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iveleftitwithyou · 7 months ago

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casual | paul lahote x reader smut

NSFW | 18+ | minors DNI | word count: 2.38k

warnings: smut, dom!paul, slight angst, mention of fighting, i think that's it?

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i asked you guys if i should post this now or incorporate it into ruderal, and the result was overwhelmingly to post it now, so here it is with some plot adjustments! i've been OBSESSED with this song by chappell roan and knew i needed to make it into an imagine, although this song is probably about a woman lol. highly recommend listening to the song as you read this. this is my first time EVER writing smut so i hope its not too bad - as always, let me know what you think :)

ALSO this is in an alternate timeline where the guys are all like 21+ and so is y/n :)

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Paul’s hand lingered on your thigh as he drove the winding road back to Forks, his thumb rubbing small circles on your outer leg. the radio hummed with a song you couldn’t manage to pay attention to, instead focusing your gaze on the motion of his finger on your bare thigh. while you assumed the gesture was meant to comfort you, it did a lot more than that. you hoped that the darkness would obscure Paul’s peripheral vision enough for him to not realize you were ogling his muscular arms and unusually large hands. his veins protruded in a way that drove you crazy for some reason, and as much as you were still upset with him, you couldn’t help the rush of hormones that flooded at the sight.

Embry had made some stupid joke about you at the bonfire at Emily's that night, a common occurrence when you hung out with the pack. he didn’t mean anything by it, you joked around with each other like that all the time, but Paul had been extra sensitive for the last few weeks as he spent more hours on patrol. Victoria’s looming presence and the mystery murders happening around Washington meant the reservation needed increased protection, and the men in the pack had to step up. Embry’s comment led to a fight where the pair both phased, snarling and snapping until they both came to their senses and things went back to normal. you hated when Paul shifted because of you, even if it was just indirectly your fault like it was tonight.

you two were meant to be casual, despite Paul having imprinted on you, as you had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and weren’t ready to commit to someone again. you’d been seeing each other casually for months, hanging out, and getting to know each other better. as much as you were hesitant to let him into your life completely, you couldn’t deny your attraction to Paul. he’d been nothing but a gentleman thus far, bringing you flowers on dates, opening doors for you, and following your boundaries to a T, terrified to mess anything up with you. of course, his physical form was unlike anything you’d ever seen - you were lucky that he preferred to hang out without a shirt on. things had gotten hot and heavy between you two a few times but hadn’t gone farther than some very intense making out. though, the way Paul’s hand touched you now was enough for you to throw those boundaries out the window; you wanted him - no, needed him.

you focused your eyes back on the road in front of you, only being able to see as far as the truck’s dim headlights illuminated. breathe in, breathe out, you reminded yourself, trying to calm down the butterflies in your stomach. you were unsuccessful, and it didn’t help that Paul’s hand was inching closer and closer to your hips.

suddenly, his hand snaked further inward and his grip tightened, engulfing your inner thigh. your breath hitched, and you unsuccessfully tried to mask it as a cough. you saw Paul smirk out of the corner of your eye, but he didn’t look over at you.

you once again reminded yourself to breathe as the ache between your legs became more apparent. his hand loosened its grip and continued its journey towards your core. half of you thought about stopping him purely as punishment for fighting with Embry, but the much louder other half wouldn’t dream of it right now.

you couldn’t help but let out a small groan as his hand finally reached your jean shorts, his fingers tracing the seam that ran between your legs. the slight pressure he applied drove you absolutely crazy as you wished for more friction.

the sound that escaped your lips seemed to do something to Paul as he let out a breathy groan of his own. “alright, that’s it,” he mumbled, turning the wheel toward the side of the road. he must have known exactly where you were because he easily pulled the truck behind a set of bushes that obscured most of it from the road. any passerbys, which were few and far between at this time of night anyway, wouldn’t notice the vehicle.

almost as soon as he slammed the gear shift into park, his lips were on yours. he kissed you with a passion you’d never felt before. you melted into his lips, reminding yourself for the third time that night that if you didn’t start breathing, you would pass out. he gripped the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair as you continued to make out. his other hand traveled down your arm, to your hip, and unbuckled the seatbelt you’d been wearing. in one swift, but slightly awkward motion, he disconnected your lips for a brief moment and grabbed each side of your hips, pulling you across the center console onto his lap. you were careful not to lean too far and hit the horn with your back as you settled onto him, silently thanking Paul for owning such a spacious truck. your knees settled on either side of his legs.

as you sat down on his lap, you brushed his hardening length with the same seam of your shorts his hand was just on, eliciting a quiet moan from both of you. impatient, Paul once again gripped your scalp and slammed your lips together. you allowed your hands to slip underneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the outline of the muscles on his bare abdomen. this feeling, combined with the warmth radiating from his bare skin, drove you insane.

“take- it- off-” you mumbled in between kisses, tugging the hem upwards. you were unsure of where the forwardness came from, but you didn’t stop long enough to be embarrassed.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do,” he snarked half-jokingly but obliged.

the moonlight streaming in from the windshield was just enough for you to be able to see the outline of his pecs and abs, and you really couldn’t help but stare.

“like what you see?” he chuckled, noticing your eyes widening at his physique.

you nodded, unable to form words, instead opting to smash your lips back together with all of the strength you could muster. you’d had enough of looking flustered - you wanted to take initiative.

you raised your hips again, pushing your abdomen against Paul's and lowering yourself onto his member. you rocked your hips back and forth as he moved his lips down your cheek, then your jaw, and eventually to your neck. the friction as you continued to grind against him elicited a low growl against your neck as his lips attached to your skin. you moaned embarrassingly loudly as he sucked at the delicate skin, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be sheepish. in fact, the only emotion surging through your body right now was pure desire for the god-like man leaving a series of hickeys on your neck.

“Paul, that’s gonna leave a mark,” you whined. you knew you’d regret letting him do it in the morning but right now you wanted nothing more than for him to mark you as his. you wanted to be his.

“don’t want anyone else getting any ideas. you’re all mine,” he retorted, lifting his head up to look you in the eyes. his were almost completely black with lust. “say it.” he commanded, holding your jaw tightly in his hand. “say you’re mine.”

“i’m all yours, Paul” you panted, your hips continuing to move back and forth on Paul’s lap as you stared into his dark eyes. despite your relationship still being undefined, truer words had never been spoken.

“good girl. now shut the fuck up and get back in the passenger seat.” his harsh words did nothing to discourage you from obeying as you scrambled to sit back where you were a few minutes prior. this was a side of Paul you had only seen when he was angry: dark, commanding, dominating. usually, you would have to try to calm him down when he got like this, but right now, you were very much enjoying him telling you what to do. you already missed the warmth of his body on yours as you climbed back over to the other seat, but you instinctually knew better than to voice your complaints right now.

Paul leaned across the console, reaching his hand between your knees and under the seat to move it back as far as it would go. once he was satisfied with that, he reached across your lap and pulled the reclining handle, his other hand helping to lower the seat back slowly so you weren’t sent flying backward.

“scooch back” he ordered again, and you moved your hips backward on the seat, supporting yourself with your elbows on the very edge of the seat near the headrest.

you were confused as he opened the driver-side door and hopped out of the truck. you watched as he opened the passenger-side door, it becoming clear now what his plan was. you pulled your knees towards your chest as he climbed back in, kneeling on the floor mat in front of you. god damn, this truck was spacious, and you were incredibly grateful for that right now.

his large hands fumbled to unbutton your shorts. he pulled the zipper down and you lifted your hips, followed by your legs, so he could slide them off. not wanting to wait another second, he pulled your underwear to the side and connected his thumb to your clit. you let out a loud gasp at the sensation and he chuckled proudly, knowing how good he was making you feel. Paul rubbed small, tight circles on the sensitive nub for a few seconds before you felt a finger dip into your wet folds. a guttural moan escaped your throat as you finally got the sensation you had been waiting for since his hand had rested on your thigh earlier in the night.

he added a second finger shortly after and continued to pump in and out of your heat, his thumb continuing its circular motions on your clit. you could feel your orgasm building inside of your core, and it was almost euphoric knowing it was Paul making you feel like this.

“Paul, i’m gonna-” you moaned, getting close to the edge. “what the fuck?” he’d removed his fingers altogether upon hearing this and you were not happy about it.

“patience, princess.” he chuckled, making eye contact with you once again as he raised his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them. you were still pissed at him for teasing you like that, but the sound he made as he licked your wetness off himself almost made it worth it. almost.

“let’s take these off, shall we? or should i rip them off?” his fingers slipped under the waistband of your underwear.

“don’t you dare,” the one rational brain cell you had left replied, lifting your hips for him to slide them off like he did the shorts. you liked this pair. Paul held your hips back down as he spread your legs open, leaning his torso over the seat until you could feel his breath between your legs, amplified by the wetness that had come with the teasing.

“god, you look so fucking good” he took a second to admire the sight before him before he groaned lustfully and connected his tongue to your cunt. he made quick work of finding all the right spots to hit, causing your legs to tremble and your eyes to roll back in your head. at this rate, you wouldn’t last long, but you never wanted this moment to end.

“oh, fuck,” you moaned as he continued to circle the sensitive nub with his tongue. you had never felt this connected to someone before, not any of your exes. no one had ever made you feel as good as Paul was in this moment. as he continued the motions of his tongue, you realized Paul was perfect for you in every way, including this one. it was like pre-nut clarity.

you felt the pressure building up again, somehow even stronger than last time, unable to contain your moans. “fuck, Paul, i’m gonna cum” you groaned, arching your back against the seat as Paul continued to hold your hips down harshly against it. you figured there would be bruises there tomorrow, and the thought of him marking you up even more only exacerbated your growing orgasm.

“cum for me, princess” Paul mumbled against your clit, giving you permission to let go. it only took a couple more swipes for you to come completely unglued against his mouth.

Paul gradually slowed down his motions, guiding you through your orgasm as your hips attempted to buck against his face, craving the stimulation. eventually, your brain started to function again, and the first thing you thought was that that was definitely the best orgasm you’d ever had. you couldn’t tell Paul that, though - it would boost his ego way too much, and he already had a huge one to begin with. the second thought that went through your head was that you were ready for Paul to be your boyfriend. no man could eat you out that good and get away from you.

he admired his work as you panted in front of him, a smirk of pride on his face. he loved knowing he was the one who made you feel so good. he raised himself up on his knees to hover over you, one arm resting on the seat to support himself as the other snaked behind your back to pull you to his chest. you wrapped your arms around his back, settling your face in the crook of his neck. your breaths were soon in time with each other, basking in the body heat radiating from the both of you.

you could have stayed like that forever, but after a few minutes, Paul pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes. he seemed deep in thought before he smiled and opened his mouth to ask you a simple question: “is it casual now?”

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part 2 here :)

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nottswitch · 6 months ago

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doll.

summary: you had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section. however, the outcome might not be something you had originally planned.

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

warning: 18+ smut, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), throatfucking, gagging, mentions of nausea (no actual vomiting), slight choking, orgasm denial? ignoring?? I think that’s all, if I missed anything, let me know!

wc: 3.3k

a/n: listen. listen. this man has been in my head for the last month, and recently he decided to come into my dream? that’s just rude, so that’s what you get as revenge. this fic is also a result of my pent up frustration at life rn, so do with that what you will. also, this is my first time ever writing smut and writing for tom, so pls let me know if it’s any good and if I shall continue on the path. enjoy <3

You had finally done it.

You had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section with him. After the whole month of begging almost every day, he agreed, albeit awfully begrudgingly, but you were on cloud nine nonetheless. He told you some stuff about his late-night visits to the library from time to time, but you were always burning for more information, considering your own striving for knowledge. He always said the same thing, that he appreciated your effort, but if you could stop trying to make him abuse his Prefect’s power and possibly lose himself the position, it would make both of your lives easier. But you persevered and were finally reaping the rewards, sitting next to him at the table, with a stack of ancient books in front of you, sometime far after midnight.

What you didn’t expect, though, was how absolutely fucking irresistible he would look merely existing. The books were taken out, the first one was flipped through and now they sat on the table, long forgotten, as you just stared at Tom, almost devouring him with your eyes. To be fair, the sight of him was truly divine – his face calm and concentrated, hovering over a particular book he had been studying for the last week, distracted simply to switch to his journal and take another note. His hands resting on the table, holding a quill, scribbling down lines with his exquisite handwriting… They were sinful, those hands. You had to get ahold of at least one. His left hand was in the process of mindlessly caressing the corner of the book with his middle finger when your hand slowly creeped towards it. You lightly brushed your fingertips along the outer part of his hand. No reaction. You started drawing circles along the whole area, skimming along his wrist and thumb. Nothing. You decided to go further and began intertwining your fingers together.

Finally. A sigh.

And he didn’t even look. His hand grabbed yours and put it away, back on the table. And nothing, absolutely nothing changed about the focused expression painted on his face. That was really annoying, but also… hot, in a way? Almost as if he was playing hard to get. You were already aroused just by looking at him, but his silent rejection made you nearly desperate. Your panties were pretty much soaked, and he, quite literally, barely lifted a finger.

Before you could gain control over your hand, it moved dangerously close to his thigh. You put your hand a little above his knee and gradually advanced higher and higher up his leg. Only when you were caressing his inner thigh did you hear another sigh. Tom raised an eyebrow and turned his head a couple centimeters in your direction, his eyes still on the book.

“What?” he asked, the tone of his voice only ever so slightly irritated. His composure remained intact. He wasn’t even fazed by the fact that you were so close to grabbing him through his pants.

“You look so handsome like that, you know?”

You made your best attempt to lace your voice with saccharine seduction. Your hand kept stroking his inner thigh, inching further and further up with each stroke. The only thing he did was thoughtlessly nod, as if he forgot about your existence immediately after asking the question.

You started getting frustrated and even more turned on. You moved your chair closer to his and began caressing his shoulder, brushing your fingers along his neck when they reached it. You slowly moved down to his back and arm, your nails applying some pressure on his body so that he could feel them scratching his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. It had always been one of the rare things to grab his attention, and it worked this time as well. He sighed, closed the book with his finger between the right pages and turned his head to you. His expression was that of mild annoyance, his eyebrow raised again.

“What exactly was the reason you’d been begging me to bring you here? Would you care to remind me?”

You lowered your gaze and your hand on his shoulder stopped, but just for a second. Then you continued, thinking that there was no return at that point and at least you had a chance, now that his attention was on you.

“Knowledge,” you admitted.

“And what kind of knowledge are you trying to soak up right now?”

His eyes flicked towards your hand still massaging his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and shifted in your chair at the mention of the word “soak”. But it was time for drastic measures. You stood up to crouch next to him, so that your mouth was right at the same level as his ear. Your hand moved to his inner thigh again, traveling up to his crotch and back. You felt him harden under your touch and the mere fact brought you immense amounts of satisfaction.

“Come on, Tom, love, we both know what I want right now,” you started whispering, your lips nearly touching his ear. “You. I want you. On the table, on the floor, against the wall, it literally doesn’t matter. If you don’t take me right here, right now, I will die.”

The look on his face didn’t change in the slightest when he grabbed your throat with his right hand and guided you from his left to his front, tightly squeezed between him and the desk. You stayed in your half-crouched position, trying your hardest not to tremble in the knees. The corner of Tom’s mouth lifted ever so slightly while he silently studied your face and body. His grip on your throat tightened when he lifted up his hand, causing you to straighten your half-bent legs. He shot a commanding look at his lap and, guided by his hand, you climbed there, sitting down and sighing as you could finally relax your already aching knees. But your state of relaxation didn’t last, as he abruptly spread his legs, causing yours to shoot open as well and your ass to be left hanging in the air. In order not to fall to the ground, you had to lean back on the desk, propping your front upwards, towards him.

His hand moved from your throat to the hem of your skirt. With quick and methodic movements Tom rolled it up, tucking it behind the top part of the skirt, and spread your thighs even further with a firm press of his thumbs. You felt a heatwave of embarrassment wash over you as he evaluated the state of your panties, an amused smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. A spot of wetness was wonderfully visible and on display. His eyebrow went up and down as he looked up at you, brushing his thumb in a feather-like touch along the still covered surface of your cunt. You threw your head back, partly because you didn’t want to meet his eyes, partly because your own eyes rolled to the point you couldn’t see in front of you and you could barely hold in a moan as myriads of goosebumps spread throughout your body just from this simple touch.

“Look at me.”

Tom clearly didn’t appreciate the lack of eye contact. You clenched your jaw and looked back, met by the sheer intensity of his stare. The stare that had all the power in the world to melt you into a puddle at any given moment. He brushed his other thumb over the same place again, watching your face carefully as you tried to keep your composure. Didn’t help. Your bit your bottom lip, but a sound escaped you nonetheless. Tom’s smirk widened.

“Let’s see,” he quietly muttered, pulling your panties to the side. Your cunt was already slicked and throbbing, which was even more embarrassing, because he looked like he was an inspector evaluating the goods. The smirk faded from his lips as his finger rubbed against your folds, barely spreading them apart and not reaching the clit to provide the much-needed sensation. You couldn’t help throwing your head back again, almost drawing blood from the pressure of your teeth against your bottom lip.

“I said. Look. At. Me.”

Tom uttered every word in a clear, emotionless voice, but it was the very thing that meant trouble. You looked back and the intensity of his stare only grew exponentially. He reached your face with his hand and grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and index finger, squeezing them, so that your lips formed into some sort of a pout.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Keep looking until I say you can stop.”

You quickly nodded, intimidated by his frigid dominance. His hand went back to your cunt. He slid his fingers deeper between the folds, lightly brushing against the clit. Your hips jerked up as they tried to follow the path of his fingers, but his other hand held you firmly in place, not allowing a single extra bit of pleasure. He slid them back once more and then the middle one slipped inside you, up to the very base. A jolt of pleasure shook your body, as strong as the feeling of disappointment when he quickly removed the digit. You tried to whine but another look from him quickly shut you up. Tom raised his hand, rubbed his index, middle finger and thumb together and then separated; a sticky string of your wetness was a connection between them and a blatant manifestation of your arousal.

“Soaked. Just like I thought.”

The slightest hint of a smirk returned to his lips as his fingers reached your mouth.

“Open.”

Each of his words was stern, not leaving room for any disobedience. You opened your mouth and Tom pushed two fingers inside, pressing at the entrance of your throat and instantly making you gag. He kept his fingers there for a moment while you clutched the desk behind you to stop your body from shaking as you kept gagging, but not daring to push his hand away. A couple seconds later, when he saw you were on the verge of giving up, his fingers slowly traveled back out of your mouth. You tightly wrapped your lips around them and sucked your slick off, knowing that it was exactly what he wanted you to do. After leaving your mouth his fingers cupped your chin, as his thumb glided over your lips, covering them with the rest of your wetness.

“Now,” Tom leaned back on the chair, looking you up and down, his voice suddenly smooth and enticing, but his gaze still intense, “I see you are rather bored here with me, doll.”

When he said the word, you knew that the next part wouldn’t be so much for your pleasure as it would be completely for his. It wasn’t a meaningless pet-name for him, no, it held value. It meant that you would be treated exactly like a doll: mindless and limp. He saw your eyes widen at “doll” and a faint smirk was on his lips again: he was aware of the connotation and so were you.

“And to save you the trouble of a wandering mind, I am pleased to announce that I have a much better use for a doll like you.”

He waited to continue for a minute, letting you absorb the information and your thoughts fill with speculations. His hand brushed a stray hair from your forehead, him seeming just like a caring boyfriend for a moment.

“Kneel.”

You slowly stood up from his lap, feeling your stretched out limbs relax and almost fail to hold you up, and lowered down to your knees in front of him. From this point of view, he was even more attractive, compellingly so; it was worth it standing on your knees on the cold stone floor of the Restricted Section just for this sight alone. He slowly started unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, almost as if he wanted you to enjoy the show. You drank up every single movement of his slender fingers as he pulled down his pants and underwear just enough for his cock to bounce right out, against his lower abdomen.

“You like what you see, doll?”

You fervently nodded, your mouth salivating just at the thought of being able to suck him off right then. He saw the fire in your eyes and scoffed, shaking his head.

“It is no ordinary pleasure that I want from you now, doll.”

He beckoned you to move closer and you eagerly did, your face just mere centimeters away from his length. Your breath quickened as you thought about the implication of “no ordinary pleasure”.

“Now, give me your hands, doll.”

You lifted your hands and he wrapped his belt around them, tightening it to the point when it started to hurt and you knew it would leave deep marks on your wrists. Then, you tried to position yourself in a way that would allow your hands to support you, but you could only reach the floor with your fingertips.

Tom ran his fingers through your hair, in a touch almost gentle and soothing, and then suddenly yanked you up and forward, straight onto his cock, thrusting his whole length into your mouth, the tip reaching the very back of your throat. You lifted on your knees and violently gagged at the feeling, your hands inadvertently flying up, trying to push back, but the belt didn’t let you make any substantial impact. He held you firmly in place while you kept quivering and making gagging sounds, him clearly enjoying seeing you in this state. Slowly, you adjusted to his cock filling your whole mouth and your body went weak as you lowered back down, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You tried to look up with just your eyes, not being able to move your head; it hurt too much, so you lowered your gaze, the only thing in front of you being his lower abdomen. As you tried to shift in your place, you felt a whiff of the chilly library air against your soaked panties and the sensation drove you nearly through the roof.

“Now, doll, you have to stay like that while I keep going with my work. A fair warning out of the goodness of my heart: it might take a while.”

You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this could continue for another hour or two. Your head was held back by the edge of the desk cutting into your nape, so you weren’t able to move at all. You were completely at his mercy, he could do literally whatever he wanted, but he chose not to do anything. As soon as he let go of your hair, he went straight back to his book, taking notes as if nothing had happened.

Time went by painfully slowly. The constant feeling of him in your mouth and throat overwhelmed you to the point when you started to twitch at times, shifting your weight to get any semblance of friction against your aching core. The position you were in didn’t allow that at all, your head being stuck firmly between the desk and his body. The most irritating thing about the whole ordeal was the fact that Tom ignored you completely, fully absorbed in whatever kind of studying he was doing. You tried to get his attention a couple of times by producing incoherent sounds and trying to tighten your lips around him, but you quickly understood that there was no use. You tried counting seconds and minutes, but your mind gave up when you reached fifteen. The only things you could think about were his cock and getting something, any type of pressure on your clit. Your wetness soaked through your panties and, you were pretty sure, was dripping down your thighs, creating a small puddle on the floor underneath you.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you finally heard the book shut. You almost shuddered at the sound, your pupils dilating and your breath accelerating, probably close to the speed of light. Tom leaned on the back of the chair, looking down at you with one of his smirks of the devil himself. His hand ruffled your hair, pulling at it to slightly lift your head up and shove it back down, as if he was trying to gauge if you were still alive. At the sound of your muffled groan he raised his eyebrows, amused.

“The doll has some life left in her. What a pleasant surprise. You look perfectly splendid like that.”

You groaned again, the sound coming from somewhere inside your chest. You desperately wanted to look up, but your head was still pressed in its place. Tom scoffed, messing with your hair once again.

“The time has come for some more… customary activities of ours, don’t you think?”

As if you could answer. You tried to nod, but the edge of the desk only further cut into your nape, making you wince in pain.

“The doll seems to agree. Pleasure.”

He moved the chair a bit further from the desk. With more space you could finally properly breath, so you shifted in your place, your stiff legs aching as you had to follow the movement of the chair. Tom’s hand gripped your hair and pulled you upwards, releasing almost the entirety of his length from your mouth apart from the tip. The sudden emptiness made your throat clench and you felt nausea building up rapidly, although the feeling had no time to develop as you were quickly shoved down again, your nose nearly crashing against his body. Tears gathered in your eyes sprayed all over, your lips stretched even more than they already were and you prayed the corners of your mouth wouldn’t crack. The tension building up in your core was begging to be released as you were being thrusted up and down again and again, the tip of his cock stroking the back of your throat again and again, causing you to produce the most sinful gagging sounds known to man. You tried to balance on your tied up hands, but your fingertips just barely brushed against the floor as your whole body moved in unison with your head. Tom barely made any sound, a heavy breath occasionally escaping his lips. He threw his head back, his eyes closed, while you took him whole at the mercy of his hand.

At last, you felt his thrusts speeding up, sensing his release. After a couple of especially violent ones he let out a quiet groan, and you felt his hot semen filling you up and spilling down your throat as he pressed you all the way down. Your breaths were heavy but barely audible, his cock still stuffing your mouth to the brim. Tom heaved a deep sigh as you felt his grip on your hair loosening. You didn’t dare to move until he pulled you up, lifting your head with his finger on your chin, looking straight into your eyes. Your vision was blurry from tears, more of them running down your face and dripping down to the floor as they slid off your jawline. Your lips were swollen and you couldn’t properly close your mouth yet, panting in quick and dry breaths. Tom smirked, taking in the sight of your utter destruction.

“A broken doll. Truly a sight to behold.”

He leaned back on the chair again, pulling up his underwear and zipping the pants. Then, he bent down, taking your hands gently in his and undoing the belt. His fingers made their way across the deep red marks on your wrists, caressing them with utmost attention.

“You have been a very good doll for me tonight. Now, what do you say to spending the night in my dorm? The doll has to receive her rightful reward.”

my masterlist

#�� witch’s works ☾#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x fem!reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle smut #harry potter fanfiction

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 5 months ago

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I'm half delirious from lack of sleep.

And I love you guys.

So please accept these smutty headcanons about what that mouth do as a token of my appreciation.

This is a direct result of an anon ask reminding me about a previous mini-headcanon thing and me being completely unable to get it out of my head.

And maybe also a little because of that little tongue thing that Peter keeps doing like sir if you do not put that back in your mouth this fcking instant—

Going Down

Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Buggy, Crocodile, Mihawk (OPLA or anime) x AFAB!Reader,

Absolutely shamless NSFW smut

♫♬Me and the Devil— The Fratellis♬♫

Call my name when the line goes dead

I'll be fire, I'll be rain, I'll be joy I'll be dread

Zoro

Goes down on you like he's been lost in a desert and you're the only source of water he's seen in weeks.

A little clumsy, but more than makes up for it in enthusiasm.

Genuinely wants to make you feel good but gets so turned on by your moaning that it's hard to focus.

His hands wrapped so tight around your hips that its almost painful, his breathing just as shallow and uneven as yours.

Letting out a little growl of satisfaction as he brings you over the edge, so hard from building you up that he has to have you right now.

Sanji

Oh so slow and tender, worshiping every last inch of your folds.

Brushing soft little kisses against your thighs and outer lips, caressing your stomach, lacing his fingers with yours.

Massaging your hips and your thighs and slowly as his tongue brushes back and forth across your clit, letting out quiet moans to match yours.

Slowly taking you to the pinnacle of physical pleasure, making sure you enjoy every last segond of the slow build-up.

Expelling a slow sigh when you cum, moving his tongue in rhythm with your throbbing clit, drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible.

Shanks

Complete and utter tease, master of edging.

Pulling back and smirking at you every time you get close, commenting about how adorable you are when you're oh so desperate.

Revelling in how you push your hips up and tug at his hair, how you whine and beg for more.

Ever so lightly flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit when you're right at the edge and chuckling at how you whine and writhe under him.

Laying his cheek against your thigh, gazing up to watch you struggle to breathe as he slowly circles a finger around your entrance.

Giving a low purr and smirking when he finally lets you slip over the edge, rubbing his hand across your breasts, squeezing your ass...

...But not letting up, continuing with the same slow and teasing pace after your orgasm until you're building toward another. And another.

Won't stop unless you outright tell him to, honestly; he's having too much fun making you squirm.

Buggy

Kinky, kinky. No point in having detatchable limbs if you don't know how to use them.

Hands all over you the whole time, smacking your ass, squeezing your tits together, finger-fucking you while he worships you with his mouth.

Might even detatch his dick and let you use it as a toy, if he's feeling generous.

Pulling back every so often to rub your clit and talk dirty, to tell you in detail what he plans on doing to you.

But making damned sure to lower his head back down before you cum so he can feel your clit throbbing in his mouth and your pussy clench around his tongue.

Sir Crocodile

Doesn't waste a single second teasing you, just dives right in, intent on making you scream.

His hook wrapped around your waist, sucking your clit into his mouth, pushing a finger inside to rub against your g-spot.

Pulling back now and then to tell you what a good little slut you are, but never quite long enough to let you catch your breath.

Feeling you squirm in his grip, hearing you moan and cry out his name over and over, is really the ultimate ego trip.

It's doubtful he's going to stop after getting you off once unless he's incredibly wound up. It's far too fun having you at his mercy.

Mihawk

Full, unrelenting focus, turning you into an absolute mess within seconds.

Kowing exactly what you like, exactly what makes your eyes roll back and your soul leave your body.

Keeping his gaze turned up to yours the entire time, keeping a steady and unrelenting pace.

Holding your hips down with one to keep you from grinding against his tongue, controlling every moment of your building pleasure.

Bringing his other hand up to brush across your nipples, to grasp your hair and make sure you can't look away for even a moment.

Making sure you're incapable of forming a single coherent word or phrase or thought, that you're unable to do more than moan incoherently or stammer out his name, that you're barely even able to breathe.

May not stop until you outright pass out from oxygen deprivation, and he's definitely going to tease you about it afterwards if you do.

#one piece #opla #headcanon #headcanons #sir crocodile x reader #mihawk x reader #buggy x reader #shanks x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #red haired shanks #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #buggy the clown #one piece x reader #opla x reader #smut

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peachdues · 1 year ago

Text

IN THE NETHERWOOD

2.5 NSFW ONESHOT ♤ KINKTOBER 2023

RED RIDING HOOD!READER X WEREWOLF!SANEMI

This is an absolutely filthy nasty smut scene that I have decided to cut from Part III of In the Netherwood. Part III is going to be long, so this is ultimately for the best, but I shan’t deprive you heathens of your monsterfucking tendencies.

Part III is still in the works but will feature Red Riding Hood!Reader fucking Sanemi in his full Wolf form.

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • knotting/mating • breeding • milking • Reader begs Sanemi to knock her up • possessive Sanemi • heat/discussions of heat

“Genya, fuck off,” Sanemi snarled, his arm tightening possessively around your waist.

You whipped your head toward the Huntsman, ready to give him the good verbal lashing he apparently needed, but the young boy smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, Aniki,” Genya rubbed the back of his neck. “I forgot.”

“Don’t apologize,” you chastised the boy, gently. “It isn’t your fault your brother has lost all sense of decorum.”

Genya flushed. “N-no, it’s not,” he stammered in agreement. “B-but you see — well, when a wolf takes a mate…”

The younger boy’s blush deepened to a near purple, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s as he struggled to find the appropriate words.

Growling slightly under his breath, though more so in annoyance, Sanemi shifted himself behind you, pressing his hips against your backside. You felt his length, hard and throbbing against his breeches, as it dug sharply into your backside.

Your mate’s silent explanation made your cheeks warm, and you wondered whether your blush matched Genya’s. “Oh.” you managed to choke.

Genya rocked awkwardly back on his feet. “I’ll come by later, Aniki,” he croaked. “Y/N,” he added, nodding at you though still unable to meet your eyes.

The boy turned sharply on his heel, half-stumbling out of the small cottage in his haste to get away, proverbial tail tucked between his legs.

The door had barely banged shut before Sanemi had you pressed up against the wall, hauling you up so that your legs had to wrap around his waist.

“I shall explain in full later,” he promised, fingers ripping the cord out of your corset so he could yank it down along with your blouse, exposing your breasts. “But right now I need to claim.”

“S-sure,” you stuttered, gasping as the Huntsman’s hot mouth closed around one of your mounds, his hands working to shove your skirts out of the way. One arm remained under your backside, keeping you propped up against the wall, as the other moved to shove his breeches just far enough down his hips to free his cock, already standing taut and ready to fill you.

Sanemi did not warn you before plunging his rigid length deep into your walls, though you were surprised at how readily you took him, your cunt sucking him right in as though it too, had been waiting for him to remind you exactly whose mark you bore on your skin.

The Wolf nudged your head to the side with his nose so he could bury his face into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply. With a low growl, his tongue flicked out and caressed the crescent-shaped mating mark at the juncture between your neck and shoulder before he nipped lightly at your skin.

“Mine,” he snarled. “You’re mine.”

Despite being pinned against the wall by his hips, you managed to spread your thighs wider, opening yourself up further to allow Sanemi to pound into you without restraint, but he pulled away.

You cried out at the sudden, cold emptiness you felt as Sanemi pulled out of you, leaving your core wildly clenching around nothing. The Huntsman soothed you with hot kisses against your throat, his thumbs rubbing circles into your outer thighs as he pivoted you away from the wall.

Sanemi crossed the small room easily, making quick work in removing you of your skirts and corset. Once the last of your attire had been discarded upon the floor, he tossed you onto the delightfully plush bed standing against the middle of the wall, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced as you settled.

Eyes lifting back to meet yours, he wrapped one hand around the base of his engorged length and pumped, the other shoving the waistband of his breeches down his hips and legs until he could kick them off.

“On your knees.”

With excitement fluttering in your stomach, you complied, rolling to your front and balancing your weight on your spread knees, holding your rear high up in the air.

You looked over your shoulder back at your mate, eyes too wide and too innocent as you wiggled your hips at him in invitation.

Despite having only been intimate with him for a few days, you already had a good read on what made the Wolf tick.

And the best way was this — to beg for more while offering yourself up in total submission.

He may have been the Wolf, but you held his leash; and you knew exactly how to pull it to get what you wanted. Right then, you wanted him to fuck and fill you until your brain went numb, and your lower belly bloated with him — just like it had in the cave den.

“Beautiful,” Sanemi crouched behind you, breathing in the scent of your musk. You moaned loudly as the Wolf’s tongue flattened against your leaking folds and dragged up, gathering your pleasure into his mouth.

His hands ran down the backs of your thighs, nails dragging lightly along your skin. “As much as I love when you hold yourself up high for me, I think I want try something new.” He purred, running his hot mouth up your spine. “Do you think you can handle that, Lamb?”

You ground your hips against the feathery bed, nodding furiously. “Yes, Wolf. I can take whatever it is you give me.”

“Sweet little thing,” Sanemi praised, his hands easing you flat against his — your — bed. “You’re such a good Lamb, always eager to take care of her Wolf.”

“Her mate,” you corrected, moaning into the blanket.

Sanemi’s hands smoothed up the inside of your thighs as he pushed your legs wider apart, guiding them into a wide “v” spread across the bed.

“My apologies, Lamb,” his fingers wound in your hair and pulled your head back, the Huntsman leaning over top you to graze his lips against yours, your neck straining and your throat utterly exposed. “You take such good care of your mate.”

Sanemi released the hold he had on your hair, allowing your head to fall forward against the blankets.

You felt him press his engorged tip flush against your entrance, the two of you hissing at the friction sparked as his member met your waiting, sensitive flesh. He nudged forward slightly, just past that first ring of tight muscle before stilling so he could get himself into position.

Your legs were spread wide, but Sanemi stretched his even further, placing one knee on either side of yours where they laid flat against the bed. One muscled arm wound around your front, resting across your collarbone until his hand could grip your shoulder and the other went to wrap around your middle, his fingers digging slightly into the sensitive skin of your waist.

His torso was pressed flush against your back, every hard groove of his muscles pressing into each sensitive spot along your spine. With his teeth against your ear, Sanemi then allowed his body to relax, his weight pushing his cock in and in until the base of his groin was flat against the soft curve of your backside.

“It is my duty as your Mate to make sure I fill you up with pups,” his breath was hot against your ear and it made you shiver, the tremors cascading down your body going right to where you were joined, making the Wolf at your back rumble.

“And that is a duty I take very seriously, little Lamb.”

“This position,” he grunted, rolling harder into you for emphasis. “Is said to ensure my seed takes in your womb.”

You moaned as Sanemi began to roll steadily into you, his cock so heavy and thick, you thought you could feel him in your chest. “Without your knot?”

Sanemi laughed quietly, the darkness of the sound making you even wetter between your legs. “I don’t need my knot to fuck you full of my pups, Lamb.” He gave deep push of his hips, his cock prodding the spot inside you that made your toes curl and your mind blank. “I can fulfill that duty any time I want.”

Sanemi groaned, loudly. “But feel.”

He rolled his cock even harder and faster into you, and between the sticky taps of his heavy, full balls against your clit, you could feel the tell-tale shape of that hardened gland beginning to swell at Sanemi’s base.

You gasped. “B-but — oh — I thought!” You choked off with another breathy sigh as the force of Sanemi’s movements made your body buck hard into the bed, the slightly stiff fabric of the quilts chafing against your peaked nipples and giving you much needed stimulation.

Sanemi’s breath was ragged, little snarls and growls tearing from his throat in time with his deep thrusts. “Apparently my heat is not over,” he said thickly, arms tightening around you. “Not until I’ve bred you full.”

Your eyes rolled back at the term “bred.” Once upon a time, you would have balked at the idea of being treated as little more than breeding stock; you would have rebelled against it, fought it tooth and nail, even if it meant spending your life alone.

But the Wolf promising to fuck his own litter into you was different; he was your mate. You’d claimed him as much as he’d claimed you.

And you loved him.

And with that truth echoing in your mind, you lifted your face from where you’d buried it into the blankets.

“Do it, Wolf — breed me!” You cried, hand flying behind you to tangle in his hair, desperate to find purchase in anything that could tether you to reality the faster your mate brought you closer to heaven. “Give me your children — your pups!“

A cross between a growl and a groan tore free from Sanemi’s throat, his arms almost painfully tight around you as his hips rolled faster and harder against you, his balls slapping lewdly against your soaked cunt.

Your thighs burned as Sanemi’s weight spread them even further apart as he bore down hard against your back. The fat of your ass jiggled with every lurid, deep roll of his hips, his pace increasing as his climax drew closer.

You thought back to the night you’d spent in the cave den; how it felt to feel him unload rope after rope of his hot, thick seed deep into your womb, so much so that it couldn’t help but drip down your thighs.

You needed it; more than anything, you needed to feel his claim over you, hot and sweet and him.

“Sanemi, please!” You thought you might die if he didn’t fill you up, if he didn’t push that aching knot inside you to lock his hot, rich seed deep within your womb.

You felt his teeth sink into the side of your neck, his responding growl deep and vicious.

Your cunt seized around him with a force that made you scream as you approached the precipice of your release. “My love — please!”

Sanemi’s eyes flew open as the words my love left your mouth, and with a snarl, he pressed you deeper against the mattress, fucking into you so hard, your breath choked out in broken, strangled gasps.

Two sharp, bruising thrusts later and the Huntsman erupted.

With a roar, Sanemi shoved his cock as deep as it could go, the hardened member pulsing as you felt the first rush of his pleasure begin to fill you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head and your walls clenched down, keeping him still as your own climax slammed into you with dizzying force. Some choked, broken sound stuttered its way out of your throat, the corners of your mouth turning up in pleasured delirium, satisfied to finally be given what you’d so desperately begged for.

Still lost in the rolling waves of your euphoria, you felt the hard lump of Sanemi’s knot push against your entrance. Your cunt resisted at first, too busy gripping Sanemi’s twitching length like a vice, but he persisted. With a grunt, Sanemi nudged the knot in and sighed as your walls finally gave way, allowing him to lock his cock — and the seed still spilling from him — deep inside you.

Your hand blindly felt behind you for him, patting its way to his hip. Weakly, you pulled him harder against you, as though every ounce of his weight was not already seared into your skin as he pressed you deeper into the mattress.

It still wasn’t close enough; you didn’t think it ever would be.

The heavy, ragged sounds of your mutual breathing was interrupted only by the occasional soft moan from the wolf behind you as his seed continued to fill you. Eventually, your thighs began to tremble from the strain of having been spread wide, but the way Sanemi was positioned over you, knees on either side of yours, his shins pressed against the back of your calves, kept you from being able to close them.

You whimpered into the bed, legs vibrating from the strain.

“I know, sweetling,” Sanemi said roughly. “Just hold on a little longer.”

A low whine escaped from your throat. “Sanemi — I can’t-“

The Wolf rolled his hips against your backside and you squealed at the slight burn of his knot tugging against your walls.

“Yes you can, Lamb,” his head dipped into the crook of your shoulder to pepper the side of your neck with wet kisses. “You can take it. You’re my mate — my girl.”

His praise sent a flurry of butterflies rippling through your stomach and made the walls of your spent cunt flutter and clench around his aching length once more.

“Fuck,” Sanemi groaned against your skin, dragging his tongue over the back of your neck before nipping at you. “Fuck, don’t do that Lamb — not unless you want me to keep going.”

Your hips involuntarily twitched as your muscles tightened around him once more. “I can’t — ngh — help it,” you couldn’t stop the whine in your tone, but nor could you be embarrassed by it. “F-feels too good.”

Your muscles continued to spasm around the Wolf’s pulsating length, and the coil in your gut built fast.

“Y/N—“ came Sanemi’s warning growl, but it was too late.

“I-I’m!” It was all you could choke out at your cunt seized around him like a vice. Your scream of pleasure was muffled by the blanket you sucked into your mouth to quiet yourself. Your third climax of the night rocked through you with earth-shattering strength, and a gush of fluid surged forth from between your legs, soaking your groin and the bed below you.

Behind you, Sanemi whimpered, the sound strangled and uncharacteristically high. Whether it was intentional or purely reflexive, Sanemi began canting his hips against your rear, his dwindling knot still causing your muscles to stretch and pull.

Your muscles continued to clench and flutter around Sanemi’s length, causing you to reach yet another climax before you were hissing at the over-sensitivity between your legs. After a long while, the knot locking Sanemi within your molten heat finally eased, and the Huntsman withdrew, exhaling through clenched teeth.

The weight at your back disappeared, and you fell into the mattress, your limbs unable to hold you upright any longer.

For a moment, there was no sound but your mutual ragged panting, as both of you sought to catch your breath. Before long, a warm, calloused hand gripped your hip and gingerly flipped you over.

“You,” Sanemi accused shakily, though any threat in his tone was undercut by the softness of his expression. “You are an utter menace, Lamb.”

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba #kny fanfic #kinktober 2023 #kny #kny x reader #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut #sanemi smut #werewolf fic #werewolf fucker #monster fucker #monster fucking

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rafeandonlyrafe · 8 months ago

Text

out for a run

words: 900

warnings: established relationship, catcalling, physical violence!!!, description of blood, reader kinda crazy as well as rafe lolz

“you ready?” you ask rafe as you finish tying your tennis shoes before making sure your watch is strapped tight to your wrist.

“yup.” rafe says, still leaned up against a wall, not so subtly checking you out as his eyes look up and down your body, dressed in tight fitting leggings and a sports bra.

“earth to rafe.” you wave your hand past his face as you head towards the door, taking a final sip of water before you start your run.

“yeah, yeah.” rafe jogs to catch up to you, again admiring your body, this time from the back.

you go through a quick stretching routine once outside, warming up your muscles. you walk to the end of the driveway, occasionally swinging your knee back to kick your butt and warm up your thighs.

rafe is right by your side as you start to run, keeping pace with you, even though he could probably go faster. rafe insists it's the perfect pace for him, but you know it's just because he wants to stay by your side.

you fall into a comfortable silence. you used to like listening to music during runs, but you've come to enjoy just the sounds of the outer banks, whether it be the distant waves or dogs barking, even the cars driving past provide you a bit of interest as your feet pound against the pavement.

a car horn suddenly beeps out, causing you to look over, making sure it's not directed at you.

you twist your face in disgust when you see a guy smirking at you out the window. he even has the audacity to roll down his window and shout. “nice tits!”

rafe doesn't hesitate, turning up his pace as he sprints onto the road after the truck, but it tears away, blowing through a stop sign.

“it's okay rafe.” you reach your hands to his shoulders, legs burning slightly from the sudden stop as he rejoins you on the sidewalk. “he's just some asshole, okay?”

“im gonna find out who he is and fucking kill him.” rafe grunts out, eyes staring into the distance like his glare can cause the man pain.

“alright, you gotta run your anger out.” you shove slightly on rafes shoulders. “go faster, it's okay. just circle back to meet me.”

rafe looks at you, then back in the direction of the truck, wondering how far it's gone. hopefully it's parked somewhere close and rafe can confront the asshole.

“call me if anything happens.” rafe says, planning to just run up and look down the streets of a couple blocks before rushing back to you.

“of course.” you give him another gentle shove, and rafe takes off.

you give your legs a little stretch, shins hurting slightly before starting to jog again, heading the direction rafe went. you always switch up your route, but it doesn't matter because you're always together. you figure the best thing to do is just stay going straight.

you get back into your groove quickly, listening to the birds chirping, the wind rustling through the trees, only for it to be interrupted by a quiet thud of skin hitting skin.

you look down the side street, eyes widening when you see the same truck as earlier, the driver now splayed out on the grass, rafe standing over him.

you turn quickly in his direction, pushing your legs as hard as they can go as rafe kneels down over the guy, fisting one hand in his shirt and pulling his other arm back to punch him again.

“okay, rafe.” you grab his elbow when he raises it up to swing again. “i think he's learned his lesson.” the guys face has turned black and blue, blood dripping from his nose onto the green grass.

rafe stands, turning to place his hands on your shoulders, blocking your view of the creep with his wide chest. “come on baby, you don’t gotta see this.”

rafe turns to spit at him before leading you back in the direction you came when the guy has the gall to speak again.

“your ass is as nice as your tits.” the words are slurred, rafe clearly did a number on him.

rafe turns, clearly he hasn't beat him well enough if he can't shut up even when he's lying on the ground bleeding, when you stop him with a hand on the bicep.

“i got this.” you say, turning towards the man, looking down at him with disgust, sorry you have to dirty your favorite pair of running shoes with his filth as you swing your leg forward, connecting your toe with his side.

he lets out a loud groan, twisting to cover his side, but it just gives you a better angle as you muster everything you learned from playing soccer in elementary school and kick again, directly in his stomach.

“you need to learn how to treat women with respect.” you spit onto his face as well, landing on the opposite cheek that rafes had.

“you're lucky i don't let my boyfriend at you again.” the guy is sobbing into the ground now, but you're not satisfied, giving him a kick right in his crotch to finish off your point.

“come on, rafe.” you begin to walk away as he looks at you with wide eyes.

“baby-” rafe hurries after you as you start to jog, turning back down the street like nothing happened.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewsephrry

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littlelamy · 19 days ago

Note

Could you write one where the pogue!reader is a super famous horror actress and she’s on break visiting her long time husband (since they were little kids) Rafe and just relaxing in the Obx

hope you like it! ⭐️ after months of relentless filming, you were finally back home. the plane had touched down at sunset, and you breathed in the familiar scent of salt and pine that filled the outer banks air. the soft golden light washed over the sprawling marshlands, casting long shadows that made everything look just a bit more haunted—a fitting setting for a horror actress on break. but for once, you could set aside the haunted characters and the makeup blood. for now, you were just you, finally stepping back into the arms of your long-time love, rafe cameron.

rafe met you at the airport, his easy smile lighting up the way it always had. despite the ups and downs that your job brought, he was always there, waiting to ground you. his arms wrapped around you the second you reached him, his hand finding the back of your neck as he whispered, "finally got my horror queen back."

you laughed, squeezing him tighter, the familiar warmth of him chasing away the chill you hadn’t realized had settled in your bones.

"missed you too, baby."

the days that followed were blissfully uneventful. you’d wake up late, wrapped up in soft sheets and in rafe’s arms, with the sounds of the ocean outside the window. you’d spend mornings sipping coffee on the dock, letting the sun warm your skin while rafe flipped through the local paper, occasionally nudging you with the latest town gossip. it was surreal how easily you slipped back into this life, far from the chaos of your hollywood career.

one afternoon, as the two of you strolled along the beach, rafe turned to you, a smirk playing at his lips. “so, they’re still calling you ‘scream queen,’ right?”

you rolled your eyes, nudging him. “it’s a thing, okay? people love horror.”

“oh, i know,” he teased, arching an eyebrow. “but i don’t get it. the movies… they’re fake. not scary at all.”

you stopped in your tracks, crossing your arms as you gave him an exaggerated glare. “says the guy who jumped when i showed him that clown mask.”

rafe laughed, throwing his arm over your shoulder and pulling you close. “yeah, yeah. don’t spread that around.”

you grinned, letting him steer you down the shoreline. it was in these moments—where he poked fun, where you could laugh until your sides hurt, where the world felt like it was just the two of you against everything else—that you knew exactly why you’d loved him for so long.

that night, after a quiet dinner on the porch of tannyhill, rafe pulled you into his lap, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back. the air was still, filled with the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the waves. you rested your head on his shoulder, savoring the tranquility, aware that your break would be over soon. the quiet of the outer banks would be replaced with lights and cameras and the chill of on-set fog machines.

but tonight, you had him, and he had you. no costumes, no makeup, just the two of you, as you’d been since you were kids. the simplicity of it all felt like a balm, a reminder of who you were beneath the characters and the fame. and as you dozed off in his arms, you knew that no matter where your career took you, you’d always find your way back to this place—back to him.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01

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itneverendshere · 1 month ago

Text

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (five)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst

part one; part two; part three; part four

Rafe could still feel the salt air on his skin, even if he was a thousand miles away from that damn island. It sticks to him, the way the Outer Banks does. Like he could never really shake it off, no matter how fast he ran or how far he got.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for him, not for you.

The bus rattles down the highway, windows fogged up from the heat inside, condensation mixing with the dirt. It stinks—of sweat, of old clothes, of people trying to disappear. Like him. Rafe sank deeper into his seat, arms crossed over his chest, hat pulled low so no one got a good look at him.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have to do this.

They were going to ship him off like a stray dog. Get him out of sight, out of mind.

And Rafe almost did it. For you. He was this close to turning back and going along with it, just to make sure you were safe, make sure your parents didn’t take it out on you. But he knew he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let them win. Couldn’t let them pull him out of your life just like that.

The bus jerked as it hit a pothole, snapping him back to the present. There was an old guy sitting across from him, his head lolling to one side as he snored. People getting out, getting on, moving like ghosts through the aisles. No one looked twice at him, which was exactly how he needed it. He couldn’t take risks of someone recognizing him, not yet. Not while he’s deranged mother could still ship him back wherever she wanted.

You’d think he’d be scared. Rafe didn’t have a car, a plan, not even a place to sleep that night, or the next.. But scared? At this point, he was drained. Tired of running in circles, tired of people telling him who he was, and what he should be. Tired of feeling like he didn’t belong anywhere, except maybe with you.

But that was over now.

And fucking god, he hadn’t slept since. Not a minute. Not since he left. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was you. Lying there in his bed, so peaceful, so damn beautiful, tucked under his arm like you always did. You looked at him that night, just before you drifted off, and smiled like everything was fine. Like you had tomorrow. Like you had forever.

But Rafe knew. He knew it was the last night he’d hold you, the last night he’d wake up next to you. And he didn’t say a fucking word. Didn’t tell you he was leaving. Didn’t tell you that he had no choice but to go. He just watched you sleep, memorized every inch of you—how your hair fell across your face, the way your hand clutched his shirt in your sleep, the way you always stole the blankets.

He could’ve woken you up. Could’ve told you he was running, that he had to leave. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Rafe just couldn’t watch your heart break.

He glanced out the window, watching as the big trees blurred past, the town behind him fading as the distance grew. He didn’t know where he was headed. The only thing Rafe knew is that he couldn’t go back. Police would be looking for him, no doubt. Tony would get them on his case, only for the sake of keeping the money from your parents. Your dad would find another way to keep him as far away from you as possible. He’d probably already planned to shut down any chance of you hearing from Rafe, anyway.

And your dad? He’s probably already planning to shut down any chance of you hearing from him.

Rafe shifted in his seat, pulling his hoodie tighter around him as the bus slowed down at another random stop. Somewhere off the highway, another town that looked just like the last one. The bus groaned as the doors creaked open, and a few people shuffled on. His stomach growls. Haven’t eaten since… well, he can’t remember when. But food wasn’t the priority right now. Staying off the radar for a while was. That, and trying not to think ‘bout you.

But you were all he thought about. All he could think about was you, still wrapped up in those blankets, still asleep, still not knowing it was goodbye. It was driving him out of his mind.

The bus shuddered to a stop again, and he saw a sign out the window. Lincolnville. Some small-ass town that probably only got one diner, one bar, and a bunch of people who didn’t care about strangers. Perfect.

Rafe grabbed his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder as he made his way to the front. The driver gave him a half-assed nod as he stepped off the bus, gravel crunching under his boots. The air was cooler there, crisp and clean, like a different world from the sticky humidity of Kildare.

It was also quiet. Too quiet. Just the sound of the bus pulling away, leaving him behind with nothing but the clothes on his back and a couple of crumpled bills he saved up from work, in his pocket. He glanced down the road and spotted the diner. Neon lights flickering, the kind of place that was open 24/7 but never full. His stomach growled again, and he figured he might as well get something in him.

The bell over the door jingled as Rafe stepped inside, and it was exactly what he had expected. Old-school booths, sticky linoleum floors, and a waitress who looked like she had been working here since before he was born. She eyed him as he slided into a booth by the window, but didn’t say nothin’. Just grabbed a menu from the counter and plopped it in front of him.

“Coffee?” she asked, barely looking at him.

“Yeah, sure,” Rafe muttered, running a hand through his hair, after taking the hat off. “Black.”

She shuffled off, and he stared down at the menu. It was all the same greasy food he’d seen a hundred times before, but it’d do. He ordered a burger, something cheap, and leaned back in the booth, staring out at the empty street.

He thought about you again. Wondered if you were okay, safe. If you’d figured it all out by now. Maybe you did. You were the smartest person he’d ever had the pleasure of loving. The only one really. He wondered if you were still thinking about him.

The waitress sat the coffee down in front of him, steam rising from the cup. He took a sip, the bitterness waking him up just a little. But it didn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling.

Rafe would figure it out. He always did. And maybe, one day, when the dust settled, he’d come back for you.

Time feels different out here, like it slips through his fingers faster than Rafe can keep up. But maybe that’s just how it goes when someone is trying to leave their past behind.

He ended up in a place called Huntsville. It’s about as far from the Outer Banks as he could get without leaving the South. Small town, but big enough where people mind their own business. There’s something peaceful about that—being able to disappear into the background, no one asking too many questions. Just another face in the crowd.

He got a job working at a garage off the highway. Nothing fancy, but it pays the bills. He was lucky enough to find the place when he did.

The owner, Jerry, took him in because he had experience working on engines back home, thanks to his old boss’s obsession with boats and making him learn how to fix them. Jerry didn’t ask much, just showed Rafe what needed fixing and let him do his thing. He’s got a gruff way about him, but he’s fair. Sometimes, Rafe thinks he knows he’s running from something.

Most days, it’s just him and the smell of oil, grease, and old tools. He doesn’t mind it. It’s simple. Clear. He fix what’s broken, and it works again. Not like life. Not like the mess he left behind.

He lives in a run-down apartment above the garage, just a one-room deal with a bed, kitchen, bathroom, and a busted TV. But it his, you know? He doesn’t owe it to anyone. No one can take it from him. He makes more than enough to keep the lights on, and keeps some food in the fridge, and that’s good enough. He never needed much to survive.

He's changed. The baby face he used to have? It’s gone now. Got a scruff of a beard that he can’t be bothered to shave most days. His hair’s longer, falls into his eyes when he’s working. Somedays he feels like shaving the whole thing off, but it doesn’t really matter. He likes it that way—keeps people from getting a good look at him. He’s leaner too, but stronger. Not the gym kind of strong, just the kind that comes from hauling parts and wrenching on cars all day. His hands are even rougher now, calloused from hours of work.

Sometimes, Rafe catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and hardly recognizes the guy staring back. It’s weird, though. He thought if he could change what he looked like, maybe he’d stop feeling like he was still stuck in the same old skin. But that shit doesn’t go away. No matter how much dirt you pile on top of it.

Every now and then, someone’ll ask where he’s from. He usually just says “down east,” keep it vague. The southern drawl gives him away, though. He can’t help it, still talks like he never left the island. He figured it didn’t really matter here—nobody was going to connect him back to Kildare. Back to you.

And that’s the part he still hasn’t shaken.

You. No matter how far he goes, no matter how many miles there are between you, you’re still there. In the back of his mind, in the dreams he has when he’s dead tired from a long day. He tried to let you go. He had to. But it’s like something inside him refuses to forget.

He tried to visit you once. Maybe a year and a half after he left.

You’d gone off to college like you always talked about, following your dreams, doing the things you said you would. He wanted to see you, just one last time, see if you were okay. He figured maybe he’d catch you on campus, just watch from a distance, y’know? See if you were still thinking about him, if you missed me like he missed you.

He didn’t tell a soul where he was going that day. He’d packed up early, threw on an old flannel and a baseball cap, and drove for hours. His heart felt like it was going to give out the whole time, like it was trying to talk him out of it, but he didn’t listen. He couldn’t. All he could think about was seeing you again.

He had to know.

He pulled up to your campus, parked the truck a few blocks away where nobody’d notice him. It was a hell of a lot bigger than he imagined, all these buildings, students walking around like they had somewhere important to be. He felt out of place the second he stepped foot there. His boots scuffed against the concrete, and all he could think about was how different your world was from his now.

He wandered around for a bit, keeping his head low, his cap pulled down over his eyes. He didn’t want anyone seeing him, didn’t want you seeing him. Not yet. He wasn’t ready for that.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting outside with some friends, books spread out on a table in front of you, the sun hitting your face just right. Your laugh carried over to him, soft and sweet, and jesus fucking christ, it was like a shot to his chest.

You looked... free. Like everything was finally falling into place for you. Like you didn’t have a single worry in the world.

He couldn’t move. Just stood there, hidden in the shadows of some tree, watching you. You were so beautiful it damn near took his breath away. You were smiling and it hit him then.

He’d been holding onto this idea of you—of who you were when you were together—but maybe that wasn’t you anymore. You’d moved on. You had a life now, one that didn’t have space for a guy like him.

You were really doing what you always said you’d do. Living your dreams. Being somebody.

He thought about what would happen if he stepped out from behind that tree, if you saw him. You’d probably cry, maybe even run up to him, throw your arms around him like old times. But then what?

He knew you. Knew how you were. You’d ask him where he’d been, what happened, and before he knew it, you’d be trying to figure out how to fix everything for him. That’s who you were. You’d sacrifice everything, drop all the shit you’d been working so hard for, just because you thought you could save him.

He couldn’t let you do that.

So he stood there, taking it all in—how happy you looked, how light you seemed without him. It hurt like hell, but a part of him was relieved too. You were okay. Better than okay.

You were doing fine without him. He could live with that.

He drove back to Huntsville that night, the road ahead of him hazy with tears he refused to let fall. By the time he got back, it was late, the town quiet, the lights in the garage flickering like they always did.

Rafe parked the truck, and just sat there.

He hadn’t seen you since. Never tried again. You were better off without him. Shit, maybe that’s what he needed to believe to keep going. Because if he didn’t, if he let himself think about how good it felt to see you again, even from a distance, he’d never be able to stay away.

And hell, maybe that’s why he’s been stuck here, never really able to shake it. Even now, when he closes his eyes at night, he thinks about what it would’ve been like if he’d stayed. If he’d found some way to fight instead of run. But he was too scared.

Scared that you’d grown to hate him for what he did.

He tried to move on. There’ve been other women. Just passing flings, nothing serious. They come and go, and none of them stick around long enough to really matter. Not that Rafe ever let them. It’s easier that way—keeping things light, keeping things simple. But every time he looks at one of them, he’s thinking about you. Every time they smile at him, he’s thinking about your pretty grin, about the way your eyes lit up when you two were alone, just you and him, like the world didn’t exist outside of those walls.

But he knows he can’t get that back. Fuck, maybe he doesn’t deserve to. He left. He ran. And that’s on him. He didn’t tell you, didn’t give you a chance to follow him.

The morning is already sweltering by the time Rafe gets to the garage. Another scorcher, sun beating down like it’s trying to fry him alive. Sweat clung to him before he even started working, so he decided to strip his shirt off, letting the heat hit his bare skin. His shoulders are broad now, tanned from long hours out in the sun, grease smeared across his chest and arms from a morning spent elbow-deep in some busted old engine. He runs a hand through his hair—it's shorter than the day before. He’d cut it himself last night and shaved the beard too.

First time in months he’d even thought about doing it. He grabs a rag, wiping the oil from his hands as he bends against the open hood of the car.

“Rafe!”

Jerry’s voice snaps him out of it, the old man waving him over from under the hood of another car. “Need a hand with this transmission. You gonna help me with this, or you gonna stand there daydreamin’?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it,” Rafe mutters, shaking his head and bending back over the engine, grabbing a wrench from the toolbox and heading over. The work is good for him. Keeps his mind off everything, keeps his hands busy and his head clear.

Jerry grunts, sliding further under the car on the creeper. “Pass me that ratchet, will ya?”

He grabs the tool from the bench and hands it over. “Here.”

The old man doesn’t even look up. Just keeps working as he rambles away.

“Transmission’s shot to hell, but we’ll get it runnin’ again. Always do.” He grunts again as he tightened something, then mutters to himself, “Damn thing’s been makin’ more noise than my wife at a family reunion.”

Rafe can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, well, you tell her that, not me.”

Jerry’s laugh rumbles out from under the car, "Boy, if I told her that, I’d be sleeping in this garage for the rest of my life."

Rafe smirks as he watches him work. Sweat trickles down his back, and he wipes his forehead with his arm. The summer heat’s brutal, like there’s no air left to breathe.

“Speaking of wives,” Jerry starts, sliding out from under the car, cleaning his hands on a dirty rag. “You ever think about it? You know, settlin’ down? Gettin' yourself a girl, maybe even kids someday?”

The question catches him off guard. He huffs out a breath, avoiding Jerry’s eyes as he fiddles with a wrench, trying to act like it doesn’t mean much to him. “Nah, not really.”

The older man raises an eyebrow, giving him one of those looks like he’s not buying it.

“Don’t gimme that. Every time we go down to Smitty’s for a drink, you start lookin’ all mopey. Especially after a couple beers. Start talkin’ about this girl you left behind.”

He tenses. He doesn’t like where this is going, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about you. Not here. Not now. He sets the wrench down with a clink and leans against the car, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe.” Jerry shrugs, grabbing a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it up. “But from the way you talk about her, she still rattlin’ around in that head of yours.”

Rafe stays quiet, staring at the oil-stained floor, the cigarette smoke swirling in the humid air. He can’t deny it. You’re always there, no matter how far he runs, no matter how hard he tries to forget.

Jerry takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slow, like he’s thinking about something “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to pry, but you ever think about goin’ back? Maybe fixin' things with her?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Nah, she’s better off without me. She’s got a whole life now. College, friends, probably some new guy too.” His voice sounds bitter, even to him, but he can’t help it. “No reason for me to go screwin’ that up.”

“Maybe. But from the way you talk, sounds like she was pretty important to you. And if she was, maybe you oughta stop runnin' and try to figure out if there’s still somethin’ there.”

It’s not that simple. It’s never that simple. He left for a reason.

“Besides,” Jerry continues, a little grin tugging at his lips. “I ain’t never heard you talk about another girl the way you talk about her.”

Rafe shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t talk about her.”

“Oh, you do,” Jerry chuckles, flicking his cigarette butt onto the ground. “You just don’t realize it. Especially when you’re a few beers deep. Start mumblin’ about ‘the girl.’ Always ‘the girl.’ Like there ain’t no other one that ever mattered.”

He’s never meant to say anything. Those nights at the bar, when the drinks start flowing and the memories start flooding back, he tries to keep a lid on it. But sometimes, it slips out. And it’s always you.

He pushes off the car, grabbing the ratchet again, trying to ignore the mess of feelings inside him. “That’s just the way it is.”

Jerry nods, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Well, you do what you gotta do. Just don’t wait too long. Life’s funny like that—if you don’t grab what you want when you have the chance, sometimes it’s gone before you know it.”

He knows the old man’s right, but what the hell’s he supposed to do?

Show up at your door, after all this time, after all the silence, and what—ask you to throw it all away for him? For a guy who ran at the first sign of trouble?

They work in comfortable silence for a bit, the hum of the fans and the clang of tools filling the space. He likes it better this way. But then the sound of tires crunching on gravel gets his attention. A car pulls up outside, engine smooth as silk. Not the usual beat-up trucks or clunkers they got in this place.

Jerry’s voice is muffled, back under the car. “Go check that out. Might be my 4 o’clock appointment.”

He stands, stepping over some scattered tools as he makes his way toward the open garage door. “Yeah, I’m on it.”

As he gets outside, the sun hits him full force again, baking his skin. He squints against the glare, but his eyes are already on the car parked just outside.

“Damn,” he whistles, low under his breath.

It's nice. Real nice. Some high-end, foreign model he didn’t see around these parts. Glossy black paint, chrome accents. Clean, like it’d just rolled off the lot. Whoever owns it has money. More than anyone he has ever known in this town.

He steps closer, his eyes running over the curves of the car. He can almost feel the engine purrin’ from where he stands. He hasn’t worked on a car like this in a long time, not since—

But before he can finish the thought, he hears a voice.

“Uh, excuse me?”

It’s soft, hesitant.

Wait a fucking minute.

His body moves before he can think about it, and when he finally locks eyes with the person standing a few feet away, he nearly passes out on the spot.

He must be hallucinating.

It’s you.

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favefandomimagines · 1 month ago

Text

Dirty Little Secret (j.m)

Summary: who knew loving a Pogue could be so complicated?

AN: the results of the poll!! Secret relationship with JJ but with a happy ending! If you all ask for it, maybe I’ll post the sad version! 😉

The salty breeze blew across the shore of the Outer Banks, rustling through the palm trees and carrying with it the whispers of secrets long held. JJ Maybank stood on the edge of the pier, looking out at the water, his thoughts far away despite the familiar sound of the crashing waves.

He was a man of the Outer Banks, born and raised on the Cut—the side the tourists avoided, the side where life was tough and nothing came easy. The "Pogue" life.

But she...she was different. She was from Figure Eight, where the mansions lined the coast and everything was perfect—or at least it looked that way from afar.

She lived in a world of privilege that JJ could hardly imagine, but that didn’t stop him from falling for her. She had a warmth, an intelligence, a spark that had drawn him in from the first time they met. Against all odds, they had started something.

They had been together for a while now—the longest relationship JJ had ever been in, if he was being honest. That was something new for him. And he knew it wasn’t fair, keeping it a secret. At first, it had made sense. The difference in their worlds was too big, too glaring.

Her parents would never approve of her dating a Pogue, and his friends…well, it wasn’t like he was ashamed, but he just didn’t want to deal with the questions, the jokes. He was good at pretending he didn’t care about anything, but when it came to her, everything felt different.

She had been okay with it, too. At least at first. The secrecy added a thrill to their meetings, late-night drives where no one could see them, stolen kisses on the beach when they were sure no one was around. But now, things were starting to shift, and he could feel it.

The party was in full swing by the time she arrived, the bass from the music thumping loud enough to feel in her bones. It was one of those big beach parties, half the island’s kids gathered under the stars with the bonfire roaring, beer cans scattered across the sand. She scanned the crowd, looking for JJ.

They hadn’t come together—of course, they couldn’t. She had her own friends from Figure Eight, but they didn’t run in the same circles as JJ’s crew. But her heart raced when she thought about seeing him. Despite the secrecy, despite the sneaking around, she was falling hard for him.

But as she wove her way through the crowd, her heart stumbled.

There he was, right in the middle of his usual group: John B, Sarah, Pope, and...Kie.

Her breath caught as she watched them. JJ was laughing at something Pope said, but it wasn’t his laughter that bothered her. It was the way his hand was intertwined with Kie’s as they moved through the crowd together.

They weren’t holding hands like a couple, but the sight of it still hit her hard. JJ was helping Kie navigate through the throngs of people, his grip firm on her hand so they wouldn’t get separated.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way Kie looked at him. A look she recognized too well because it was the same way she looked at JJ—like he was the only one who mattered in the world. Her stomach twisted as insecurity gnawed at her.

Was she imagining things? Or was there something more between JJ and Kie than just friendship?

Her heart sank further as she saw Kie laugh at something JJ whispered in her ear, their bodies close as they moved toward the bonfire. She turned away, not wanting to see more. For the first time since they’d started sneaking around, she felt like maybe she wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

Later that night, after the party had died down and most of the crowd had scattered, JJ found her on the beach, sitting alone on a log, the flames of the bonfire flickering in the distance. He could tell right away something was off. She wasn’t her usual playful self, and she didn’t light up when he walked over to her like she normally did.

“What’s going on?” JJ asked, sitting beside her, the weight of the night pressing down on him.

She stared at the ground, the sand cold beneath her feet. “I saw you earlier. With Kie.”

JJ frowned. “Kie? What about her?”

“I saw you two holding hands,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “And the way she looks at you, JJ… It’s the same way I look at you.”

JJ blinked, caught off guard. “Kie? She’s my friend. You know that.”

“I know she’s your friend, but…” She trailed off, unsure how to say what she was feeling. “I’ve never been worried about you and other girls before, but tonight…I don’t know. It just felt different.”

JJ sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not like that with Kie. She’s like one of the guys. We’ve known each other forever.”

She nodded, but the doubt in her heart still lingered. “I don’t know, JJ. I guess seeing you two together made me realize how insecure I’ve been feeling lately. We’re always hiding, always sneaking around. And now…I’m starting to wonder if I’m the only one who feels this way.”

JJ shifted uncomfortably, not used to conversations like this. He wasn’t good with feelings—he’d always been better at shutting them down than dealing with them. But something about the look in her eyes made him pause.

“You’re not,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “I care about you. You know that.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his. “Do you? Because sometimes I feel like I’m just…here. In the background. Like you don’t know what you want.”

JJ stared at the sand, struggling to find the right words. “It’s not that simple.”

She let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t meant for this moment to come so soon, but it was now or never. “I love you, JJ.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. JJ’s eyes widened in surprise. No one had ever said that to him before, not like that. Love wasn’t something he knew how to handle, wasn’t something he was used to.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he just stared at her, unsure of how to react.

Her heart sank at his silence, tears welling up in her eyes. She had been afraid of this—afraid that she was more invested in this relationship than he was. Afraid that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t enough.

“I think we need to take a break,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I need to give you time to figure out what you want. And who you want.”

JJ’s chest tightened at her words. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that he didn’t need time to figure anything out, but something in him held back. Maybe she was right. Maybe he wasn’t ready to handle something as big as this.

He watched as she stood up, wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“I love you, JJ,” she repeated, her voice soft but firm. “But I can’t be the only one who feels that way.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving JJ sitting alone on the beach, staring after her.

Days passed, and the space between them grew wider. JJ tried to keep busy, throwing himself into life with John B, Pope, and the others, but nothing seemed to take his mind off her. He missed her more than he expected, but he didn’t know how to fix things.

Then, one day, Sarah pulled him aside, a serious look on her face.

“Did you know my brother asked her out?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

JJ’s heart dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said, crossing her arms. “He’s had a crush on her for years. He asked her out, and she said yes.”

JJ felt a surge of panic rise in his chest. He knew Rafe was bad news, and the thought of her with him made his blood boil. He couldn’t lose her—not to someone like Rafe.

That night, without thinking twice, JJ made his way to her house. He knew it was risky, showing up unannounced, but he didn’t care. He had to see her. He had to tell her how he felt.

When she opened the door, her eyes widened in surprise. “JJ? What are you doing here?”

“I can’t do this,” he blurted out, his heart pounding. “I can’t let you go. I know I’ve screwed up, and I don’t know how to be in a relationship, but I choose you. I choose you over anyone, including myself.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he stepped closer, his voice raw with emotion.

“I can’t promise I won’t mess up again,” he continued, “because I don’t know how to do this. But I’ve never had someone love me like you do. And I promise I’ll love you the best way I can. I just…I need you.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, her heart racing as she looked into his eyes. Then, slowly, she smiled, her walls crumbling as she reached for him.

“I choose you too, JJ,” she whispered. “I always have.”

And in that moment, under the glow of the porch light, they found each other again.

#imagine #imagines #outer banks #jj maybank #rafe cameron #outer banks imagine #kiara carrera #john b routledge #rudy pankow #sarah cameron #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj obx

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shiggyscumrag · 3 months ago

Note

HEY HEY !! Just read your Logan fic and I NEED MORE , your writing is amazing. Please could we get some pain kink/masochist Logan with a slightly dom reader , fem or gn idm!!!

I HOPE YOU ARE WELL !!!

(Specifcally thinking of the scene where he puts the cigar out on his hand.)

HEYYY POOKIE!!!! 💋💋 thank you so much you’re too sweet 🫶🏻 I am in LOVE with this request so I will indulge you lol. I did not proofread this so I apologize for any warnings I might miss and for any mistakes/misspellings!!

Synopsis: Logan was having so much fun teasing and edging you all night long, while you were growing more frustrated by the minute. Deciding you aren’t waiting any longer, you hop on top and show him just how you want it. Maybe some pain will make him remember who’s in charge.

Warnings: choking, biting, hickies, edging, top reader with sub Logan, hair pulling, Logan using his claws on you, freaky shiz

One hand circling at your clit and the other wrapped around your throat. Tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks as his cock pushed in and out of you at an absolutely brutal pace. Your legs over his shoulder stretched as far as they could possibly go. Panting to keep up you were getting close again. He knew that, yet Logan just loved the flush on your face and the tears in the corner of your eyes too much to stop. Then he did. Pulling both his hands away and stalling his hips still deep inside you.

“How much longer are you gonna make me wait!” You whine out hands starting to trail down to your clit. Hoping to find some relief since he’s enjoying his games a little too much.

“No, no, now you know better than to try that.” He grumbles in a raspy manner wrapping his hands around your wrists pinning them above your head. Face to face he plants a kiss to each cheek and then your jaw slowly working his way down your neck. He places a gentle kiss on each collar bone, you start arching up your chest to meet his hot lips. Kissing down in between your tits he starts moving farther tickling the skin on your stomach with his beard. Coming back up right before he could place a kiss on your clit he laughs.

“How bad do you want it?” He has to be joking right? You’ve been begging to cum for an HOUR! Retracting his claws only an inch or two he drags them across your outer thighs, the cold metal making you shiver.

“Real fucking bad.” You tease letting your voice lower into a deeper octave feigning a whimper, your legs snake around his waist bringing him even closer. Smirking he leans farther down to kiss you slightly loosening his grip on your wrists. Perfect.

Using your body strength you flip him onto his back now holding his hands above his head. Grinding down on his dick he groans in confusion.

“What the hell? This is hot, but-” interrupting him your other hands covers his mouth. He tried to move his hands but you hold steady so he doesn’t put up a fight. Stilling he gives into your little game.

“I want to cum. So hold on hot stuff.” Not giving him any warning you slip him in with no hands. Moaning loud his hands instinctively went to grab your hips. Holding strong you let out a laugh beginning to ride him.

“Not tonight baby. You had your chance to fuck me. I’m in charge now pretty boy.” You lean down whispering into his ear. Placing a kiss right behind his ear you continue to bounce on his cock. Biting down hard on his pressure point has him moaning loudly right in your ear. You taste a little metallic in your mouth. You can feel him twitch in you and it had your walls fluttering around him. Looking down at him you see his claws starting to poke out again, and an idea popped up in your pretty little mind.

“Use your claws on me.” You almost laughed at how his tightly shut eyes opened so wide so quickly. It was inhumanly fast. No pun intended.

“What?” He asks almost like you’re fucking crazy. Maybe he’s a little right.

“Scratch down my back like I do yours. Just be a little more gentle than me.” Pulling your hand off his wrist he sits up his chest meeting yours. He chuckles under his breath at your comment, his hands finding the small of your back squeezing slightly. You jumped a little when you felt his cold claws start to apply pressure on the top of your shoulders. Looking longingly into Logan’s eyes you don’t hold back the moan that breaks from your throat when you feel him start dragging his claws down your back. The pressure breaking your skin lightly, marks forming in their wake. Halfway down your head falls back and you feel really close. The sting and sudden burn has your vision blurring in the best way possible.

“Fuck you’re so sexy.” He’s grinning wide with a scrunch in his brow. Biting your lip you look back down at him, your legs growing tired but you’re determined to make him cum with no help. Maximum effort as Wade would say. Your left hand finds his throat squeezing hard and pulling him into a sloppy hot kiss while the other grips his shoulder. You start to bounce faster curving your pelvis into his. He starts to pull away moaning but you hold onto his bottom lip, biting him playfully before letting go.

“Holy shit- I’m gonna cum!” He grunts out. Holding back a very obvious whine. It came out a little bit at the end. He was gonna be the death of you.

You almost cum from those words alone. Moaning, coming out more like a bratty whine, you take your hand away from his throat to rub your clit. The hand on his shoulder moving to the base of his neck, pulling on his hair deliciously. Head falling back Logan’s hands crush your waist forming a bruising grip. Just from the pure pleasure consuming him. Finding the perfect rhythm you can feel the final stroke before you cum all over his cock. Milking him you can feel him fill you up no more then a few seconds later. The shudder that runs through his body has your body heating up and your lips curl into a smile.

“Logan! Oh fuck- fuck that feels so good!” You’re now shaking as you slow your pace. Still riding out your high his hands make their way to your hips guiding you.

“God, you ride me so pretty princess. Made me feel so good.” Kissing your neck he starts to give you a hickey. Moaning his name again you feel satisfied.

I’ll write more masochist and or sadist Logan in the future bc I enjoyed writing this but I’m not completely satisfied with it.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #logan howlett xmen #logan howlett fic #wolverine x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #wolverine xmen #wolverine #top reader #sub Logan howlett

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al-the-remix · 3 months ago

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BuckTommy Whump Week Day 4: Prompts: Getting shot // Chronic pain

Another fic for @bucktommywhumpweek! I'm hoping to finish a few more of these before the week is actually over, lol. Rated: E ... I don't know if this really qualifies as whump (like my last whump week fic 💀) but I just can't help making them all sappy atm.

What people didn’t know about bullets was that they rarely went through-and-through in a nice neat manner; not through walls, or car doors, or flesh. They bounced around inside you like a rubber ball, inflicting the most damage possible.

Buck had seen the aftermath more times than would have liked to.

The memory of being called to his first GSW was a visceral one, it had been a domestic dispute and once they’d loaded the victim into the bus, Hen had rubbed his back as he’d thrown up into some nearby shrubbery. Buck could still feel the acid burn in the back of his throat when he remembered it.

He’d seen cadaver photos in his text books, but those never compared to the real thing. The sheer volume of blood that poured out of people was enough to make him nauseous just thinking about it. The cartoonish version of a bullet hole that he’d carried around in his head for most of his life just hadn’t held up.

Maybe it had been shortsighted of him, but Buck had never taken the time to consider what might come later; not until Tommy had taken Buck’s hand in his own and laid it over the meat of his shoulder and let Buck feel the little knobs of bullet fragments lodged there, like ball bearings trapped beneath his skin.

“Do they bother you?” Buck asked, in wonder.

“Not often,” Tommy replied, his hand still blanketing Buck’s as he let him dig his fingers into his shoulder muscle like he would be more than happy to just leave it there forever. “Most of the time I forget they're even there.”

Buck found that hard to believe. He couldn’t imagine having a foreign object stuck in his body and not obsessing over it every moment of every day.

Tommy was giving him an amused, knowing look.

“What?”

“You’re going to be thinking about those for a while aren’t you?”

Buck huffed, rolling his eyes. It was a little unsettling maybe, sometimes, being understood so through and quickly by another person. He liked it; it made him feel all shivery and warm inside, but more importantly it made him feel daring. Bold.

“Yeah, maybe I will.”

Tommy took Buck’s hand in his own: his palm big, warm and dry, and slid it down to rest on the muscular curve of his outer thigh. “There’s some more over here too,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows as Buck gave all the nice warm flesh there a squeeze.

There wasn’t a lot of talking after that, but Tommy had been right, Buck had thought about it for a while, his mind stuck on invisible scars and mementoes carried around inside you that no one else could see.

///

Buck wasn’t sure if it was the thunder or the soft orange glow spilling into the mezzanine that woke him. Quiet noises came from the kitchen below, the muted purr of the kettle and the shuffle of Tommy’s socked feet against the tile. Tommy had still been in Buck’s bed when he’d fallen asleep hours ago, tucked up against Tommy’s side as Tommy read by the lamp light.

Buck pulled on his sweatpants and made his way down to the main floor, feeling oddly awake for 4 am. He rarely had a bad night’s sleep when Tommy was with him, taking up space in Buck’s bed and stealing his covers.

Tommy sent him a guilty look when he noticed Buck, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, not pulling honey from Buck’s kitchen cabinet. He was wearing one of Buck’s old hoodies and some sleep shorts. The circles under his eyes were dark and deep. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he whispered like Buck might be standing there in front of him, still asleep.

“I don’t mind,” Buck said and meant it. He wasn't the one with the shift in far too few hours.

Buck leaned back against the edge of the counter crossing his arms as he did, and settled in. He knew whatever was bothering Tommy would work its way out on its own, like a splinter buried beneath skin. He watched quietly as Tommy stirred honey into his tea. Buck was no stranger to sleepless nights and aching bones. Tommy had sat with him through some of the more recent bad nights, endlessly patient.

Buck watched him closely, quietly analyzing the tilt of his body and the clench of his jaw as Tommy leaned against the counter opposite him. The cool light from the stove hugged the contours of his face, digging out dark wedges beneath those cheekbones that could cut glass.

“Well, aren't you gonna ask?”

Buck shrugged. “I figured I'd just wait you out.”

Tommy sighed, setting his mug to the side. He was smart enough to know when he was on the losing side of a battle. “It's the scar tissue around the shrapnel I've still got in me. Every so often it begins to pull in uncomfortable ways and makes it impossible to get settled.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Tommy tilted his head like he was really considering Buck and his words. “Honestly I don't know, I normally just take an Ibuprofen and put on a movie or something and try to just ignore it.”

“Well, I think we can do better than that,” Buck said, and Tomy raised a brow, curiosity peaked.

With hands planted firmly on Tommy’s shoulders, Buck guided him back upstairs to bed and got him splayed out on his belly across the center of the mattress on a towel, sweater-less, with his arms tucked comfortably under his head.

“Finally, just where I want you,” Buck teased as he straddled Tommy’s waist, reaching for the massage oil. He could feel Tommy’s laugh vibrate through his ribcage, muffled by the pillow.

Buck admired the span of Tommy’s back as he warmed the oil up between his hands, deciding where to begin. The bullet and shrapnel scars were faint now, Buck knew their locations by memory and feel alone. He started by smoothing his hands up the center of Tommy’s back, following the column of his spine and the thick muscles flanking it, getting Tommy warmed up and used to his touch before applying more pressure.

Buck always preferred to talk while he worked, and with Tommy the smooth flow of words came easy. If he let himself, he could probably let his mouth run for hours, and Tommy would listen.

“You know, I wanted to be a masseuse for a while.”

Tommy hummed, his eyes had drifted shut when Buck began to work on the tight knot of tissue just below his shoulder blade, he peeled one open now, offering Buck an amused look over his shoulder. “And which hunky guy did you follow that career into?”

“Ha ha,” Buck said, poking his fingers playfully into Tommy's side, just to watch him squirm. “Actually, it was after working at the ranch, there was this ex bronco rider, who had compressed his spine one too many times, mucking out stalls with me. He told me all about how his girlfriend had taken massage therapy classes to help him with his back because his insurance wouldn’t cover the treatment.”

“Ah, so it was a hunky girl that time.”

Buck chuckled. He liked how easy it was to talk with Tommy about stuff like this; he wasn’t ashamed of himself or his past, but he was wary of how people might perceive him because of it. He’d wanted so badly for Tommy to think of him as a serious person, to know that Buck was all in. That dating him didn’t imply some sort of unspoken risk–and with Tommy it never had.

“You know me–I always liked the idea of helping people, I just didn't know how, yet.”

“Maybe I’m being selfish, but I think you ended up right where you were supposed to be,” Tommy said, and groaned in pleasure when Buck really started working at the scar tissue webbed deep within his back muscle.

“How’s that feel?” Buck asked, anticipating Tommy's approval.

“Fucking awesome.”

Buck grinned. He knew he was good with his hands, but it was a whole nother thing entirely to be good with his hands for Tommy. Pleased with himself, a heavy satisfaction settled warm in the pit of his stomach. He loved everything about this: having Tommy pliable and relaxed beneath him, working slick skin over with his hands, making Tommy feel good, being able to help in some small way.

Buck shuffled down, straddling Tommy’s leg so he could work his fingers into the outside of Tommy’s thigh where he knew a metal shard the size of his thumbnail lived. That one had been logged in there when an IED had struck the lead vehicle in their convoy, and some of Buck’s satisfaction melted away as he thought about just how many close calls his boyfriend’s body was littered with. He was normally the one getting shit for taking risks, but in truth Tommy was just as guilty as he was.

Tommy had gone completely boneless underneath him, his skin pink and a little shiny from having Buck’s oiled up hands all over him. He continued to rub gently circles into his skin even after he’d finished with the final shrapnel wound he knew of, running his nails lightly over the thick swirls of hair on the backs of Tommy’s legs.

Tommy shifted his hips against the mattress, spreading his legs a little wider. Buck knew that move, and that satisfaction in his gut twisted and flared back to life. He slid his hands up the backs of Tommy’s thighs as slowly as he could handle.

“Are you hard?” he asked, worming his fingers under the hem of Tommy’s shorts when he reached them.

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed. “That felt really good, but, uh, we don’t have to do anything, you must be tired and–”

He was starting to sound way too with it for Buck’s liking. Buck dug his thumbs into the soft inner flesh of Tommy’s thighs and let his hips roll in a slow, pointed drag along the back of Tommy’s leg so there was no way he could miss the semi Buck was sporting.

Tommy’s muscles jumped under his hands as he groaned. “Okay, Okay, you’ve made your point. Help me out of these–”

Buck was more than happy to peel Tommy’s shorts down his legs as Tommy lifted his hips obligingly. He had half a mind to just dump a generous amount of the oil on Tommy’s big pale ass and go to town, but he had a feeling that would probably ruin the [slowly winding] mood they’d built.

In a show of what he considered great restraint, Buck slipped a slick hand between Tommy’s thighs, rolling his balls softly in the palm of his hand just to hear the noises he would make. Quiet chuffs and deep groans were muffled by the pillow as Tommy ground his hips in lazy circles against the mattress and back into Buck’s hand, and Buck was starting to think he’d never get over how good it felt to have another man like this: a big body to push and pull and work at until it ultimately unraveled.

Buck stretched up so he could press a kiss to the thick curve of Tommy’s shoulder, not caring one bit about the oil that still clung to his skin. He let his hand drift up and rubbed his slick fingers indulgently over Tommy’s asshole, gratified by the way he moaned and pushed into it.

“You can if you want to,” Tommy said, breathless, and Buck could tell without even looking at his face how gone he was just from having Buck’s hands on him.

“I have a better idea,” Buck said, pulling at Tommy’s hip. “Here–roll onto your side for me.”

It didn’t take Tommy long to clue in once Buck pressed himself all up along his back and reached for the bottle of oil again, slicking his dick up in the shallow space between their bodies.

His body tensed when realization dawned. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Evan– ”

And it was Tommy’s turn to lose his cool, his voice reedy and feverish, a thin tremor through his body as Buck maneuvered his thigh so he could fit his dick into that hot, tight space between them. He wrapped an arm around the barrel of Tommy’s chest, pinning him tight against his own as Buck took that first long, indulgent roll of his hips.

Buck had always enjoyed fucking someone’s thighs–what wasn’t there to like–but there was something specific about the way Tommy got so worked up over it, even in the early hours of the morning after a sleepless night, even when Buck had just worked his body to jello with his hands, that rocketed the act up into the stratosphere.

Tommy squeezed his thighs around him, Buck could hear the labored cadence of his breathing and the obscene sounds of him fisting his own cock, as Buck fucked the slick give of his thighs. The way the head of his dick kept nudging up against the soft resistance of Tommy’s balls with every stroke was still just different enough to scratch at Buck’s brain in new and interesting ways.

Tommy’s fingers dug into his hair, pulling Buck’s face down so he could slide their mouth together at an awkward angle. The kiss was sloppy, Tommy kept sucking Buck’s tongue into his mouth and then breaking away to moan again and again as he got closer to coming. Buck could feel it all through his body, wound like a coil ready to spring. He wasn’t far behind, his plan to keep things slow and simmering had fallen through quickly. He should have known better; with Tommy pressed against him like one big throbbing pulse, overwhelming Buck’s senses with the musky scent of his body, and the sounds he made when he touched himself, and how good it felt to rut against him like this, the desperate slide of skin against skin, there was just no chance he was going to last.

Buck buried his face in the hollow of Tommy’s shoulder, just above where that pale constellation of shrapnel lived, and stilled as he came in thick pulses all along Tommy’s taint, that little space between his thighs instantly going wet and frictionless.

Tommy made a wounded sound, and Buck held him tight in the cradle of his arms as Tommy hitched his hips into his fist until he came. He was still pressing kisses against Tommy’s damp hairline when Tommy reached up and laced their fingers together, no longer shaking.

“Well, I’m definitely not thinking about the stupid shrapnel anymore.”

“Good,” Buck said, allowing himself to feel smug about it. “My work here is done.”

“Not so quick hot stuff,” Tommy said, reaching back to pat him on the hip. “I expect your help de-oiling in the shower. I think this mess is a four-handed operation.”

“Yes, sir.” Buck peeled himself from where he’d been clinging to Tommy like a limpet.

He took a moment to admire the long, glistening stretch of Tommy’s body, limp and satisfied. Debauched, even.

"What?" Tommy asked, stretching his arms above his head as he rolled onto his back, offering Buck a good view of where his come was actively drying in his happy trail. Buck would have a fun time scrubbing that out.

"Nothing, I'm just happy you're here, with me."

Tommy face went immediately soft and he pressed up on his knees so he could pull Buck into one more lingering kiss before breaking away.

"There's no where I'd rather be."

#bucktommy #mine

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fawnforgold · 7 months ago

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| Picture You |

Pairing: Dottore x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Soft Sex, Reader goes by no pronouns, Dottore goes by He/Him pronouns, Fingering, Reader has a vagina, Hurt/Comfort (More implied rather than explicitly stated), Aftercare, Soft Dottore, Established Relationship, 800 ish words.

A/n: I want to be loved by Dottore, that is all. This is lowkey selfship coded but you didn’t hear that from me.

You gasped. “N-Not there, it’s sensitive.”

Looking up at Dottore with half-lidded eyes you bit your lip, holding back whimpers as he carefully circled your bud with the pad of his finger.

He looked at you with an unreadable expression. “Just relax.”

With one hand he rubbed your outer thigh as he continued gently circling your clit. You let your head fall back as your breathing grew heavier. He was incredibly gentle and careful with every move he made, treating you with the utmost care. You let out a quiet moan as he quickened the pace in which he touched you, and hummed in satisfaction as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly. His touch was like silk, welcoming and warm. You lifted up your head again to connect your gaze with Dottore’s. Those ruby eyes remained just as comforting as you’d remembered, there was something so peaceful about getting lost in the color of them.

“You’re doing so good.” He purred.

Dottore lifted up his free hand to stroke his knuckle lightly against the side of your face. He tilted his head and smiled tenderly, you always did look so beautiful in the light of his bedroom.

“More?” He asked, already knowing just what you wanted.

You nodded in approval.

Gradually he added one finger and then another before he started to slowly move them inside of you. The sensation felt better than you thought it would. Perhaps it was even more pleasurable than the last time he had done it, but you were far too focused on the euphoria to think too hard about it. He could feel your walls begin to tighten around his fingers, pushing you closer to the high you were trying to achieve. It was evident from the look on your face that you were truly relaxed, an expression he had long hoped to see you wear.

You covered your mouth with your hand to suppress your moans but Dottore swiftly removed it and gave you a stern look.

“I want to hear you.” He explained.

You averted your gaze out of shame, but he was quick to quell any worries you had.

“There’s no reason to hold back.” His eyes stared into your soul. “Just trust me.”

It was a tall order, especially coming from Dottore, but you did your best to put your faith in him regardless. He had begun to pick up the pace as well as add another finger inside of you. Dottore made come hither motions inside of you as you allowed yourself to let go and cry out his name. He didn’t have many strong emotions about his new name, but hearing it from your tongue caused something sweet to bloom across his chest.

Your body writhed and back arched as he kept a steady pace, watching with pride as you grew closer and closer to cloud nine. Throwing your head back you let out a loud moan, gripping onto the blankets beneath you as Dottore finally pushed you over the edge. As you came all over his hand your ears had begun to ring, almost as if you ceased to exist in the moment you ascended to godhood. Instead of clinging to the blankets you reached out for your lover’s hand, using one of your hands closest to him to latch your fingers around his wrist. You squeezed it tightly as your body arched and squirmed against his hands.

While you tried to come down from your ascension Dottore had carefully removed his fingers from inside of you and pulled you into lap, cradling you close to his chest as you panted through your dizzying daze. With one hand cupping your head and the other wrapped firmly around your body he rocked you side to side, shushing you as if you were a crying child. Resting your head against his shoulder you gradually felt yourself become soothed into a quiet state, enjoying the feeling of warm skin against even warmer skin. His touch was something you hadn’t realized you craved so strongly until that moment, and then it was the only thing you dreamt about.

Very slowly you moved a hand up to the collar of his shirt to hold onto it loosely. You sighed as you felt the relief of the familiar fabric, and nuzzled your head weakly against his neck as you felt yourself drift off to sleep. Dottore did not move even after you fell asleep, holding you close to his body as he hummed in satisfaction to the sound of your breathing evening out. Eventually he would move but for that moment he chose to rest his head against yours and continued rocking you into a blissful state, letting a small smile curve the corners of his mouth until he too felt calmer.

#dottore x reader #dottore x you #dottore x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #dottore smut #genshin smut

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thewriterg · 1 year ago

Text

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

pairing(s): miles morales x fem!reader, miles morales x witch!reader, earth!42 Miles x fem!reader? earth!42 miles x witch!reader,

summary: You had been dating your vigilante boyfriend for a few months now but to his surprise you were hiding something a little more than complicated

word count: 2.4k+

request: Hi, if your request are open. Can I ask for a Miles Morales x fem witch reader or headcanons. Fem reader has powers and is a witch. She always carries a Spellbook and can always sense danger when it happens. How would Miles react and feel about reader being a witch? Sorry, if this is to much lovely. -@mbruben-stein

warning(s): reader hurts miles on accident, spidey/prowler activities, mentions of blood, spells, witchcraft, a little angst (I couldn’t help myself 😖), very VERY rusty Spanish it’s been a while, kisses, pet names, Both Miles are older in this like 17, and language

A/n:—GIFs; @manny-jacinto & @xmoon-soul-vibrationsx, @merakyn & — This was too fun to write 😭

1610 Miles 𖤐

Being honest completely and totally honest he would find out by total ACCIDENT

I feel like you would knew he was Spiderman your young, but with your craft you’ve matured and gotten a lot wiser

Everyone’s vibrations were different but it was something about Miles that simply was not… normal

That and the fact every time he’d cancel on you with a million apologies Spiderman would seemingly be spotted somewhere around Brooklyn in ten minutes tops

coincidence? You think not.

One day Miles was on his secret patrol or so he thought and your nerves got too bad you just felt that tingling, scratch worthy, sensation that told you that something bad was going to happen

what you did not expect was Miles to find out about your… power that very day

You switched off the TV with a small sigh the News Reporters speech dying down in their throat as you nuzzled a cup of warm tea to your chest the last foreign voice in your apartment talked about a Spiderman chance against a few criminals who thought it was a perfect day to rob a convenient store

Letting out a soft hum you made sure you caught yourself before you were lost in a heavy trance Miles found you like that a lot and it made you chuckle the first couple of times since he was so… shaken about it now it was a normal occurrence and he’d just wrapped his arms around you standing rocking side to side and a few minutes later you were out of it and greeted him softly

You weren’t dumb far from it you were wise and had an older mind you caught on that your boyfriend was the spider portraying vigilante the second time he had ran out from one of your dates that coincidentally as soon as your boyfriend left your presence Spiderman was magically making an appearance around New York

You could also feel Miles vibrations when he was around you and they were very abnormal from your average human being. You could feel his discomfort when he came back from his ‘secret’ patrolling by simply being around him

long story short he couldn’t really hide anything from you.

You cleared your throat as you snapped out of the trance you had tried ever so hard to stay out a few vintage framed pictures shaking on your wall

You weren’t usually this… jumpy it was usually only when Miles went on patrol and you needed to stop scaring yourself with the endless possibilities you just needed to clear your mind it would be a while before Miles got home so you stepped to your shelves of jars with different herbs, plants, and books sitting atop of it

Grabbing your jar of salt and a stick of chalk crouching down to draw a big enough circle for you to sit in as you stood in the middle of it before lining the outer line with salt you finally sat down

“Papilio lux, papilio lux, papilio lux” You muttered repeatedly your spell book left unopened on the coffee table beside you you’ve done this spell more than you can count it was your first spell you learned actually

You felt the heavy weight lift from your chest as a comforting wind slipped through your hair and the atmosphere of your home

💌💌💌💌

Miles swung from building to building the wind that was usually comforting and cool was now nipping and frigid against his skin

Your apartment building was in view and he found himself breathing in a fresh breath of air and pushed through even more determined to crawl his way into your arms when you needed him to take the weight of the world of his chest to help him breathe properly

Sometimes Miles just need you to put all of your weight and more on his body sometimes he just needed you to hold him sharing the weight of the world together

So with a harsh breath he crawled up your building to your window taking off his mask putting it up to his mouth to hold before pushing up the latch with one arm and crawling in with the other

What he expected least was to be thrown into a wall with the feeling of his windpipe being cramped down to practically nothing his eyes widened as he looked at you sitting cross legged in a circle eyes closed your hair softly whirling in different directions as he struggled to breathe clawing at his neck

Suddenly he watched as you gasped before he dropped to the grown coughing profusely and you rushed to him reaching out to touch him before you retracted your hand not wanting to scare him more than you already had

You explained to Miles everything a short while after that you made sure to get him some water first and sit him down comfortably making sure he was ready

My brother was in AWE as you explained your craft to him

You promised him 1,000 times that you wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt him that when the spell was interrupted with another presence it wasn’t approached with it tried to eliminate the potential threat

He reassured you that he knew that you wouldn’t actually hurt him

“I know you would never intentionally hurt me mi amor”

His secret already very prominent to you his suit being the biggest flag you could see to check off but he decided to offer the now but so secret to you anyways to make you feel better

“If, if it’s not obvious I’m Spiderman” His voice slightly cracked when he spoke and you softly giggled a bit as he hid his flushed out face in your shoulder and the beginning of your neck

“Hmm I can see that, but if it’s not obvious I’ve know since our second date” My boy was on the brink of WHIPLASH the way he looked up at you with the speed of light

“YOU KNEW!?”

After that day there was a lot more peace and comfort in your relationship especially with not having to keep anymore major secrets

He finds your ability to know when something bad is going to happen the coolest

Calls you his twin because his spidey senses are very similar

SPEAKING OF SPIDEY SENSES

THEY DO NOT GO OFF WHEN HES AROUND YOU AT ALL

Like if you guys are in your apartment or his Dorm? And you sneak up on him?

GASPING FOR HIS LIFE.

Like Gwen, Gankee, any classmates of his? FAIL. EVERY. TIME

BUT YOU!?

He needs his inhaler.

Also your spell book is so beautiful in it’s own way to him

Does not even TAP it if you don’t give him permission

He’s very big on respecting boundaries he would feel very flustered and embarrassed if you were to look through his sketchbook so he channels that into your spell book

If you do let him hold it and peak around in it? Internally screaming.

It’s leather cover, filled pages, stained Hogwarts letter looking paper in his words

He’s once again in awe

Brags about you ALL THE DAMN TIME.

Hobie is honestly tired of hearing him being such a “lovesick daft”

He’s literally the most happy for you both

Loves when you take care of him

He just a ‘wittle baby 😖

Make him a cup of tea when he comes back from a rough patrol, rubbing circles on his back as he practically lies on top of you

Miles has gotten used to the feeling and knows when you’re “working your magic”

Suddenly he’ll feel a strong peace slip into his head traveling through his skull, down his spine, and into the rest of his bones

Then the feeling he gets when he gets home from a long day and embraces you, puts his face in your neck, the bliss?

He feels that times a hundred

He likes to say “he can feel you” and you’d say “I feel you too”

He’s falling asleep in like 10 minutes MAX and that’s when he’s fighting it

We love witchy gf and spidey bf 😊

Earth 42 Miles 𖤐

I’m getting hero/villain trope

You’re a masked vigilante making sure New York is safe and he’s the prowler trying to make money so you, his mom, his uncle and him can be straight

The way you both found out about each other was so heartbreaking tbh

Miles did not want you to find out like that, hell he didn’t want you to find out AT ALL

You were trying to protect New York and he was trying to wreck it

Neither of you knew who you were fighting underneath your masks

Felt like his world was crumbling when he finally snatched off your mask

You wheeze slightly crouching on the top of an abandoned building putting pressure on your side tapping the small black piece in your ear as the prowlers voice rings through your senses

“I’m close I just need more time” The mask he wore distorted his voice as he mumbled something to another person over the phone you could hear his steps as he breathed heavily into his mic having hacked into it

“You don’t have that time the police are in Route!” That voice was familiar to you, too familiar.

“Listen you kill this chick? You’re set full ride you, your moms, your girl.” Aaron Davis? What the hell did he have to do with the prowler?

“Miles you get this done? And you’re out for good.” Your breath hitched in your throat along with bile that burned your mouth as much as you wanted to believe that this was just coincidental there were too many pieces that added up

Aaron Davis

Nights you didn’t go on patrol and randomly woke up to Miles gone

The recent excessive money

When he didn’t answer his phone for hours at a time when it was closing dawn

It just made sense.

Everything else was a blur as you reached underneath your mask taking your earpiece and throwing it across the rooftop of the abandon building it cracking into bits as it landed harshly

You were so… angry

“Come on asshole” You muttered having jumped down from the the top of the building your body pressed against the the side of the brick wall waiting for him to walk by and as soon as you heard the first step you were already throwing a direct kick to his chest causing him to stumble in his step just a bit but enough for you to have an open window of opportunity

“Motus” Your hands moving through the air swiftly as the prowler went flying backwards into a wall debris crumbling around him before he was back on his feet tackling you to the ground trying to get you hands pent up above your head before you spoke

“All this time you’ve been lying to me Miles!” You shouted and his attack stuttered as either of his thighs rested on the side of your torso his hands pinning your wrist down to the floor

“How do you know my name?” He questioned gruffly the realization that you knew hadn’t registered

“After everything, out of anybody, you lied to me!” You yelled tears swelling up in your eyes and finally his gripped loosened and his gaze softened under his mask You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of how much he hurt you but it did hurt and maybe you were a hypocrite because you kept something from him too but he knew how you felt about the prowler

“Y/n?” Miles mask opened on command it showing the exact person who you knew it would his carmel skin complimenting his doe brown eyes his braids falling down and stopping at his shoulders carefully he brought a hand down towards the lining of you mask before he slipped it off carefully, delicately as if you hadn’t kicked each others asses for weeks on end his breath slowed and the world seemed to stop as he looked down at your face sweating and bleeding from a cut above your brow

“Out of everyone you were supposed to keep it real with me you said I was your ace, you said that. This, this is just a joke, un juego” You hope he felt like you did betrayed, hurt, like time had slowed down and the world had stopped.

“Espero que haya valido la pena” And then you were gone right from underneath him into the thick tension filled air he sat on the blood snatching off the mask from the back of his head and throwing it with a curse before placing his head in his hands

“oh mi vida”

You would think that after everything that had happened Miles would give you space

and he would… not

Blowing your phone UP.

Would try to stop by your house and your mom loves him and Rio as well would tell him how you’ve been down recently maybe not eating abs that he should talk to you later when you came back from running errands for her

Then realizes you haven’t told anyone he was the prowler and that makes him feel ten times worse

YOURE AVOIDING HIM HEAVY TBH

he’s sending you gifts and flowers every day. Jewelry, clothes, shoes, food, just about everything

He’s not good with words or expressing his feelings whatsoever.

Gets to a point where he can’t take it anymore and he’s at your your door step on his knees for you to forgive he doesn’t care how desperate he looks because he is to make it up to you

“por favor dame una oportunidad mami, don’t close the door”

“Miles please get up, ese suelo está sucio”

“Jus’ let me explain and if you don’t forgive me than that’s that”

he was lying out his ass.. as if he would ever be over you pshhh

You wanted to say no

Just say no

NO.

“you have three minutes”

FUCK.

That’s all he needed y/n 😖🙏🏽

Goes on a full blown rant about how he felt about you and how he wanted to keep you away and safe from all that stuff

probably the most he’s talked about his feelings in one setting your whole relationship

He loves you so much and wants to see you good and well

he loves her more trope? Yes.

You also apologize for keeping your crime fighting a secret

You guys have stuff to work on but you’ll get through it

“I love you mi reina”

“I love you too querido”

💌💌💌💌

I’ve been so brains dead when it comes to writing request 💀

trying my best 😖🙏🏽

request are back open

#miles molares #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #spider man across the spider verse #miles morales x reader #atsv fic #witch!reader #poc!reader #black!reader #fem!reader #black!fem!reader #romance #fluff #angst #i love you #thewriterg #2023

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eldrith · 2 months ago

Text

ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ.

ɪᴅᴇᴀʟɪsᴍ sɪᴛs ɪɴ ᴘʀɪsᴏɴ ;

jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader words: 8.2k synopsis: jacaerys falls for a woman in aegon's garden. notes: here's part two of my mini series for halloween ! just fyi, this is the longest part that i have planned out of all five parts <3 next chap will include smut. this one goes out to my febu frongers for helping with my sanity (losing it) ily chapter warnings: isolation/loneliness, kissing, grief, eating as symbolism, description of death, fluff, religious themes & symbolism, spooky-ish, questionable morals, jace is a bit bigoted (canon idc), impure thoughts, light corruption kink, brief mention of smut - but once again still pretty tame. series masterlist. masterlist.

“SȲNDOR IS MISSING.”

The observation comes in a billowed plume of wind to Jacaerys’s face, brushing silver hair against his shoulder as he turns to his cousin mid-step.

Baela’s face is tinted in some mild melancholy at the announcement of the disappearance - Jacaerys’s tilt of a consolatory head is halted only by a slight wince of pain within his neck. His body has not yet fully recovered from the flight, he knows: the Twins to Dragonstone is not a necessarily perilous flight, but as he returned to the island he was greeted by torrential pours from the heavens that left him rather chilled and ached to the bone.

A sharp salt, some smoky wind; boots, traversing over rocks in a sprawling path towards the castle, swaddled near in a thick blanket of morning fog. The sky is calm, the island sleepy in the midmorning sun- though any quiet day passed upon Dragonstone yields more disconcertment than appeasement these days.

The sea mist drifts just below cliffs dark down the slope of the Mont; a breeze tugs the hem of his cloak, whipping Baela’s hair, blowing against the dark riding gloves his mother grasps.

“Sȳndor?” His Queen mother repeats, a faint smile ghosting over her visage.

Her voice is just as absent, distracted as it has been the past few moons - present only when some lick of a leg lifting towards victory flutters into grasp; as last night she had done so, when the idea had sprouted from Jacaerys’s own lips to seek out those who fell from their own line. It is better than death and defeat. A bird circles overhead; wings spread, it's shadow flickers over Jacaerys’s curls and cuts sharply down towards the outer bailey’s yard, where men sharpen blades and bark to each other in jaunts.

“Quite a curious name.”

His mother stares ahead - always, ahead. Around them, wildgrass billows in waves; kissed by black dress skirts, crushed by leather soles. Vermax flies free in the distance, circling the boats which float, no more than fleas upon the horizon.

A slight lift of her chin as Baela nods. “A stray cat,” She explains, “I found him lurking about the shadows of the kitchens some moons ago.”

Absently, Jacaerys smirks - Sȳndor. Very fitting. His mother lifts the thick of her cloaked riding gown as she steps - and Jacaerys, moving to aid her movement; a small nod of appreciation towards him.

After a moment’s breath, the horizon peeks from behind one small hill - and over its wildgrass, Jacaerys strains to find the familiar paint of bright pines that sway in gentle breeze; a floral kiss to the wind, one that lulls the pain in the base of his skull.

“He’s never wandered far before,” Baela adds, brows drawn slightly, “He only ever eats fish. Perhaps the fishermen have lured him with their catch.”

Though it would be thought rude to ignore such conversation, Jacaerys cannot help the ache that persists between his eyes - penetrating his mind, leaking in a dull numb throb that carries with each step he takes. From his mother, a nod. “A long way to go for a meal.” She decides, “Perhaps he’s waiting for you to find him.”

At this, Baela sends the Queen a half-amused glance, aware of the Queen’s preoccupied state, falling into step with her among the swaying swish of weeds which spurt from volcanic soil; Jacaerys slows, his gaze drawn towards the view of the large stretching outer bailey of Dragonstone Castle.

Such a dull throb in his head - and just there, over the final incline of mounded soil before the descent towards Wind Wyrm Tower: the twisted horns of the large Thorned Dragon statue peeking over the hill.

Climbing and curling, those jagged gnarled roots black and sharp against the sky - his heart lurches at the sight, recalling the visit nearly a week ago; how it has not since left his mind, those sweet blooms and quiet idyl.

The world churns around them - the days grow weary with council and strife and death - innocent death; of sons, of mothers and their daughters; the world chews itself over each night when the sun falls and spits out some new solemn omen of conflict upon the first breath of dawn.

The world churns and Jacaerys’s head aches with the burden of fate; yet Aegon’s Garden rests in its eternal sanctum each day outside his chamber windows. It sings to his weary mind - empty and abundant, bursting over the horizon with green and pinked red, surpassed only by the horns of the Dragon.

When his mother speaks once more, her own gaze is similarly absorbed with the hooked jags of iron in the distance. “Even when I was younger,” She muses, eyes wary, “It felt those horns grew from the earth itself. It has always been a rather unsettling part of the castle.”

He can only blink in his memory as Baela humors his mother’s words with her own conversation; words of rot and decay, words which mix into the pot of swirling danger and skirmish; a tumultuous tumble into an ocean colder than that which swallowed his closest blood. And so he falls only a few footsteps behind the women, fighting some odd feeling that the very stone that holds in the garden had always been there, under the turn of soil, waiting for his ancestors to come.

It is unseen - ever concealed by the stone wall and iron gates, though the Garden does indeed bloom wonderfully. Great clusters of flowers, creeping vines - heavy, but alive nonetheless. The garden, with its honeyed scent and chirping birds, cloying smiles and lingering laughter.

You - the memory of you, striking a skip in his heartbeat; standing so lovely among the thick growth of blooms, just as inviting as the twisting trees in the distance, as the smiling red anemones which greet the path towards the hedges.

He’s unsure why the words fall from his lips, though he takes no true effort to halt them as they surge. “The garden is well-tended,” he murmurs. His mother does not remove her sight from the tower ahead, where the Painted Table awaits their company. “Is it?” She wonders.

He shifts as they begin the descent towards the Tower. “Yes. It’s not nearly as savage as tales have made it seem.”

Baela’s brows furrow, a flash of trepidation in her gaze that slides from his mother and back to his own visage. “You’ve been to the Garden?”

And though there is no such lilt upon her tongue, there is a wariness - and then, some bristling defense which rises in his chest; his cheeks grow hot as he momentarily recalls that oddly calm grin, those stained fingertips, such wide eyes and lovely, glowing skin.

“I… visited it a few nights past.” He’s unsure where his hesitance sprouts from, “I met the woman who keeps it.”

A remote unease has grasped at his stomach, and so he allows no more information - Baela’s eyes have left the hedgeline that peeks over stone walls, her face twisted as she glances expectantly to his mother; waiting for words that do not come.

His mother has instead set her eyes upon Maester Gerardys, who waits towards the tower’s entrance with a handful of scrolls; her lips are pressed thin, clearly preoccupied with less idle subjects. “-We’ve lingered in the skies too long,” His Queen mother decides as they cross into the yard, nodding as Houseworkers bow. “There are important matters to see. We must propose Ser Steffon.”

Baela’s stare does not falter; a burning glare into the side of his gaze, a look of unease that brings some breath of irritation crawling through Jacaerys’s veins.

A WALL OF GLOOM LINGERS IN THE SKY EARLY THE NEXT MORNING.

Jacaerys does not shiver when his feet meet the cold stone of the chamber floors; instead, he presses palms to his visage, cheeks flushed and warm as he stares absently out the open casement, watching wind stir the pines that gather towards the open bailey below.

A rare reprieve it is, to not have duties until the sun has reached its peak - and here he’s woken quite early in the day, enough so that the crawling fog has not yet retreated back across the stretch of sea; it lingers, whispering through the island, blanketing sound and licking up the stone walls at the base of the castle below.

The day’s linen shirt is pressed and crisp; he begins to shed his sleepclothes, blinking away syrupy fatigue and the remnants of restless sleep.

A small burst of morning air calms the clamminess upon his skin, ambered gazes roving the hedgeline of Aegon’s Garden down below - a curling, beckoning respite this morning, when his mind is so dull and sharply pained at the base of his skull. Still lingers a headache that has persisted for days; his skin is bright against the dark morning within his mirror, sullen with the clouding consternation that seems to only grow each day.

The man who stares back at him is weary, hallowed by the flare of danger that lies for Ser Steffon later in the day - to face the unfaceable, for one who is not a Dragonlord - the circle turns, a voice reminds him.

Perhaps he will take Vermax out for a ride this morning, to clear his mind. The linen tunic obscures his gaze when he tugs it atop his head, soft against his fatigued skin; though in a flash of white and a startled blink, a sharp movement in the contours of Aegon’s Garden below is nearly missed.

A flicker, some silhouette - and Jace’s body stills, breath caught in his throat as he tugs the tunic right, grasping at the fabric as he leans towards the sill.

He could swear he saw…

And in a flicker around a stone replica of the Conqueror’s Throne, he sees it again - a flash of curled hair that catches the breeze, a blue doublet swallowed by the swirled thick of fog. His brows furrow.

Lashes tangle and kiss before his vision, and he raises a shaky hand to rub them - no, he must be mad. But after his hands fall away the figure is back, walking with such a familiar gait, young, slender - moving along a path of flickering roses and poppies which curl back to the earth as he passes them by.

No. Jacaerys’s pulse quickens, heart rising to his throat; A sinking dread curls along his gut.

Luke.

And the wound so delicately healed is torn open in a sharp inhale of disbelief; of unforgiving skies, of jaws which opened and snapped quicker than a final breath - and Jacaerys is staggering back from the window, vision blurrier with each passing moment.

A cruel, choking sorrow that spurs his limbs into action - a soft knock nearly ignored as his chamber door creaks open, a young handmaid bowing as she carries morning tea.

His gaze is wide as a doe’s caught in the crosshair of an arrow - and she, floundering for a moment, bending at the waist to set down the tray. “My Prince-”

“-No.” He snaps, voice harsh as panic races through his mind, “Leave. I-I don’t want it.” He hisses.

She flinches just slightly as he brushes past her in a flurry; sheath, sword, and the rest of his daywear forgotten, he races through the tower, fingers clenching in a series of shaking gasps.

It can’t be real. He reminds himself repeatedly as he storms past Houseworkers, tears pricking at his vision, breaths uneven, shallow. The wind pricks at his cheeks and pinks his nose when he breaches the threshold. It isn’t real.

But he must prove it for himself.

And the iron gates give in to his palms easily, the damp morning dew slicking his hands as fog chokes the air with seabreath. His boots sink into soft earth as he stumbles through the winding path of the garden; eyes darting warily between tall rose bushes and poppies, sucking air into his lungs. Grief curls its slithering tail in the back of his mind, replacing the dull ache which once festered.

The garden is silent.

An oppressive, unwelcome silence, save for the rustle of leaves and a very distant call of gulls from the docks below. The blooms seem to still as they watch Jacaerys stumble past, vibrant colors peeking through the fog which creeps behind him; his footsteps falter until he stumbles into a small stone statue, palms curling around its base for support.

He’s a fool for believing the tricks his eyes played upon him - though it does not make the hollow torment of loneliness ache any less.

He affords a helpless slump against the statue, leaning towards the stone-carved skirts of what seems to be a maiden with a serpent curling upon her leg; a choked gasp from Jacaerys as he calms his breath, overwhelmed by his bout of childish beliefs.

Lucerys is dead, he reminds himself, dead. Gone.

…But he could have sworn he’d seen a boy walking through the path just on the other side of the Thorned Dragon. The stone under his palm is cold against the heat of his body; Only a moment before he takes in the visage of the statue before him.

With a hitch in his sob, only few tears escape the trappings of his lashes; a sweet curve of cheek, soft jaw, stoned hair which frames a face weathered by time; some serene expression upon the carving that moves in the shifting light above him.

His heart stutters for a moment - the face’s gentle smile, the arch of a brow - it looks rather familiar; Jacaerys shakes his head, pushing away the sudden tightness in his chest.

Though uncanny, he supposes it is simply the result of a turned malady of the mind; he’s been thinking of you, seeing you everywhere in the days since you met.

Intoxicating, you are - a melodic hum that whispers in the wind even when his cheek rests upon pillow; your eyes glinting in the faces of each Houseworker he passes - and how he, despite better judgment, searches each woman he sees with a foolish, desperate hope that it perhaps might be you.

That he might speak with you again - learn more than just your name, coax that pretty smile onto your lips once again.

And then, less permissible to admit is a more unseemly desire, one which he suppresses, knowing it is nothing more than restlessness in a war he is forbade to fight; in his dreams, your lips - wrapped salaciously around fig fruits, plucking each thread of his patience, fingers swiping up the sweet juice that drips down your chin and swiping those same fingers upon your tongue. The vision sends a sharp heat through his stomach, stirring some hunger deep within him that leaves him incredibly uneasy.

It takes a moment to tear himself away from the lulling stone gaze of the statue - and more aimlessly now, with a mind numbed by the ambrosial breath of the Garden, of the lingering possibility of you, he wanders further along the path; pretending he doesn’t leer at any passing rustle with the hopes of glancing that familiar figure around every turn’s bend.

The morning sun barely kisses over the tops of the hedges when Jacaerys finally finds himself back within the small courtyard of the Thorned Dragon; and there, for a few solitary minutes, he idly traces the vines that curl like serpents around the base stone of the statue, recalling how your own fingers had done the very same those days ago.

Soft, dainty fingers - the ones which had cupped those purpling green fruits, peeled away to find the meaty flesh beneath; how your hand had fluttered so when he’d greeted you.

That short hide-and-seek game you’d so unknowingly prompted - and then, at the end; A gaze sharp and minatory from behind the very edge he leans upon now, your hair cascading in tresses that blew in the breath of the garden.

And when you’d come out from that shadow, skirts slithering and sliding with your glide to stand as awkward as a baby doe - your cheeks warmed and bashful, nothing in your eyes but some anxious interest. Sweet. Beautiful. Divine.

His thoughts are lost with a distant humming deeper within the garden, one which tugs at his interest and his wariness alike - but when a sharp prick on the tip of his finger sends him a sting of pain, his hand jerks back from the plant.

The motion drives his eyes in a glance to the upper hedgeline, where a figure stands in the hilltop’s distance - Maester Gerardys, watching with eyes sharper than beaks of ravens.

He blinks back precariously, unsure why there swirls unease within him at the leering surveillance. A stir in his chest, an ice-cold whisper that fails to penetrate the warmth of soil and blooms around him.

Jacaerys’s finger throbs, and he pulls his gaze away from the distant, watchful man; With a stare of surprise, he watches dark blood bead upon his fingertip - and the thorn, now smeared with that very same crimson.

Instinctively, he sucks the blood from the throbbing finger, brows furrowing as if trying to recall some distant memory - though when he looks back, Maester Gerardys is gone.

“Good morrow, my Prince.”

He quells his startle with a sharp inhale, turning rather quickly to find the source of the shaded voice.

His heart gives a traitorous leap when his eyes settle on you - a pale dress, your hair loose and beautiful around a gentle countenance; a deep flush upon his cheeks as his eyes settle over the soft skin awarded to his sore sight, at the sun dancing around your hair and off the skin of your chest. He emits a rather unreal laugh, one which falls fleetingly from his lips, his heart warm.

He breathes out your name; it comes winded, breathless, eager as a greeting could be - and the sight of your shy tuck of tresses behind your ear makes his cheeks warm.

“I’d not expected you to return so soon,” You observe - though your tone is so very kind, so pure - he cannot help but smile back in full.

There’s something deep inside him that has been awoken in the days past - a restless ache that stirs at your gentleness; Jacaerys yearns to somehow take it, protect it, keep it safe from anything that could harm you - as if doing so would silence the clawing talons of beastly desire within his chest.

He takes a step forward and your eyes track his movements gently.

“I suppose I found it hard to stay away from such beauty,” he replies with a heated visage, aware of that desperate rawness in his voice that denies the meager attempt at charm.

Though all the same: Your cheeks flush deliciously at his words, a bashful grin that tugs at your lips.

In a momentary bout of his own shyness, he glances towards the soil below his feet - though it seems his mind truly is playing tricks on him this morn; as he glances away, he could swear your smile flashes some darkened grin in the swaying light. A startling sight, one which drops a pit through his stomach - but when he blinks back up to you, it is gone - and your seraphic face stares back at him, questioning.

Had you asked him something?

In a surge of embarrassment, he excuses himself - you do nothing but giggle, voice trilling and light as the clouds, as the wings of a hummingbird.

You pace warily towards him, eyeing the bench; to which he eagerly gestures for you, pleased when you heed his invitation, both of you sitting as fog swirls around your ankles.

For a moment, all is calm - the fog breathes in and out with your chest, and he finds himself transfixed on a thin line of puckered skin which traces its way up your arm; no more than a wisp, a meteor of light against the sky of your skin, silver and delicate as the hair of his kin.

“I wonder what brings you here so early, Prince Jacaerys?” you muse, fingertips brushing along the folded pale purple petals that crawl up the stone bench out of the fog.

A flash of skin, soft beneath the skirts of your dress as toes dig into the dark soil. He frowns, though your voice pulls him from the haze of absent thought. “Even the Morning Glories have not yet awoken from their slumber.”

He is unsure how to answer your inquiry; he lets himself instead roam his gaze over the hedges, brows furrowing as he recalls what’d brought him to the garden in the first place. Fuzzy, the clouds of his thoughts float away from his tongue - and after a moment, his fingers grasp the bench below him, some distant hysteria churning in his chest.

A morning glory is plucked between your fingers - he hears it like a snap in his mind, jolting his spine upright as he watches you lift the bloom to your nose; it has spread its flesh in the few moments since you’ve sat, and the soft petals paint your lips a sweet indigo as you press it against you in a small kiss. His chest stirs in affection.

That face… so similar in its stony form just hedges behind him; and with a blink, he recalls the sight from his chamber window, of… unease leaks into his stomach.

“Have you…” His lower lip is pinned by his teeth for a moment when you come to stare him back - visions of blue, of that gait moving sly between rows of roses, of those curls so similar to his very own. “Seen anyone, in the garden?”

The words hang awkwardly between you for a few breaths - your head tilts, as though considering something very serious - and your eyes, wide and peculiar in the graying light of morning, staring at the flower in your hands.

“Sometimes,” You decide almost ominously, lifting the flower once again to your nose. Sometimes - his brows furrow, unsure if you understood what he was asking; though with another shaky breath, he begins to speak again. “Well, perhaps I-”

You speak once more, as if you don’t hear him - your voice in the sky, churning with the fresh soil beneath, blowing with the vines in the breeze.

“-I had truly hoped you’d return, my Prince.” Your eyes leave the flower to blink owlishly into his own, and he’s once again rooted to the spot, lips pressing shut eagerly to hear your sweet cadence, watching the light dance in your shy smile. “I rather enjoy your company.”

And his heart leaps once more, clearing his throat as the words previously leveled upon his tongue leave his mind. “You may call me Jacaerys, if you wish.” He insists, and then encouraged by the sight of your fluttered preen, the twitch of pleasure in your smile, he murmurs, “Or… Jace.”

“WOULD YOU CARE TO WALK WITH ME, MY PRINCE?”

Your voice this time is as bare as the day is long; a secret into the sunshine, dappled through tall breathing pines swaying above your head.

It has only been a day since Jacaerys saw you last; one day, though he has told himself his visits to the Garden are nothing but an effort for solitude in a castle swimming with ears and eyes - a place to think, the garden steeps with quiet amity and the blooms admittedly offer a brightness upon the ever increasing gloom of life on the island.

Though it is hard to deny that you certainly bring Jacaerys the most clarity.

His smile is only eclipsed by the bright sun overhead - he means to offer you his arm to accompany you through the garden, though before he can, you’ve already turned and set off deeper into the maze of rose and poppy; your hand kissing over the soft petals that keen to your touch gently.

Affection stirs in his chest as he watches you, striding to catch up as you whisper quietly to the blooms as if they are your oldest friends.

And a moth to a flame; he falls astride with you easily, ducking his head just so as your quiet voice melodies with the hum of the garden.

“The crows have set about their hiding games,” You muse - a peculiar girl you are, and his heart softens at the dazed look upon your face. “The weather has begun to turn.” An odd observation - perhaps he has been too preoccupied with efforts of war to notice such things, though the weather has remained relatively uniform in the last few moons. Your eyes drift to him briefly as you turn around a bend - “How fares the council - the Queen?”

And he trips on a thickly gnarled root - it rots; dark and sooty, oozing with soiled blood of earth. A sharp exhale as he shakes his boot rid of the spiny thing, blinking back some vision of decay that rises from the ground, climbing tendrils up his legs, grasping for his neck and squeezing.

A flicker in his mind of flames - billowing up in angry plumes - and screams, agonizing wails as man and armor were claimed by Seasmoke’s ancient breath. His mother’s stare, the flames dancing in her very eyes as he tugged hard upon her sleeve, warning.

“Getting more dire each passing day,” He murmurs; it is with surprise he looks at you, searching for some mirrored expression. He had not meant to say that, had not even meant to think it. His next inhale is marred by the scent of smoke and burning flesh; with a resist to retch upon the budding Chrysanthemums, he instead clears his throat, placing a calming grasp upon his pommel.

You say nothing more on the matter, perhaps sensing his unease; the paths on the northern side of the garden begin to twist much sharper - he’s never ventured past the Thorned Dragon and it seems the fauna on this side seem to grow even more thick than the previous; thistles reach out to poke at his trousers, sticking to the skirts of your dress as you move, birds chirp faintly in the hedges, petals rain from lilac clusters higher than his brow.

He is only pulled from the lulling trance of your hair in the sun when you stop short, his shoulder brushing into your own and sending him chills.

A tree - gnarled, twisted and thick with time long since eaten; roots slither out, peeking from the earth with mossy, serpentine roots - and small, plump fruits hang from the lower branches that grow thicker than his arm. Jacaerys blinks in awe, a roll in his stomach at the ancient growth, how it provides a ring of thick shade against the sun.

“What-” He starts, brows lowered over his lashes - it is much too grand a tree to have escaped his notice all the years he’s resided on the island. “I was unaware such a tree grew here.”

You let out a fluttered laugh, tilting your head. “How do you suspect the maesters and cooks get their oil?”

From Dorne, his mind answers - but you’ve begun to pace towards the massive olive tree, turning to gaze at him with a rather irresistible glance. “Would you care to lie beneath it with me?” You wonder, suddenly that very same doe-eyed woman he’d met days ago for the first time - upon uneven feet you sway shyly, “I often come here when I need to think.”

Something tugs the back of his mind, but before he can consider it, he’s stepping forward to follow you under the shade of the sprawling branches.

The sunlight is even more dappled and muted under olive leaves; the scent is earthy, warm. And slowly, you lie beside him; his body hums with your presence - reduced to some greenboy, heart hammering when your dress skirts ride up just so, providing him a quick glance over smoothed skin marred only with the fresh dirt below you.

The limbs twist above him; the warmth of the day seeps slowly from the earth and rises equally from the roots which pillow his head and your own. A bird flies in the sky above your heads, hidden by the leaves; he wonders rather ashamedly what he should be doing, if the Housestaff searches for him - he’d skipped training in the yard this afternoon to search for you, though he knows he will have to attend council this eve - there are much dire consequences to face in the wake of Ser Steffon’s death.

He’s never seen an olive tree quite so large, so alive; in King’s Landing, the road to the Dragon Pit is lined with smaller trees boasting the fruits - though none are so magnificent as this. The memory mars his mind with visions of a future in King’s Landing: boasting banners of black and red, the throne rightly holding his own seat - a far future, where his mother won and has ruled long, peaceful years. A future where his crown is no longer stained with the blood of kin, but restored to its shined, cleansed beginnings.

A stab in his gut at that thought of after - when the war may be won, but legitimacy remains a shackle that drags him down; which looms within the plagues of his thought-addled mind. A shadow of whispered murmurs his whole life - of Strong blood.

Some wash of fear - the first of its kind in his heart, at the thought of King’s Landing - of his mother’s legacy, of his own. And you - why does his heart beat with a slow jaunt of dread at the thought of leaving the castle, the garden, you - behind one day?

It is a disquieting observation as the limbs of the olive tree shift above him. It is my birthright, he reminds himself, and the cycle turns. I will be King, as my mother is Queen before me.

You shift in his peripheral - perhaps turning your head to look at him, admiring the lined and contours upon his face as he’s done many times past to you - and then your soft voice breaks his reveries.

“Do you ever fear leaving?”

Ice trickles down his spine at your words.

With a start, his alarmed gaze bores into one decaying leaf that shakes trepidatiously on a near branch. An eerie accuracy, your words burrow into his chest - and a penetrating thought, one odd and unexpected - as if souls could be made of material; his, soil and yours a seed.

He must look startled - though your own stare is not upon him but the roots which rise, waves over the earthed ocean you rock gently upon.

Your fingers pluck figs from a pile that lies beside you; he hadn’t noticed them before - but as his eyes trace the sweet curve of the fruit in your palm, their scent greets his senses with a syrupy hunger.

His stomach, empty save for his morning tea and broken fast hours before, rumbles in interest at the plump figs - you must notice, as your lips curl into some secretive simper.

“Where do you get those?” He wonders aloud; in lieu of an answer, you prop yourself upon dainty elbows - this angle provides him ample view of your breasts, sheened with a calm haze of glow despite the respite of shade - he averts his eyes instead to the slope of your nose, the stain dark upon your lips like wine.

Gods, he thinks - the thoughts he harbors would stop the Septas in their very tracks.

His attention flutters back to you as you let out a breathy sigh, one that sends warmth through his heart and causes him to clench clammy palms.

“The crows fly when the season shifts, you know.” you hum, “I like to watch them.”

An odd sensation then, as the wind blows your hair from your neck; a glowing breath in his chest, affected by the innocence of your words, so very different from the potent words so often levied to him these days.

In a dreary moment, he strains to recall the last time he and his mother held a conversation that did not have to do with the Greens or dragons; lips so often cracked with the duty of battle, though he is prohibited even from that effort.

A thick swallow, a lonely feeling - but despite this he feels suddenly very warm when he takes in your lounged form, enjoying a fig gently, eyes trained on the statue opposite the garden from your bodies.

Two lovers, entwined in what looks like a final embrace - a man, muscular and stern, holding the lovely curves of a woman in his arm - with an arrow lodged within the stoned tissue of his shoulder and one lodged through his throat; she, with one through her own heart.

He blinks back to you as your voice murmurs again, this time closer - you’ve dragged yourself down to his own level once more, dirt imbuing your frilled dress - you pay the mess no mind, and it simply endears you to him more. “Do you ever think about it? Leaving?”

Your tone recalls his mind from the clouds. He frowns once more, wetting his lips; in a bout of fluttered heartbeats, he pretends not to notice your eyes track the motion.

A shaky swallow from him, uneasy with the way your words effortlessly penetrate his very thoughts; The wind blows, you puff air similarly through your pouted lips. Does he think about leaving? How indeed would he not consider it?

All his life he has prepared for such ascension, though long distant - as Prince of Dragonstone, he’d lord over this very island for many years before leaving for his birthright when the time strikes. It is not a thought he’d openly admit under considerable company; but your eyes, wide and willing, wait for him with a gleaming stare. He would never refuse such alluring companionship.

“I suppose,” He admits, craning his head to search your eyes - how inviting, open they are - as if you’ve known him for a long life. His lips purse and he finds himself rather pleased to see your eyes flicker low once more with the motion.

“-Perhaps I grow weary with our efforts in the trials to come.” He sighs, wondering if the words he mutters make any semblance of sense. “I think of it - when I…” He trails off, staring at the gleaming dark of your pupils, swayed as the branches above him as he leans closer. “When I worry mother does not trust me, and the Lords at her council see me as just a boy.”

A pit in his stomach at such veracious words; though you simply tilt your head, eager to listen - and that loneliness fades, some warmth budding in his heart.

It spurs some kick of confidence within Jacaerys, that small effort of interest, of empathy - and he is easily melted into your doting nods, the gentle swirl of your fingertips aimlessly spelling letters into the dirt below. “I do think about leaving the island. It’s my birthright,” He murmurs - a flash in your eyes at his words, though he pays little mind as his thoughts trail off, recalling the young servant he’d dismissed quite bluntly the day before. He wonders, in a bout of uncomfortable insecurity, if she resents him for it; if she remains elsewhere in the castle, whispering to others about the unkind Prince of Dragonstone and his loutish disposition.

“Well you must know, the smallfolk here adore you.” A peculiar subject you choose - a nagging alarm that pulses in the back of his mind at your brows, drawn low even over such sweet a face as if you try hard to hide some deeper expression.

It is a chilling thing, no matter how sweet, that you seem to always read between the words he chooses not to say.

“You’re their Prince. The King Who Will Be.”

It is not a title he’s heard, of the many written of him by courtly gossip or maester’s handscribes over the years; The King Who Will Be - shivers cascade down the line of his back, settling an uneasy churn within his gut. Jacaerys sends a lift of a brow as he turns to look at you once more, though words die upon his tongue as he takes you in - an almost discomposed stretch to your smile, some momentary flash of a rather bitter flicker before your visage resumes, warm and full.

He blinks away surprise, watching as your nails pick at the skin of a smaller fig. Jacaerys shifts on the ground, feeling a tug of unease. “Do they?” He wonders anyways, eager to melt your suddenly cold disposition back into the fluid gentleness of your kind nature.

Your breath is short as your fingers stop their motions, your gaze flickering to his - your hair is haloed around you, a leaf tangled in one of your wild tresses. “I do.”

Rather pleased, Jacaerys sends you a smile unbounded, and with a tentative lift of his fingers, he’s plucking the leaf from your hair.

“You’re not the Smallfolk.” He counters; you simply laugh, that fountain of bubbled giggles which send his heart clenching as you shake your head.

“Well, Jacaerys, I have always found you admirable.” Your tone is chilled; it arrests him, the fleeting drop of your smile, the reflection of memory which swims in your gaze as you pin him to the soil with your stare. Always.

You hum, as if confirming his inner thoughts, and then bite into a fig slowly - Jacaerys is transfixed upon your pouted slips, slick with the sweet essence of fruit, of kindness, of you.

It is only moments, though he seems to have forgotten himself - blank-minded, he resists the urge to reach out to you, to cup your cheeks, to run his palm over the smooth of your skin, to feel the heart he imagines beats so kindly under your breast.

A bird chirps in the sky and this arbitrarily reminds Jacaerys of the world; the world, which turns outside the walls of Aegon’s Garden. The world of responsibilities which pile up upon his plate stacked much too high, of the dread which drips slow from the flagon of fate with each day past - that nagging insecurity in the back of his mind, the burden of loss, the absence he’s begun to feel shifting each moment he speaks with his own mother-

“I saw a man die yesterday.”

He blurts it suddenly, the weight of grief forcing words out from his tongue. He once again does not intend to say it; and at the sentence, your features creep in some morbid interest. Unnerved, he swallows thickly and your lips puff out a small coo, turning upon your side as a cat lounges under the sun.

The glint in your eye is easily tamped out by sympathy, dripping from your expression. Your brows are furrowed in some desperate display of empathy, though the pits of your widened pupils arrest his breath.

“Death is a heavy burden to carry.” You say rather softly. A simple observation, though it strikes his heart - it is with an effort he strains to recall the last time someone cared to truly listen to his troubles at all.

He swallows thickly, unsure why tears threaten to gather upon his eyeline; in lieu of his response, and as if you can feel the sudden inclination of his heartbeat, your smile drops, soon visage cooler than the shade under which you repose.

“Are you afraid of it?”

He’s taken aback by your question, but only momentarily. “Death?” He confirms - and after your small inquisitive nod, he tilts his head in small jest, squinting one eye against the dappled sunlight leaking through threads of leaves above as he grins. “-Are you not, my Lady?”

You bite your lip as you always do when he calls you my lady - though fleetingly, a far-off inkling wonders if the effort is not to conceal some shyness, but rather in repression of some vicious laughter. You sigh, then - and you’re so very divine in such an action, with dancing eyes and skirts that slither like serpents in the felled leaves. “I’m afraid I don’t think much about anything outside of this garden, Jacaerys.”

Some dull desire, perhaps pathetic on his part; but a need nonetheless to know you, to have you know him, spurs his own lilted laugh, hoping you do not recognize his obvious play for your favor. “Nothing else?” He wonders - and it is pushing limits, he knows; rather improper, to act such a way with a lower born girls, and outside of a betrothal - though he cannot bring himself to stop such salacious desires. There is no harm, he decides - there are more important things to be concerned with these days than a Prince in an old garden with a lowerborn girl.

You’re pleased with his chiding - a flush upon your cheeks, your eyes flicker in interest and something deeper still - “Few things.” You mend with a grin of your own.

For a moment it is quiet - a peaceful kind, where his heart slams against his chest; There is a bush of forget-me-nots near the ancient olive tree - though they wither and curl, browned by some otherworldly decaying whisper that overtakes any chance of sunlight that might reach them.

It is odd, how the shade seems to shift with each breath he takes, how the sun warps in the sky - and the earth so moist and fresh under his back, though each time he exits the garden, his boots render immaculately spotless.

Vines slither over the pathways in this part of the garden; marred by some odd moss that he’d not before seen on the island. “The maesters spoke of Aegon’s Garden when I was young.” His words fall from his lips unbidden, but you seem not to mind. “They believe the soil made the smallfolk sick, that any plant growing within was poisoned.” His brows furrow at such an odd thought, “That it was…damned.”

At this, you laugh - though there is a piercing sharpness to it that nearly blinds him as his head-ache returns suddenly. His wince is missed by you, as your eyes momentarily flick to the castle - some vicious fervor that dissipates when you turn back to him. “Foolish gossip.” You nearly snap, looking rather upset. “Some may do well to remember how harmful rumors can become.”

In a moment of regret, he leans upon one elbow, brows furrowing - your eyes have clouded with the passing of clouds over the sun high above; A murmur of your name from his lips as he reaches for you and hesitates.

He murmurs your name once more, tilting his head and leaning closer to your sweet scent. “I meant it as no insult.”

Your lips twist before relaxing, letting out a short breath as you give in, glancing with wettened eyes to him once more. “Men are always quite afraid of what they don’t understand.”

-Are you afraid of it?- Your voice lingers a small whisper in the back of his mind; something rather odd about how you know so much and yet nothing truly at all - a wisdom beyond your years.

And you’re so beautiful, even when blinking away tears; some distant paradise comes to mind at such a sight, though the thought is curbed at your face shifts once more, a sigh echoing with the rustling of leaves dropping from the olive tree above.

The figs are once more in your palms - and with a growing hunger within his own chest and stomach, he lounges and watches you, if only for a few moments; your lips are plush and shined by the blood of the fruit, and when you tilt your head back, an expanse of soft skin stretches in breath of sunlight.

And perhaps it will be his downfall one day - but Jacaerys suddenly embraces that searing, reckless impulse; before he can think better of it, he leans down to where you lie upon a gnarled root - and kisses you.

Pleasure rushes through him.

A wild thrill that suspends him high into nothingness - a freezing chill, rushing a shiver down his spine when you press so eagerly to him.

You taste of honey and something forbidden; a wild flavor, one sweetened by the nectar of the gods and your sighs as fingers - icicles - shard their way upon his nape, holding him to you, deepening the kiss in a strangely yearning fervor. with a curl of affection, some intoxicated hunger that has leaked into his mind at the taste of your lips; is it the fruit, he wonders numbly - the fruit, which makes you so divinely enticing?

And, in an even more debauched thought: Do you taste so sweet everywhere? Shame does not dare lick at his conscience when you are so soft and desiring beneath him - he yearns instead to discover for himself one day, to taste your divinity upon his tongue, feel the puffs of your gasped breath, the smile that paints your features so beautifully against the hollow of his throat.

He dares not pull away, drawn much too heavily by your sweetness; as if somehow, pressing you into the earth, you might lurch up to consume him in your gentle breaths as a sprout does in soil after a warm sun.

And you slither beneath him - loose, though sharply tight in your grasp of him, coaxing a thrill through his gut at the way your teeth graze his own bottom lip; a shiver of chills through him as one leg presses against your own, cool under the shade.

Your eyelashes, fluttering like the kiss of petals upon the apple of your cheeks as you eagerly press your icy lips to his own - a touch marred by the shakiness of perhaps a first kiss; though from the sly prod of your tongue against his own, he begins to doubt even that.

It is not until you let out a soft noise - no more than a breathy moan, that he jolts back into reality, pulling away sharply from where he’s leant - elbows digging into the soft soil - to press his lips so voraciously against yours.

His eyes are blown wide as he pulls away just so - and with a newfound deep chill that has settled oddly right into his very bones.

His breathing puffs out ragged as he leans back further, rather embarrassed by his tenacity as you seem bashful but otherwise unbothered; and his clear arousal, which grows by the moment painting his cheeks a crimson.

The pricked finger of yesterday’s vine begins to throb so very dully - but you’re smiling a heated smile at him, leaning closer to chase his warmth.

Indeed you are cooler here in the shade - goosepimples ridge his arms and legs below cotton clothing; and along the nape of his neck your fingers gently kiss, eyeing him with some coy hunger that nearly doubles his unease and arousal alike. Your lips, icicles - the snowcaps that peek from cloudy Northern skies aflight Vermax, the whispering winds that shoot off the steep crooks of the Dragonmont during a storm.

He nearly wonders if you are sick - a chill so sudden is cause for concern well in the recess of summer yet; though your visage shifts beneath his attentive gaze and he is struck immediately thoughtless, wordless.

You beam.

A smile so similar to the one you’d shown him the very day you first met; bright, incredibly wide, glinting almost mischievously in your eyes, but yet so endearing - as though it has been quite some time since you smiled last.

And with the breath stolen from his lungs, he smiles back.

For a moment, he wonders if he will remember to speak ever again; and with floundering lips, he watches as you shift to sit up just slightly, brushing invisible specs of dirt from your thighs with some practiced knowledge.

He nearly finds words - some poor attempt at apology for being so unchivalrous and forward - but all at once, a flash of motion startles him backward.

A giggle is sharp in his mind, and that flash of pain between his eyes flares before disappearing; before him, perched upon your lap precariously and rubbing itself against your breast, is…

A cat.

You stroke its fur as it opens its mouth, as if to mewl - yet nothing but some small squeak yields, and you shush it gently with delicate pats behind its ears.

Jacaerys is struck cold, eyes locked on the little beast - a thud of familiarity that trickles through his muddled mind as its purrs echo out in the very same throbbing rhythm of his finger. A glance to his hands provides nothing but a short respite from the befuddlement that has shrouded his thoughts.

“Isn’t he so sweet?” You muse, flicking your gaze from the cat to Jacaerys.

Your stare strikes him - dreamlike, though with that glint that he sometimes wonders if you try to hide - and he swallows thickly, nodding.

A hand trickled with veins against tanned skin; he reaches out to stroke the small thing.

Though at the motion, the cat’s tail thickens in alarm - a sharp snarled hiss snapping from its maw as it rounds to him defensively.

With a jolt back, he stares at the creature, heart pounding in some odd recognition when its cold eyes glint at his.

“Oh,” You frown in a small, desolate flicker of sadness. “Jacaerys, I am sorry about him. He’s still learning the rules here.” You tut towards the cat, shaking your head.

A faint alarm rings in his mind, though he’s always had a slight distaste for cats; Lucerys was allergic, and oft would swell like a ripe tomato when one of the strays found their chambers as boys. “You must be hungry, darling,” You whisper to the little black thing, petting softly as it curls into your lap.

He can only stare as you tear a piece of the very fruit you’d previously bitten into before Jace lost his resolve - and the cat lurches towards it, tearing at it as if it were some prey.

More bizarre a sight is how you watch on with a nearly transfixed hunger, your eyes flickering with the falling leaves - Jacaerys stares at you with parted lips, bemused and yet genuinely disturbed at your sweet disposition as the bloodthirsty beast in your lap thrashes.

“They’re so delicious, even he can’t resist.” You giggle, eyes nearly raving in size and focus as the cat tears at the fruit, biting even at your fingers, though you do not seem bothered by such ferocity. There is, perhaps, some kind of beauty he can find in violence. “They’re all he eats. Isn’t that amusing?” You giggle once more.

It is, he murmurs - though he’s unsure if it is in his head or through his lips; and you pay him little mind besides the knee of yours which presses just so gently, a kiss of butterfly’s wings, against his thigh.

Your head snaps towards his visage after a sharp breath that startles him from his trance; He’s struck with that same freezing arrest when your eyes bore into his own, reading his mind as you so oft tend to, and smiling so very sweetly, “What shall we name him, Jace?”

Your voice is grounding, though Jacaerys has been struck with some curling alarm - what has he done, kissing a girl below his station just for the whim of it?

What would his mother say, if she saw him spilling his thoughts to you, laughing with you, fraternizing with you - tainting you so with his kiss, marring your innocuous disposition, though he can offer no promises along with his company, nor his embrace?

Where has his pride taken him - willing so easily to act upon each of his basest desires, simply to fill the growing void of disconnect with his family within the castle? Simply because a woman is here, and kind, and caring; simply because it is you?

In your face, there is no turmoil; a gentle calm, some stoicism that brings his heart back to a normal pace, though it skips a beat when you smile at him.

“I’m thinking…Shadow,” You hum, watching the cat trail away, tail curling around the stalk of the bark and disappearing into the shrubs once more.

He’s pulled from his wallowing, watching the distinct pace of the cat disappear, fingers tingling, heart thumping. “Very fitting.” He decides absently, staring at the dark shade through which the creature has slithered away to.

The name feels ominous, nearly familiar on his tongue - and with a swallow, he nods. “Shadow,” he repeats into the breeze of day.

Quite a curious name.

translations: sȳndor - shadow. taglist/moots: @softspiderling @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @dipperscavern @useralba @writtenapoiogy @fyrewept @oldtowrs @bryscorner @chloe-petrichors @jottositto @solavita @earth4angels @benjinotes @divinesolas @hxtd @astrxq @housetargaryenloyalist @bucksplum @v3lary0ns @princessvelaryon @princessbellecerise @still-jon-snow @cregnstark @vee-mage @elaena-aerrin @mckennah123 @xxselenite @smurfelle @alyssa-dayne @uhnanix @house-celtigar @ficlovegirlie @cregan-starks @manhandlememando @inkandarsenic

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