreatwhodini @neverthelass @wolfeyedwitch @onlybadendings @quietshae @whumpcreations @whumpydaydreams @whumpsy-daisy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @kixngiggles @tears-and-lilies @melancholy-in-the-morning @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whump-cravings

As Arracen got to his feet, the scent wafting up from the table made his stomach growl, easily loud enough for Idalis to hear, and he had to swallow down more tears, this time of sheer humiliation. But Idalis didn’t comment. Arracen didn’t even catch a smirk.

Idalis started eating as soon as Arracen sat down, implying permission to follow his lead. Arracen tried to remain civil, tried not to let on how desperate he was, even as the food in front of him pushed every other worry to the back of his mind. It shouldn’t, really. What was he, some kind of beast?

He felt Idalis’ sharp eyes on himself, still, and once he had sated the worst of his hunger, he forced himself to look at him again; he wouldn’t sit here with his head down like a kicked dog waiting for his new master to grace him with some insight into what was going on.

Even though maybe it would have been safer.

»I was under the impression you kept a human pet,« Idalis said abruptly, dipping his bread into the rich broth that had been served. »I’ve since been informed of the situation. It seems we are on the same page about this matter.«

Arracen’s mind, still reeling from the absurd accusation, raced to figure out what Idalis was trying to tell him. Was he trying to make him feel secure? Preparing to pull the rug by telling him this was their only common ground and so Arracen was currently having his last meal?

He had - at least heard about, if not met, Lint. Something must have happened, for better or for worse. That was, really, the only thing that mattered.

He couldn’t fuck this up, for his and Nelisa’s sake. »I’m glad to hear that.« Have you met Lint? Is he alright? What have you done with him?

»He’s fine.« This time Idalis smirked, and Arracen couldn’t keep looking at him, knowing how transparent he was. »He and your other lover.«

Nelisa hadn’t had the good sense to escape, then. He was momentarily overwhelmed with a mixture of terror and selfish relief, but he had to focus. There it was - the threat was coming, he could feel it, as inevitable as a monster approaching a ship at sea. Idalis was just about to tell him what he would need to do, what more of his dignity he would have to trade away, to keep it this way.

The worst part was that he would do it. Of course he would.

»But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you. I have a proposal to offer you.«

Oh, of course. A proposal. If Arracen hadn’t been so hungry, his appetite would have abandoned him at the duplicity. »I’m listening.« What else could he say?

»I purpose to marry you.«

For a moment, Arracen could only stare in shock. One among the two of them had lost his mind, there was no other explanation. »I beg your pardon?« he finally choked out.

»I wish to marry you.« Idalis set his cutlery down. »Your people love you, you know that. It will be easier for me, and them, if they learn to love me also, and what simpler way to achieve that than through you? And further, I will need an heir sooner or later. That is to say, a consort that will carry them.«

Arracen swallowed thickly. It was always going to come to this; he had known that his whole life. If there was one thing royals did not get a choice in, it was the matter of producing an heir. It had been easy to put it out of his mind, for a time.

But maybe he shouldn’t have.

Then it wouldn’t have hit him like a horse’s kick to the chest now, when everything hinged on his reaction.

»If you agree, and I find you trustworthy, you may rule this your country in my stead while I’m away. Your lovers will be safe - I won’t mind them-« his eyes flickered to Cassio, »-as long as the child is mine, and so long as my husband cares for them, I will protect them like family.« There was a genuine softness to his voice for a moment, before he sobered up. »And you are also royal. You, too, will need an heir sooner or later. I am offering you a mutually beneficial arrangement.«

Arracen still couldn’t find words. All his lessons in diplomacy and rhetorics, swept away by the notion that, in fact, he could not and would not lead the life of a man given a body that fit.

Idalis gave a small huff. »Let me be clear, I am proposing to take you as my king consort, not my queen. You can have all the moondew you want after you give me an heir; it will be easy, now that we can work on rebuilding the trade routes. But I do need an heir and - I like men. Which makes you the preferred candidate, politics aside.« His voice trailed off, and for the first time, his gaze did too.

It was true, Arracen reckoned. There weren’t many male royals with a womb, not that he knew of. The argument made his heart a little lighter, even; Idalis was choosing him because he was a man, not in spite of it.

Not to spite him.

He had heard of moondew - that fairytale substance that could transform someone’s body to match their soul. It wasn’t really a fairytale, but it might as well have been in the chaos of the past years, with him going to be a hostage at Thobrinos’ court, and then the war Idalis started messing up all the trade routes from the west.

Eliphion, the country that was truly Idalis’ own, held the largest known sources. He wasn’t making an empty promise, or at least he wasn’t thinking so, Arracen was willing to believe that much.

But none of that mattered; he had to stay sensible. All the sweet promises aside, he was being coerced into marriage with a man who had taken what was his, and was now offering it right back to him as if it was a great gift.

He might have to take it - that was the worst part - but he would not let Idalis pretend it was anything other. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to see what was underneath the mask, but he wouldn’t just let it slide like a helpless child. »And if I don’t agree?« His voice almost cracked over the words, and he hated it.

Idalis cocked his head, eyeing him as if he hadn’t particularly considered this eventuality. »I will appoint a steward I see fit, and you… well, I suppose I could just put you under house arrest. See to it that you don’t stir up trouble. Your people wouldn’t be thrilled to hear you’re dead, I’m sure, and I am no tyrant.«

Arracen had to hold back a snort at the last words; that was rich. »And what of… Lint and Nelisa?« Idalis had said he would protect them if Arracen married him. Which must mean-

»You really care for them, don’t you?« Idalis said softly, as if he didn’t know, as if he wasn’t holding their lives over Arracen’s head. »They could go into house arrest with you, if they so choose. Or they could go back to Skalasia. I don’t care, so long as they don’t start trouble here.«

Once more, Arracen found himself thrown off balance.

There was no threat - nothing that would make matters worse, when matters weren’t half as bad as he had feared, and an option that would make matters better.

Well, largely better.

»May I consider?« he finally managed. Part of him doubted he would be given time; surely, Idalis had purposely sprung the proposal on him like this, so he would feel cornered and make an unwise choice.

But part of him didn’t believe that any more.

»Of course.« Idalis smiled, and it looked bafflingly genuine. What did he think he was doing? Did he really believe this was a generous offer? »When you’ve finished your meal, would you like to see your lovers? Take it as a sign of goodwill.«

This one Arracen couldn’t think about twice.

[deathandthemaiden23]

Love Drunk (NSFW ONESHOT)

Death and Sidhela go out on a date at the local tavern, and eventually, inebriation gives way to more intimacy.

“How about it, mi nina…?” He coos down at her. His hand starts to find its way into her own lap, rubbing against her thigh and tracing idle circles in the fabric of her dress, concealed and kept fairly discreet under the table as she sucks in a hitching gasp of excitement. “Do you want tu Muerte to take you home and spread your pretty little legs…?”

She swallows hard and nods shyly at him. “Y-Yes… P-Please…” She whimpers.

He pulls back, leaving her visibly disappointed. “Think we’ll need a lot more to drink than this, then.” He says with a grin, then calling for the bartender.

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

He takes a sip from his tankard and studies her with silent admiration from across the booth, wrapped up in her winter cloak to shield herself from the blustering cold. They were sat towards the door, which was rather unfortunate for her, rather sensitive to the frigid wind outside and a girl admittedly more acclimated to the summer climate than the harsh winters of her small village. Despite her newfound form as a member of the bean sidhe, she was still warm to the touch most of the time, although he was so cold himself that it was almost inevitable that anyone else would seem that way in comparison. Nevertheless, however, he found it cute, the way she would intentionally hide herself in her little Galway shawl whenever they went out in public together so as not to be recognized by anyone in the town. Fadó was not the kind of place she wanted to be recognized, neither as a banshee nor the woman she had been before the affliction of her curse. If she had her way, she would exist as nothing more than a ghost.

Death seemed perfectly capable of keeping his own presence clandestine to the outside observer for the most part, but here with her he was content to take corporeal form, if for no other reason than he didn’t want for anyone in the bar to get the wrong idea and think that it was okay to approach her with anything within the realm of sinister intent. If push came to shove, he would defend her without question, but he was admittedly not in the mood to spar with any of the fools who might take issue with them. Rather, he was in a dopey, lovesick mood at the moment, an infectious condition in which she had no doubt infested him, and he was rather determined to bask in it for the time being. His job was more tedious than usual as of late; he supposed it must be as a result of the honeymoon phase they’d found themselves in following their first few forays into sexual exploration together, that the rest of the world seemed gray now that she had introduced such color and excitement into his life. He never wanted to be apart from her, and every time he was, he simply counted the minutes until he could finally return to her side. Just as she was acclimated to the enveloping warmth of the tepid summertide, he was irrevocably attached to the coziness of her effortlessly whimsical company. Around her, he didn’t feel so cold anymore.

It was an embarrassing concession, to a certain extent, that he had acquiesced to such domestication in such a short amount of time. He was Death, after all; he was an intimidating, formidable force that weakened the collective knees of every species upon this land, but… Around Sidhela, he was almost reduced to a loyal puppy simply following her around. He didn’t care what activity she proposed; if she was to be his company, he found enjoyment in just about anything. He had candidly told her as much on more than one occasion when her insecurity would rear its ugly head and make her hesitant to speak her mind to him, that, as far as he were concerned, they could simply watch paint dry and it would be the most riveting source of conversation simply because she was sat next to him, preferably with their hands entangled. How he loved to hold her hand and study her palm and idly trace the lines there with his claw; he didn’t know palmistry, to be perfectly honest, but he was compelled by the story those lines told anyway. They did, however, make him a little sad, because some of those lines were not there organically, but were instead scars from having dug her nails in there with her clenched fists in old, desperate, lonely times, times where he wasn’t around to comfort her, where she had to stand alone against the world with no one at her back to defend her beyond a small family just as alienated from the town as she was. It couldn’t be helped, for he hadn’t known her then, but… He knew her now, and he was determined to keep knowing her.

She’d ordered some kind of fruity, floral drink from the tavern’s menu, something undeniably boozy but still muddled with so much sugar that he almost couldn’t taste the alcohol to begin with when she excitedly insisted that he try it, pushing it across the table at him with the most adorable little grin on her face. He found he couldn’t say no to an indirect kiss, and he so loved to make her happy, so he accepted the small, battered chalice and lifted it up to his maw for a little sip. He didn’t often imbibe alcohol, to tell the truth, it was a vice he saved only for special occasions, but any occasion with her was an occasion worthy of celebration, so he didn’t mind indulging just a little bit, at least for tonight. The booze warmed his throat; it was a nicely aged whiskey with notes of lemon and elderflower, and there was an elegant slice of cucumber floating on top of the ice to bring all the flavors together. After trying it he almost admittedly regretted his own drink choice, which was a tremendously bitter and potent potato moonshine. It was enjoyable for him, really, he’d always been partial to moonshine regardless of its cultural origin, but embarrassingly, he found himself wishing for that fruity drink in her hand anyway.

Even more embarrassingly, she seems to notice him staring at it and giggles at him in amusement. “You can have more, mo chroi. In fact—” She exchanges glasses with him, straining to reach for the tankard in his hand as she replaces it with her own cup. She places it lovingly in his paw and smiles when his fingers close around it, brushing up against hers as she pulls away again with an unmistakably dopey smile. “Why don’t we trade? I’ve always wanted to try poitín.” She notes, pulling it close to her chest. He cannot help but stare as some of it jostles up and out of the tankard at the commotion and lands on her ample cleavage, making it glisten ever so slightly for his lecherous gaze.

“You’re not gonna like it.” He warns her, although chuckling as he takes another sip of her drink at her permission.

“Maybe.” She giggles. “But I won’t know until I try.” She lifts it up to her face and the sheer strength of the alcohol is indicated by the smell of it, so powerful that it makes her eyes water as she immediately pulls it away from her face. “Faith and begorrah!” She exclaims, earning a boisterous laugh from him. “…Smells like shite.” She says with a disgusted grimace.

He continues to chuckle, setting her cup down and gently prying the tankard loose from her fingers. “That’s about the reaction I expected.” He says teasingly, taking it back and sipping from it again with not so much as a flinch from the abrasive burn on his tongue as he observes her face starting to flare up with flustered embarrassment at her own folly. He pushes her drink gently across the table at her once more. “…Pick it up, cosa dulce.” He instructs her in a low voice, firm but lush.

He's charmed when she obeys him without question, shyly wrapping her fingers around it and gingerly lifting it to her mouth, shivering with delight at the warmth and pleasant sweetness washing over her from the alcohol when she takes a drink. She seems to be quite taken indeed with his subtle dominance over her if the subtle musk of her shameful desire is anything to go off of. His tail sways slowly with unmistakable fondness and mutual want for her. “It’s okay, princesa, moonshine is… An acquired taste.”

She frowns at him, but ends up giggling again. “I suppose.” She concedes, still blushing. “You seem to drink it so effortlessly, though.”

“I’m used to it.” He says simply, eyes closed in content as he continues sipping from his tankard. When he opens them again, he beams at her with a sly smile. “It’s a taste I’ve acquired.” He says, reiterating his earlier point.

She sets down her drink and begins playing with her hands, quiet and nervous as though she wanted to say something but didn’t have the gall.

“Ah, the fiddling of the hands…” He observes astutely from behind his cup. She wasn’t even aware he’d been looking at her— until a mere second ago, his eyes had been closed again. She squeaks, self-conscious, and immediately works to calm her shaking fingers, even more taken aback when he reaches across the booth to wrap his own hand around one of hers. He pulls it gently towards him and plants a kiss on it. “What… Embarrassing question ails you this time, ninita?” He smiles roguishly, enjoying her apparent discomfort. Letting her hand go, much to her noticeable disappointment, he gives her a look of concern. “Ay, pequena, you’re shivering.” He notes, a little worriedly as he briefly abandons his previous question.

“I’m right by the door.” She tells him a little flatly, another helpless shudder rippling through her as the tavern’s entrance opens once more to welcome the next patron.

“Well, I’d tell you to come closer to me so you can warm up, but I don’t exactly have any body heat to offer you.” He jokes a bit awkwardly, self-consciously rubbing the back of his head. It was times like these he wished he could be warm; it wasn’t necessary for him to need warmth, of course, but at the very least he wanted to bring her the comfort of his physical contact without her often shivering in his arms. It didn’t stop her from regularly seeking his touch anyway, but he felt bad about it nonetheless. However, against all odds he watches her get up eagerly from her side of the booth as though she’d been waiting impatiently for his permission to come over and joins him anyway, gesturing for him to scoot over so she can cozy against the side of him, wrapping her arm around his and nuzzling adorably against his poncho.

“Much better.” She sighs affectionately, rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his cloak as though she were a cat rubbing its face against its owner’s leg in a gesture of fondness.

Flustered now by the unexpected contact, he glances down at her. “I just told you, mi nina—”

“Don’t care.” She breathes, turning in towards his side and placing a delicate hand at his chest as she pulls back to look up at him. “I told you that you’re warm to me, didn’t I?”

“Always thought that might be a kind of metaphorical warmth, but okay.” He says embarrassedly, almost to himself.

She shakes her head. “Not at all.” She disagrees, earning a small smile from him as he stares down at her with lidded eyes effortlessly communicating his lust and desire. Really, could she be any more perfect for him? She’s silent for a moment as her eyes falter momentarily from his, apparently gathering up the courage to speak again. She looks at him again, her eyes timid. “…Mo ghra, I… I just wanted to know if I was ever an acquired taste for you.” She hesitantly tells him, broaching the topic of their earlier conversation again.

“Mi amada…” He begins, almost in chastisement of her.

“I’m serious.” She insists, pressing him. “Y-You can tell me, you know, if… I-If the way I am, if it… Ever got on your nerves. I promise I can handle it—” She disclaims quickly. “I just… Wonder.”

“If ever I have a bone to pick, it’s with your constant anxiety.” He answers very frankly. “But…” He trails off, rubbing her arm in reassurance as he can feel her stiffening up with discomfort at his assessment. “…That’s not a demerit against you. It’s something you can’t help; I know that very well, and it’s not your fault.”

“I’m s-sorry.” She apologizes reflexively. “I’ve always been this way, I-I’m… Suh-Sorry. I know it’s annoying.”

“Not annoying, it just… Makes me sad.” He admits to her. “It makes me wish I could help, it’s frustrating to know that… Well, that I can’t fix it.”

“You do help, though.” She assures him. “Muerte, you’re my medicine. I don’t know how I ever got along without you, really.”

“It makes me sad that you need my company to see color in this world.” He continues, continuing to wistfully rub her arm in an attempt to comfort her even in spite of the grim nature of this conversation.

“Love is powerful.” She tells him, squirming ever so slightly in her seat, staring off into space at the door as she speaks. “I-It’s… A cure all for so many people, and… M-Maybe things wouldn’t have been so hard for me for so many years if… If I’d had someone like you to help me through the pain.”

“You know, it fills me with regret every time I have to leave you.” He says, almost mournful in his tone, even elegiac and somber. “I wish you could come with me, everywhere I go. It would make me so happy to show you the world, ninita. You’ve been confined to this small, hateful little town for your entire life, and there’s so much beauty to be seen in this land. It fills me with a profound sorrow, that I can’t just… Share everything with you like you deserve.”

“Oh, Muerte, I can see all of that already just being around you.” She tries to reassure him softly.

“You don’t need to try to spare my feelings, Sidhela.” He frowns, almost cutting her off.

“I’m not, I’m really not.” She tells him earnestly, seeming a little hurt. “I promise. I don’t need to see the world; it makes me content to just… Share your company.”

He sighs, appearing to have not much else to say on the subject, it having visibly seemed to dampen his mood considerably. She starts to feel bad just looking at him, beginning to regret having even asked the question of his opinion of her in the first place. She starts to beat herself up for it in her mind; she should have just kept her mouth shut, she should have just held her tongue. It was clear this topic of discussion hurt him, and yet she couldn’t help herself from talking about it anyway.

“…I’m sorry, Muerte.” She tells him quietly, rubbing his chest in an attempt to coax some happiness out of him now. “I’ll try working on it. I know it makes you unhappy to see me being so insecure all the time.”

“You can’t just stop being the way you are. Your condition as a banshee is not your only curse, mi nina. You’re cursed with an anxiety that I can’t cure, how matter how much I wish I could.”

“I can try to work on it.” She insists. “I want to be better for you.”

“You’re just perfect for me.” He corrects her. “I shouldn’t have raised an issue about this to begin with. Forgive me, mi dulce, for speaking out of turn.”

“I asked you an unfair question.” She says in a mouse-like voice. “I put you on the spot.”

He shrugs. “Don’t think anything of it.” He brushes her off.

“Can we j-just… Forget I ever asked?” She asks him timidly. “We were having such a good time, mo ghra. I’d hate to have that completely ruined.”

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “…I think that’s a good idea.” He says, a smile taking over his expression again. “Hey—” He says, turning towards her now, taking on a much more carefree attitude again as though he was just as eager to forget the previous conversation as she was. “Have you ever been completely wasted? I must admit, I’m very interested to see what you’re like when you’re drunk.” He grins at her, briefly imagining in that moment her slurring and garbling her words at him adorably, almost unintelligible, her cheeks hot with her inebriation as well as… His tail curls around his leg in stimulated excitement at the mere thought. Her, leaning against him to keep upright, her affection towards him seemingly multiplied tenfold by her intoxicated state as she clung to his poncho all the while. The way she’d giggle and snort-laugh happily as she found herself swung upright into his strong and capable arms, as he carried her back towards the cottage, helpless as her dizzy head began to swim with thoughts of unmistakable desire for him.

“Mo ghra…” She’d say slowly and disjointedly, tracing circles in his poncho as she stared up at him with lidded, almost sleepy eyes.

He’d be equally drunk, of course, but that wouldn’t stop him from his resolve to get them back in that bedroom of hers in one piece; not necessarily with the strict end goal of sex in mind. That would be wonderful of course, and he’d enjoy every last second of it, but at the very least he wanted to hold her close to him under her comforter and simply bask in the coziness of her presence.

But she would want it, yes she would. She would likely be the one to initiate such an encounter; shy as she was, she had a certain saucy boldness around him that never failed to arouse him, that never failed to consume him with a mad heat. He was finding over time, much to his own inner flusterment and slight dismay, that his libido was starting to get more out of control. He supposed it must be from eons of being almost ridiculously touch-starved, completely devoid of truly affectionate touch from another living being, and finally tasting the honied sweetness of sexual intimacy made him slavish to the mere concept of it. He wanted, he craved to fuck her constantly. It was almost embarrassing. He never thought in all his existence that he could be so humbled by love and devotion, so beholden to simple desire that he would seek it out at any given opportunity. He was used to having the upper hand over everyone that encountered him, but not with her. He didn’t have the upper hand with her. It was a nice change of pace, but he just wasn’t used to it.

He snaps out of his fantasy when she starts to speak in response to his inquiry, self-consciously clenching his hindlegs ever so slightly, his fantasy so apparently stimulating in that moment that he was growing hard right there in the tavern.

With a giggle, she starts to play idly with a lock of her own silver hair. He gets nervous at the way she rubs his leg, her hand dangerously close to discovering his erection. “W-Well… I’m heavier, Muerte, so it takes a lot to get me actually drunk.”

He swallows uncomfortably. If he pushed her hand away, she’d get suspicious of him. “You haven’t really answered my question though.” He manages teasingly, forcing a wolfish smile at her.

“I have, once or twice.” She admits bashfully. “But only on special occasions, a-and… Never with anyone else around.”

“Why not?” He asks, frowning.

“W-Well, because I’m embarrassing when I’m drunk.” She laughs nervously. “I’m… Loud, and... A-And loopy.”

“Well, that sounds just adorable to me.” He grins. He pulls her closer as she squeaks quietly, and then, and then, her hand accidentally brushes up against his bulge. He freezes up in mortification, soundly regretting his actions just then.

She quickly pulls her hand back in flusterment at the sensation of him. “M-Muerte....!” She gasps, startled.

“I’m s-sorry.” He reflexively apologizes. “You weren’t supposed to…”

But her hand is already back at his knee, and she’s cornering him against the side of wall now. “Oh daor, Muerte, you’re excited for me, aren’t you…?” She breathes, cocking her head at him with a sweet smile.

He swallows, rediscovering his boldness at her apparent reciprocation of his shameful feelings as a low growl starts to thrum in his throat. “Maybe I am…” He answers back decadently. “But, what are you going to do, huh? Make a scene in the bar? Not a very good idea, ninita…”

“Well, we could go home…” She suggests, smiling at him. “But…You said you wanted to see me drunk… Do you still want that, o-or… Do you want something else instead…?”

“Why not both, hmm?” He says teasingly. She starts to warm at the suggestion, a powerful wave of arousal rippling up her spine and making her shiver. “How about it, mi nina…?” He coos down at her. His hand starts to find its way into her own lap, rubbing against her thigh and tracing idle circles in the fabric of her dress, concealed and kept fairly discreet under the table as she sucks in a hitching gasp of excitement. “Do you want tu Muerte to take you home and spread your pretty little legs…?”

She swallows hard and nods shyly at him. “Y-Yes… P-Please…” She whimpers.

He pulls back, leaving her visibly disappointed. “Think we’ll need a lot more to drink than this, then.” He says with a grin, then calling for the bartender. He orders a flagon of mead for them to share, and it’s not long before the continuous imbibement of alcohol has both of their heads swimming with a million different trains of thought. Some of them are simply innocent, lovesick musings of how cute they thought the other was; most of them, however, are shameful and wanton and carnal.

At around the stroke of seven in the evening, they finally stumble out of the bar together, Sidhela clinging to his arm for dear life as he clumsily leads the way on the seemingly endless journey out of the town square, her teeth chattering helplessly from the frigid cold all the while. The trip home seems to take an eternity, but once the cozy warmth of her forest cottage settles back into their bones, their lust promptly picks back up where it had left off in the bar. Back in the sanctity of their home, they’re free to be as frisky as they please; Death peppers her lips with passionate little kisses as they stagger back towards the hall leading to her bedroom, feeling each other up and undressing each other in an impatient frenzy as she desperately kisses him back all the while. In the commotion, a vase gets knocked off an end table and shatters against the floor, but neither of them could honestly care less.

Sidhela, in her drunken stupor, clings to his chest for dear life as she pulls him back towards her canopy bed. She parts the curtain and climbs inside, pleased and hopelessly turned on as he immediately follows her into the plush security of her bed. She collapses onto her back and invites him to climb over her with a saucy, crooked finger, but he seems to have other plans as he grips her by the waist and hoists her effortlessly into his lap. She giggles as she’s positioned there, but the sensation of his massive cock sliding up against the creaminess of her vulnerable slit makes her gasp with helpless titillation. He chuckles darkly as she adjusts herself to mount him without hesitation, placing his hands on her hips to stop her.

“Now, now, in good time, ninita…” He tells her gently. “I’ve got something else in mind first…”

“What?” She asks him desperately. “Please, Muerte—”

“Shhhh…” He shushes her with a sly smile, and she stiffens with another girlish gasp as his fingers have already found their way to her dripping cunt, him beginning his filthy exploration of her most intimate place as she arches her spine and whimpers his name. He slips one finger into the tightness of her opening, stretching her open with one digit followed by another as they sink in to his knuckle. Stroking upward at her walls, his lazy smile spreads into a grin as she starts to fidget and squirm in his lap.

“M-Muerte…” She sobs, riding his fingers in a way utterly wanton and frantic as he continues to fuck her generously with his hand. “I… I… H-Hahahhh…”

She swallows hard and buries her face in his chest, humping his fingers with reckless abandon. His claws scrape at her insides but her walls are so plush and slick with arousal that she barely feels it. His palm grinds harshly against her clit all the while, and he’s even gleaning pleasure of his own from her ass bouncing tirelessly over his cock, growling and groaning in excruciating want to sink his shaft deep inside her eager passage again, but not yet. It was sexually stimulating all on its own simply to have her mewl and simper for him so desperately, it got him all pent-up and frustrated in the best way possible and prepared him for their eventual intimacy. He communicates his want for her in almost incoherent, drunken mumbling under his breath, whispering filthy words to her in his language that he knew she didn’t fully understand, but could derive arousal from simply from the filthy, lecherous tone of his voice.

“Ay mierda…” His voice rumbles as he fingers her expertly with his surprisingly dexterous fingers. He starts to thrust his hips up in a desperate attempt to create more friction between their bodies, and his head starts to swim at the sensory overload, at the alcohol still in his system making everything dizzy and delirious in the best way possible. Every movement feels as though he’s on a boat, swaying and rocking back and forth with the bobbing waves; it’s an addicting feeling, and he was almost getting close at the mere needy sound of her, echoing in his head like the most beautiful siren song as it pulls him all the closer to her. She bounces on his fingers, grinding incessantly against them in a frantic attempt to scratch her carnal itch, and she’s getting close, it’s washing over her body like tides on a sandy shore, getting closer and closer with the awesome, swelling might of the ocean’s depths threatening to pull her in and drown her with ecstasy completely.

At the worst possible second, at the most infuriating moment he pulls his fingers out of her; he relishes in her frustrated whine at his denial of her impending orgasm, but he decided that this had gone on for far too long, he had denied his own pleasure long enough, and now he was utterly tired of it. He places a hand on her chest and shoves her onto her back as she squeaks loudly in shock, a raw, primal urge sweeping over him as he grips her by her ankles and yanks her towards him again before rolling her over onto her stomach. He hikes her ass in the air without a word, seeing only her in his tunnel vision, the path ahead so narrow but so crystal clear at her mere presence at the end of it. Fitting his massive, hulking frame over hers, he grips her hips almost painfully as he rubs against her feverishly. He lines himself up and pushes in at long last, bolstered by the way she pushes her ass back against his pelvis and whines almost pathetically at the sensation of his cock stretching her open again so deliciously. She spreads her legs further apart to allow him deeper access, overcome with shameless lust for him as he snarls in approval and rears his hips back to issue a hard, punishing thrust.

“Cosita sucia…” He grunts down at her as she looses a high-pitched squeal and collapses unceremoniously into the bed beneath her, muttering brokenly and drunkenly in her pleasure as she simply lays and takes his aggressive treatment. In his own drunken state, he’s leaning against her, almost crushing her underneath his weight, pinning her against the mattress with no path to escape as he takes what he wants and so desperately needs from her. He ruts in and out of her cunt, so sweet and tight, pulling closer, getting faster with every single thrust until she’s practically caterwauling, squalling and bleating pathetically as she’s powerless to stop her advancing orgasm so rapidly approaching.

“Mue-Muerte… Muerte, le do thoil… Le do thoil…” She weeps like a broken record, burying her face in her hands and muffling her cries there, almost shrieking as he takes a handful of her hair from behind her and harshly yanks her scalp back so he can whisper in her ear.

“No hiding, ninita…” He breathes in a terrifying, guttural snarl. He suddenly lets go of her hair and lets her drop, landing gracelessly on her face again. But she meekly obeys his instruction, finding her thirst for his degradation partially sated by his chastisement just then as she props herself on her elbows and grips her sheets tightly in a desperate effort to keep herself grounded through the onslaught. But she wanted more, she wanted him to make her feel shame, embarrassment. Even in her inebriated state, she’s cogent in the sense that she knows what she wants from him. Trouble is, however, that she didn’t know how to ask for it, nor invoke it. She wanted to tell him to call her names and push her down and… Her face burns at the thought of him even spanking her with those great big hands of his, so much so that she unconsciously starts to push her ass back into his pelvis again.

“M-Muerte, I-I…” She mewls, doing everything in her power to fit in closer to him. He growls in approval at the sheer shameless display of her desire, and seems to reward her with a few especially deep thrusts until it completely and utterly ruins her. “MUERT— Mmph!” His hand is clamped over her mouth now as she cums, forcibly silencing her as she bucks and squirms underneath him to escape the excruciating weight of her own climax slamming into her like a freight train. But he doesn’t join her in her orgasm this time, him naturally lagging behind her as a result of her significant head start over him from earlier, and only continues his persistent, dogged pace. This naturally invites a delicious ache she had never quite experienced before; as he keeps thrusting away with reckless abandon, rendering her powerless to evade his cock as he fills her over and over again with boundless enthusiasm in an attempt to trigger his own long-awaited release, she finds herself hopelessly overcome by the utterly painful decadence of overstimulation. He seems to have gotten more aggressive now, spurred on with pent-up frustration at the feeling of her walls fluttering and contracting around him, and this only makes it all the more excruciating; her cunt is so raw and sore from so much continued abuse and rough treatment, but in such a way that it paradoxically makes her want more from him, so much more.

He seems utterly unconcerned at the matter of her pleasure now, far too overcome by the primal heat in his core to do little else but buck and thrust endlessly until he finally reached his own blissful end. And it was getting close, so close that he can taste it; devoid of coherence and his usual eloquence, he simply groans her name repeatedly, eyes closed, brows furrowed in frustration as he bounds closer and closer to it. He rocks against her furiously, humping her endlessly as though in heat until it finally passes over him. Seizing up with a loud snarl, he hits climax at long last and hilts his cock inside a final time as his knot inevitably begins to swell and engorge to seal off her tiny hole. His release is already spilling from the tip of his cock and pooling inside of her, and he finds himself paying her a few more powerful but shallow thrusts to push his cock deeper inside; his knot doesn’t escape her, but the movement is enough to stretch her hole open just a little bit and make her gasp so deliciously in muted pain that it makes pleasure in its simplest essence ripple through his core again.

“Muy bien…” He breathes into her hair, almost completely winded. He was cold, so cold, but between this and the alcohol still lingering in his system, he could swear he had never been so warm.

His pelvis attached intimately at her own, he’s careful not to hurt her much more as he rolls them over so he’s positioned beneath her now, with her laying atop him facing the ceiling, pleased as she simply complies with his direction without complaint or protest. Decently lucid again once more in the aftermath of his climax, he decides he isn’t quite done with her yet, sliding a hand underneath her thigh and pulling it outward to spread her legs again for him. Seeming to catch the hint, she parts her thighs the rest of the way of her own volition with a shuddering whimper to communicate her consent to whatever he was intent on doing, pleasantly surprised and shocked as he focuses his attention at her clit now with a sensual, cursory stroke. He circles his finger around it very slowly and deliberately, his other hand cupping around her tit as he starts to play with her most sensitive areas, and she writhes on top of him in unmistakable pleasure at his ministrations. She sings his name in keening sobs, eagerly submitting to his will without question because the way he made her feel was just so fucking good.

“Do you like when I touch you here?” He breathes, now beginning to sober up ever so slightly as he traces his finger around her sensitive bud. “Oh, I can tell you like this… Arch your spine, nina sucia…” He instructs her, pleased when she immediately obeys him. He works her to her second climax over time, purely clitoral and thus immensely excruciating in the best way, strengthened and intensified by the way he holds her legs open so she can do nothing but convulse powerlessly as it passed over her, gasping his name like a feverish prayer until it finally ebbed away and left her utterly spent in his arms.

“Yes… Buena nina…” He praises her, intimately sliding his paw around to caress her belly, now swelling from the sheer amount of seed inside of her.

Still catching her breath, she stares at the ceiling with widened saucer eyes, the residual threads of such a powerful orgasm having broken her mind ever so slightly. His cock still buried inside of her, she presses her hands to her hot cheeks and lets out a shuddering sigh.

“Oh dhia…” She whispers. “Oh, Muerte…”

His breathing is much more even and temperate by now, and he seems to hum as he continues to rub against her tummy.

“If only…” He says quietly to himself.

“Hmm?” She makes a sound of adorable curiosity at his words, having just barely heard him, and he chuckles.

“Nothing, querida.” He says dismissively, petting her hair now. “Just… Thinking out loud.”

“Of what?” She asks innocently, glancing up in his direction, though she couldn’t see his face from this angle. “Can you tell me?”

He sighs, pausing as he tries to decide whether or not it’d be a good idea to broach such a topic with her. He ultimately decides that it was worth the risk, because really, this had been on his mind since their first time having sex, and he knew she was the hopeless romantic-type. It was likely she wanted such a thing as well, so he decides to go for broke. “…I was just thinking that it’d be nice, you know, to create life someday.”

“Create life…” She parrots him quietly, slightly confused by the phrasing. “O-Oh.” She says, her face flushing furiously as she suddenly realizes what he meant by that. “D-Do you…”

“I’m afraid it’s probably not even possible.” He says wistfully. “It makes no sense, really.”

“How can you be sure?” She asks, challenging him gently. “You know, Muerte, a lot of things don’t make sense in this world.” She reminds him. “It… It could happen.”

“Mhm…” He says quietly, appearing to be brooding in his own thoughts now.

“…Muerte…?” She begins, then falls silent again.

“Yes?” He asks her softly, still idly rubbing her stomach.

She falters. “…If you ever did, w-would… Would I be…?”

“Yes.” He tells her immediately, with no room for misinterpretation.

She blushes harder now, sliding her hand over his now. “…I’d do it, you know. I’d have your babies, Muerte.” She tells him in a fragile voice.

His silence makes her nervous, but the truth was, he was genuinely stunned by her words and simply couldn’t think of anything to say in response. “…It’s probably not possible.” He repeats now, as if telling himself that rather than her. “It’s really rather ridiculous as an idea, to be honest with you.”

“Muerte, now you’re the one being insecure.” She chides him lightly, glancing up in his direction again as she rubs his hand in an attempt to reassure him. “You don’t know what could happen; you’ve never been intimate with anyone before this, right?”

He’s quiet for a moment, pondering her words. “…That’s true.” He concedes awkwardly. “Still…”

“Then how can you know it’s not possible?” She presses. “At the very least, I-I… If you ever want to, that is, w-we… We could try.”

“The thought of it doesn’t freak you out?” He asks her, genuinely curious but nevertheless pleased by her words.

She shakes her head, her eyes closed in content. “Just the opposite.” She tells him. “I’d… I’d always wanted to be a mother.”

This simple admission stokes lust inside of him again, and the very thought of her pregnant and full with his brood sends a fresh rush of seed pooling inside of her at his excitement. Drunk with love for her, he can’t control the dopey smile starting to creep across his lips now.

“Well…” He trails off with another sigh, stroking his hand down her hair and tangling it gently in her silver tresses. Her words seem to fill him with some kind of resolve and determination he can’t suppress. It was foolish and completely impractical for him to want this, but, looking down at her and imagining it in his mind’s eye, the way she’d adore and fawn over their children and love them so unconditionally, likely discovering a new appreciation for life that she didn’t have before… It fills him with such unabashed and untrammeled joy that he can’t stop himself from smiling at the thought. To create life with her… It would be the happily-ever-after he’d always wished he was capable of having. For now, he wouldn’t let himself consider the inanity of the idea, just the potential of it, a dream he didn’t even know he’d had until he’d met her but now wanted so fiercely that he almost couldn’t stand it. “…Maybe, pequena…” He breathes.

“…Maybe someday you will be.”