#it's pretty funny i was struggling to come up with how to word how bad i am at wording things

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Aww I'm so happy to hear that, friend!! 🥰🥰

It's not a problem Dean, (the gun is obviously BUT) she is beautiful and you will love her and I will cry at your wedding.

Ehehe it's funny you mention their wedding...

Dean no. No feeling bad for saving your girl and for killing the "sack of shit in human clothes."

Ugh right? Trust, he doesn't regret killing that bastard loll.

Also I didn't notice the Colonel Sanderson thing before and now all I can think about is KFC lol.😂 Which is not to take away from how good this fic is or how well it's written. It's just me lol.

Actually THANK YOU for noticing that because Colonel Sanders was an intentional reference! lmao I saw some meme that called Asmodeus "Bullshit Colonel Sanders" and it made me cackle, so I included that a little bit here. 😂😂

Oh goodness she is already so protective of him and oh my word the wink had me melting lol.

See! It's not taking that long at all for her to start softening up towards him loll. At the very least, she doesn't want to see him killed for her after killing for her.

I also don't think that I mentioned this before, but I really like how you wove in the other characters in the show. Seeing Benny and Cas show up just made me so happy.

Aww thank you!! 🥰🥰 When it comes to AUs, I try my best to fit in canon characters where they make the most sense to me, and try to make them feel "as themselves" as possible.

Oh my word seeing that fight in my head, um... YES PLEASE. And the loyalty?! The love for their friend?! The "Goodbye brother."? It's so good.

Imagining Dean in uniform, even if he's fighting his friends, just does things to me too loll.

Ultimately, Benny and Cas are good men even in this world, and they didn't want to have to bring in him or Mila to the Colonel either. 💜

She's squishing his face! That is so cute, oh my stars. Plus I am cackling at how long it took him to be able to say her name.

Ahaha this was my favorite part to write for this chapter! Dean struggled, bless his heart. 🤣🤣🤣

I absolutely love this! I really love it when writers pick the names of their characters based on the meaning behind it. And the fact that you gave the meaning of her name a backstory of her mom having a dream and the butterfly meaning that Mila "would have a free mind" is just so perfect for her. Because she is stubborn and she does have "a free mind" by being rebellious and strong, by being a strong female character who does not conform to the whims of what other people deem to be appropriate for her. Also it was funny that Dean thought she was like a "lioness."

Aww thank you!! I'm usually pretty conscious of names and the meanings behind them, but especially in this story I got deep into the research of the Lakota people, and I found that names are very important to their culture, now and historically.

When I was looking for a name for her, Kimmímila stood out as being beautiful (with a nice nickname), but perhaps on surface level didn't reflect her true personality. So that's why I worked in that backstory with her mother's dream, vs. who she wanted her daughter to be, and who Mila considers herself to be. And bonus, what Dean observes of her! lol

So I absolutely love all of your observations here, because that's exactly what I intended for her!

This is a really wonderful line, that the war "never really ends." It really fits this story and honestly it really fits the entire early history of the United States when it was acquiring territory and embracing the "manifest destiny" ideals.

Aww thank you so much!! That's what I thought as well, not just for this story, but for the greater context of U.S. history during this time and the push to industrialize the entire country.

Okay, the whole part where she is explaining things about her life and her culture was so sweet. Them opening up with one another is just so soft and a little fluffy and I'm so glad that they got to have those gentle moments with one another. Not to mention this bit where Dean admits how much he likes listening to her, is just so good lol. And I thought it was really on brand for him to be a little upset that she doesn't completely trust him yet, even though that he killed one of his men. But he's got to learn to be patient... and then propose. LOL.

That was so fun for me too! The "getting to know you" aspect. I thought that opening up to one another was needed here, and it gave an opportunity for more historical tidbits!

Ahaha yep, she's a hard nut to crack, but Dean need only be patient. He's won a lot more brownie points with her than he realizes. 😏 "And then propose" -- I'm weeeak!! 🤣

Don't be afraid to admit it Mila, we all know how good he is to look at. And why shouldn't you look at your future husband? 💍

Ha!! Ikr?? Also, you're getting dangerously warm to what's coming in Part 3. ❤️‍🔥

Oh my sweet goodness, the TENSION!! This is so good my friend and I am so excited for what the future of this series holds and am praying that it doesn't end in death!😬💗

The romantic tension is real!! lmaoo

Thank you so, so much, friend!! Part 3 is my favorite part, I think, and I hope you'll be happy with the outcome, even though we've got a fair bit of action and angst ahead...

The Honorable Choice - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: “Getting to know you, getting to know all about you…” ⬅️ If you’ve seen The King & I, then you’ll probably be singing that line in your head like I do.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 3.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, protective Dean, historical tidbits, fluff

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🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 2: Death & Sacrifice

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and the hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

He just can’t do it.

His finger eases off the trigger of his gun, and he lowers it to the ground beside him.

“I told you,” he says. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Her head tilts as she stares at his gun, then at him. She relaxes somewhat, and she backs off of him, sliding from his lap down to the grass beside him. Her closed fist with the knife comes to rest at her side. She gives him a look of wary bewilderment.

“You are a strange man,” she says.

Dean has to laugh a little, smiling at her afterward.

“I guess so,” he replies.

Her brows furrow. “You killed one of your own…for me?”

He nods, and his smile falls with a weary sigh. The hard part about that is he doesn’t feel much guilt about what he’s done. At the same time, he does, and the conflict churns in his stomach. He knew what kind of man Roman was. He was the kind of soldier that could’ve filled Colonel Sanderson’s shoes one day. A fellow soldier under Dean’s command...

And a sack of shit in human clothes.

Dean leans back on his hands in the grass and slides his legs out long. His stare falls to the earth between his boots. The ground is soft underneath him. Maybe it rained this morning. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna make it tough when I go back,” he says. “At best, that’s a court martial. At worst…”

The Lakota woman frowns, her dark brows nearly meeting in the middle as she considers him. He wonders what she sees when she looks at him.

“Tell you what,” Dean said. “Give yourself and your horse a rest tonight. I’ll go back and tell them I lost you in the canyon.”

Her eyes widen further in surprise. He can’t blame her for it. He’s surprising himself every time he opens his mouth.

“Will they kill you?” she asks.

Dean shrugs. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

She levels him with a firmer look, one that demands the truth.

His nonchalance wanes, and he sighs.

“They might,” he says.

She shakes her head. She seems to deliberate over something, but eventually she comes to a decision. Just when she opens her mouth to speak, a gunshot rings out and hits the ground not far from their feet. A warning.

The sound of hooves thundering on the earth reach them before they look up. Two horses gallop towards them in the distance, their riders wearing blue uniforms.

They both tense up, but Dean is the first one to move. He grabs her arm and helps her stand along with him. They scramble back and lead the horses by their reins further into the trees. They find a denser patch and a raised hill to crouch down and hide behind.

The mustang is too tired to go very far, but Baby is already making anxious sounds, protective of her rider.

“Shhh,” Dean whispers, and runs a soothing hand over her side. He leads her to lay down with her legs tucked underneath her.

The Lakota manages to do the same with the mustang after whispering to him softly in her language. There’s a trust between them, Dean realizes. They have a connection that seems to mirror his own with his horse. He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

“Captain!” Benny calls out.

Dean grimaces, but he stays quiet. He turns to the woman and holds a finger over his lips. She stares back at him in apprehension. He begins to creep slowly around the hill, but she grabs onto his wrist. For a second, she looks just as surprised as him by the reflexive action. Then, she shakes her head at him.

Don’t go out there, her eyes say.

Dean smiles, and he gives her a reassuring wink. He gently removes her hand and gestures at her to stay where she is. He army crawls up the side of the hill. It gives him a vantage point to watch his men, who approach just a few feet down below. 

“Captain Winchester!” Cas calls next.

“We don’t want to have to come and get you, Dean. Come on,” Benny says. He does sound reluctant, for his part. His voice grows more somber when he says, “Colonel’s given us orders to bring you and the girl back…dead or alive.”

Dean knows the position he’s put his own men in. He doesn’t blame them for following the Colonel’s orders. He just hopes they can forgive him for what he’s about to do.

He leaps off the edge of the hill with a yell and brings Benny with him to the ground. He sweeps Cas’s legs out from underneath him, then tosses a punch that lands on the corner of Benny’s chin. He kicks Benny’s gun away, and wrestles Cas until his pistol falls from his hand. The three men scrap and trade blows, until Dean is the only one left standing. His men are groaning on the dusty ground, slowly picking themselves up.

Dean’s heaving for breath as well as he leans back against the side of the hill. Despite that momentary victory, he knows what they all know: that this fight isn’t going to end until either they’re dead, or he’s dead.

“Where’s the girl, Dean?” Benny says. He implores him to see sense. “We take her back with us, we can smooth all this over with the Colonel. All of it, even Roman.” 

Dean lets out a deep breath, but he shakes his head.

“Can’t do that, Benny,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a question circling in his friend’s eyes, but after a beat, Benny seems to know the answer to it. He picks up his gun from the ground. Just like Dean once did, the Lieutenant now has a choice to make.

He shares a heavy look with Cas. The two of them nod, before they focus back on Dean.

Benny’s hand falls, and he stows his gun.

“You died today,” Benny says. “We found your body somewhere in the canyon. Your horse too.”

Dean nods, with something of a smile. He supposes faking his death is the only option now. He rips the badge off his uniform jacket and tosses it to Benny.

“There’s your proof,” he says.

Dean shares a grim nod of respect with Cas while Benny examines the torn patch denoting a captain’s rank.

“Take care of each other,” Dean says.

Benny’s head raises, and he meets Dean with a somber gaze.

“Goodbye, brother.”

Dean doesn’t return to her until the men are out of sight through the trees. She’s still hiding along with the resting horses, waiting for him. That alone surprises him. It would bring a small smile to his face, if the weight of that goodbye didn’t feel so heavy on his shoulders.

He reaches out a hand for her. It takes her a moment to consider it, but she accepts his offer.

He helps her to her feet, after which, she quickly pulls her hand back. She’s wary of his touch, her face guarded when she looks up at him. Dean supposes he can’t blame her, even if it does strike a nerve. After what he just did for her…

His face becomes stoic, and he turns away to grab his hat from the dusty ground. “We should probably head out.”

She nods and calls to her horse to encourage him to his feet. Despite himself, Dean can't help but be curious. How did this girl manage to tame that wild beast?

“Does he have a name?” he asks.

“Mato,” she replies.

“Mato,” Dean echoes. “Does that mean something? You know, in your language.”

She eyes him wryly, brushing her hand over Mato’s hide.

“It means angry, like a bear,” she says.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, good name.”

He remembers his bruised side (and ego) from when the mustang threw him off his back.

Dean watches her with another realization as she gracefully mounts the horse. Baby has gotten up to her feet as well, already nudging the back of his arm with her snout. He rubs her nose in affection.

Then he turns to climb up onto her back, settling his feet into the stirrups and loosely grabbing the reins. He follows his companion’s lead farther into the forest, but he guides his horse to fall into step beside hers.

“Will you tell me your name now?” he asks. “Think we’ve been through enough together at this point, don’t you think?”

She considers it with a tilt of her head. She looks over at him with a small smile.

“Kimmímila,” she says. The syllables roll off her tongue effortlessly.

Dean raises his brows. “Kim…Kimmeela.”

She shakes her head at him, her lips pursing.

“Kimmímila.”

Lord help him, but he tries his best. His brows furrow.

“Kim…mila,” he attempts. She guides Mato closer and grabs Dean by his cheeks with one hand.

“Kimmí.”

“Kimmí,” he repeats with his cheeks squished. His face is starting to warm up, and not altogether in embarrassment.

“Mila,” she says with a nod.

“Mila,” Dean says. “Kimmímila.”

He’s treated to her smile, warm and true. She releases him, her gaze flitting over his face. Then she keeps riding. Dean grins to himself.

“Think I’m gonna call you Mila,” he says. Make it easier on myself.

She even laughs, a honeyed sound. “Yes, my father does too.”

“What does it mean? Your name.”

“In your language?” she says, in a tone that teases him back. She becomes thoughtful as she searches for the word. “It means…butterfly.”

“Really?” Dean remarks. She doesn’t strike him as a butterfly.

More like a lioness, he thinks, only somewhat holding back his grin.

She gives him some side-eye, despite her amusement.

“You think it does not suit me,” she observes.

“Well, I didn't say that—”

“I don’t think so either,” she admits. “There are many things that don’t suit me.”

Dean chuckles. He can imagine that.

“But my mother had a dream before I was born,” Mila says. “She saw beautiful wings, and said I would have a free mind. When I grew, and wanted to spend my days with horses more than cooking and sewing things, she didn’t call me free. She called me stubborn.” Her face begins to fall. “Maybe too stubborn.”

Dean offers her a rueful, sympathetic look. “Yeah, I get it. My brother always said I was damn hardheaded,” he says. “…Maybe we’ve got more in common than we thought, huh?”

Mila’s smile returns, however slightly.

“You have a brother?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah. He’s a lawyer, so he’s more needed back home,” Dean replies.

Damn. He really does miss his bookish little brother.

He explains to her about his family, his brother and mother who still live in Lawrence, and how he joined the army, in part to honor his father.

“What happened to him?” she asks.

“He died…in some cornfield near Sharpsburg, Maryland, fighting the Confederacy,” he replies, heaving a breath.

"Con...federacy?" she questions.

"The South," Dean explains. "See, most of our southern states thought they should be their own country, letting slaves plow their fields and mind their kids. I may have lived on a farm, but my father always paid his workers. He fought for the Union."

"So you fought among yourselves, over land that did not belong to you," Mila points out.

Dean falls silent. After a little while, he concedes her point with an incline of his head.

"Fair enough," he says, glancing over at her. “I think my dad thought the fighting would end with the war, but, uh...it never really ends, does it?”

Her expression of curiosity fades, turning more solemn.

“No,” she agrees. “…I am sorry for your father.”

Dean's a little surprised to hear that from her, but he nods his thanks. They continue to talk as the sun begins to set in the west. When it dips behind the canyon, they stop to make camp for the night, and he helps her catch a rabbit to roast on the fire they build together.

That night over the meal, she slowly opens up to him. He learns that she’s an only child, though she has a sibling-like bond with her older cousin, Šóta. She spends most of her days planting or harvesting their crops, depending on the season, as well as sewing, painting, helping the elders of her tribe with tasks, and helping her mother and aunt cook.

When the rabbit is gone, she unbinds her long, thick hair and untangles it while she speaks. She explains that the Lakota are just one of many tribes. There are six other bands of Sioux who live in this region. Along with the Dakota and the Nakota, they are the “Seven Council Fires” who have made the Great Plains their home for generations.

She tells him about the way her tribe lives, caring for one another, giving the land back as much as they take, and letting it rest. The men hunt and protect the village from the outside, but the women protect the inside, their way of life.

Most of all, Mila tells him, she loves caring for the horses. She goes out and rides whenever she can duck out of her mother’s watchful eye.

Dean enjoys listening to her stories. He likes what he learns about her, but also, he just likes the sound of her voice, smooth and steady, almost calming. He thinks she might like the sound of his too, the way she’s smiled at him, laughed with him, glanced at him when she thinks he’s not looking.

She still picks a spot as far away from him as she can to sleep though. She keeps the fire pit in between them. He even catches sight of her knife, hidden in the hand she tucks underneath her cheek. Evidently, she doesn’t fully trust him just yet.

It annoys him at first, considering how many times he’s saved her already. How much he’s sacrificed just to get them this far…

Until he remembers how they met. He remembers the disdain and anger in her brown eyes, then the mistrust, and the fear hidden underneath. He thinks of every experience she’s likely had so far with the U.S. Military, and anyone else who looks like him.

Dean settles down on the ground and stares up at the innumerable stars in a raven sky. He’s exhausted, but his thoughts don’t let him rest for a while. 

At the very least, the way she looks at him now is softer than that first day.

In the morning, Mila watches the strange man wake.

He blinks and rubs his bleary eyes, yawning, groaning at the sun’s brightness like a child. She hides her smile by bowing her head over the apple she’s cutting with her knife. The orchards span wide across the forest, and soon he’ll find two yellow-red apples beside his head.

His brows raise at them, then he looks up at Mila sitting with her legs crossed behind the small fire pit. The wood there is just ash and blackened remains now, but it still carries the smell of burning.

“Morning,” he greets.

She nods back at him and pretends not to watch when he sits up with a groan, stretching and bending his arms high behind his head. He removed his uniform jacket to sleep. It allows her to see every dip of male muscle that his plain white shirt clings to, even in the long sleeves.

Her gaze furtively runs over the broad shoulders, the tapered waist, then back up to his half-bearded face, defined by a strong jaw and dark brows. The sun catches on his brown hair and teases the ends of it golden.

She would never admit it, but he’s not unpleasant to look at. 

Last night, she declined his offer to travel with her until she reaches her tribe safely, but he was insistent. Again, strange.

So here she is, with him. Here they are. 

Dean turns to see the horses grazing nearby. Mato no longer has the saddle and bridle his men put on him. He looks rested and at ease. He even whinnies at Baby, tossing his head a little. She answers him and flicks her tail. They continue eating together.

Dean smiles, then grabs an apple. He raises it to her in thanks before he takes a large bite. Its juices run down the corner of his mouth, and he wipes at it with the back of his hand. Mila can’t help but be drawn to the sight.

She tears her eyes away when he looks over at her.

“We have a long way to go. Three days, if the weather is good,” she says, continuing to carve pieces of her apple to eat. “We will know we are close when we reach the river.”

Dean nods in understanding. With a grunt, he gets to his feet and takes another bite out of his breakfast. She doesn’t expect the way he approaches her with a hand outstretched. She looks up at it, then at his expectant face.

“Come on. Let’s hit the road then,” he says.

Mila considers his offer for another moment. He seems to be making this a habit. Amused, she wonders if this is just kindness, or if the women of his people aren’t allowed to stand without a man’s help.

She pockets her knife, swipes her braided hair over her shoulder, and slips her hand into his, allowing him to help her to her feet. When she gets there, he’s closer than he should be.

A breath gets trapped in her throat as she once again looks between his warm hand closed over her smaller one, and his face. In the small space between them, there is a different kind of tension than before. Mila can’t tell what the man is thinking when he looks at her like that, but she doesn’t like it.

And at the same time, she does.

She takes back her hand, and she goes to the horses. She firmly ignores how her heart gallops, even as she rubs at her chest like it’s an ache that can be soothed.

She doesn’t hear Dean’s unsteady breath, nor does she see the way his green eyes follow her.

AN: *rubs hands together* Well, here they are! It's all starting to come together. What did you think of Dean's decision?

Coming up next, we have the final part: some action, some fluff, and some potentially perilous situations for Mila and Dean...

Next Time:

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

COMING 11/17! (New chapters every Sunday.)

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[werewolfgenesis]

A Way With Words

[sgt-celestial]

sitting at the kitchen table doing fuckall rn might do my makeup for fun in my tiny handheld mirror. should i

[lowkeyren]

drunk words, sober thoughts!

in which — “taking your boss home after he gets drunk for the nth time this week” wasn’t in your job description; but as emotions run high, would you still choose to resist his advances?

pairing — aventurine x gn!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆  — wc: 2.1k, consumption of alcohol (aven is drunk), he’s so down bad for u its not even funny anymore, topaz + jade cameo ;) reblogs w comments are appreciated! please enjoy <3

the persistent ringing of your phone jolts you awake, pulling you from the depths of sleep. groggily, you reach out, fingertips searching for the source of the disturbance amidst the darkness of the room.

with a grunt of frustration, you finally locate your phone on the bedside table. your eyes squint against the harsh glow of the screen, revealing topaz's name flashing insistently.

"hello..?" you answered, your voice thick with drowsiness. 

"hey friend, sorry to wake you." topaz said, quickly getting to the point, "aventurine's getting wasted at the tavern here. can you come get him?" 

you rub your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "aren’t you at the tavern too? why can't you do it instead..." you don't mean to sound rude, but anyone's mood would sour if they were woken up in the middle of their slumber, right? 

(and please just give me one night of peace, you want to add on)

but working as aventurine's secretary means there's barely ever any peace; you are constantly living a chaotic life, exhausted by his endless and, even more annoyingly, unpredictable shenanigans. maybe you shouldn’t have taken the position, but the pay and the view of his infuriatingly handsome face makes it all worthwhile.

topaz sighs. "trust me, i tried. but his stubborn ass is refusing to leave, i can't get through to him no matter what." 

in the background, you hear your boss call out to you, “mmmh [name]... c'meeere” his words slurred from the effects of alcohol. it's clear he's drunk; way too drunk actually. is he that far gone? you aren’t even there. 

it wasn't the first time he’s gotten this drunk, in fact he’s been drinking every other day lately —much to your concern. "alright, i'll be there soon." you reply, fully aware that his drunken antics would inevitably lead to a splitting headache.

"thanks. he's in pretty bad shape." topaz adds just as another slurred whine of your name cuts through the background. “...ugh, and please come quick” she hangs up before you can respond. you sigh again, throwing off the covers, and quickly dressing yourself before making your way to the tavern.

it looks like your night’s just getting started, because this is just another reminder of how taxing it is to clean up after your endearingly troublesome boss. 

as you step through the entrance of the tavern, your eyes scan the crowded space until they land on aventurine. he’s slumped over the counter, his head resting on his folded arms, and an array of empty glasses scattered around him. you notice topaz isn't beside him, and just as you reach for your phone, a notification pops up from her. 

"jade called, i have to go." fantastic, now you're stuck playing babysitter to your incredibly drunk boss all on your own. isn’t this just adding insult to injury..? you put your phone down, and make your way over to the counter, mentally bracing yourself for what’s to come. 

aventurine, whose cheeks are flushing from too many glasses of ale, immediately perks up when he catches sight of you. his posture shifts slightly, a clumsy attempt to straighten up. despite his dishevelled appearance and obvious inebriation, a sloppy grin spreads across his face; his usually sharp eyes now hazy, but his gaze remains unwavering.

“sir, it's time to go home. you’ve had enough for tonight.” you say firmly, your expression deadpan, the exhaustion in your system weighing heavily on you. “sweetheart... *hic* i missed youuuu," he slurs, words drawn out and muddled, the alcohol coating his tongue with each syllable. 

aventurine’s bleary eyes struggling to focus as they fix themselves on you, it’s evident he has it much worse tonight.  “mmh sweetheart, have i ever told you just how gorgeous you are?" his words linger in the air; though your expression remains indifferent, you can feel a subtle heat rising up your neck.

you hate how he has this effect on you, it shouldn't stir such feelings, especially given his role as your boss. though no matter the amount of times he effortlessly (re: shamelessly) slips endearments into your conversations, you can still sense the warmth bubbling up inside you —much to your dismay.

“yes sir, for the fourth time this week. and don’t try to distract me—” before you can finish, aventurine stumbles forward and envelops you in a tight embrace, the overpowering smell of alcohol engulfing your senses. his lips inches away from your ear, the proximity borders on suffocating in its allure; he rests his chin on your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck, stirring a rush of conflicting emotions within you.

you hadn’t had anything to drink tonight, so why are you feeling hazy, your head swirling with jumbled-up thoughts, and your body unexpectedly warming up? you fight to maintain your composure as aventurine holds you close, his grip unyielding.

“ahem… sir please release me immediately. ” you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly, cringing at your own words as it didn’t come out as stern as you had hoped.

aventurine seems to hesitate for a moment, his grip loosening ever so slightly, but he doesn't let go completely. “no… no sir, i’m not your sir” he mumbles, his words muffled against your shoulder.

two weeks ago, you would've redirected his attention firmly, steering clear of any personal entanglements that could complicate your working relationship. two weeks ago, you would’ve dismissed any hint of intimacy, and suppressed the flicker of attraction beneath layers of practicality and duty. 

now, however, your resolve falters as you stand enveloped in his embrace. the logical arguments that once guided your actions seem distant and irrelevant compared to the raw, magnetic pull of his presence.

in the face of his vulnerability, your defenses too crumble, leaving you grappling with conflicting impulses and unspoken desires —so you decide to indulge just this once.

“aventurine. there, happy?” you can feel his heart racing against yours, a syncopated rhythm that mirrors the tangle of emotions swirling within you. the line between professionalism and lovers has always been blurred between you. but now as his arms encircle you and his warmth seeps into your skin, it seems near impossible to define.

perhaps, all along, it was his intention for that line to fade away, to be erased completely.

he doesn’t respond with words, but instead holds you tighter, as if seeking solace in your presence. his name escapes your lips in a soft murmur, “kakavasha…?” the sound of your voice rings in his ear, lingering in the air like a whispered prayer.

he seems to delight in the way you utter his name, evident by how he savours each syllable like a rare delicacy.  you take his silence as your cue to continue, clearing your throat, “unfortunately the chauffeur is unable to make it at this hour, so i will—”

he cuts you off by releasing you from his grasp, yet keeps you ensconced in his arms, ensuring you face him directly. in the dim light, you finally get to see his flawless features up close for the first time tonight.

“i love you.” his words hang in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless. 

he stares into your eyes, a whirlwind of emotions surge within you. caught off guard, you let out a chuckle, unsure if his words are genuine or if he’s merely attempting to charm his way out of a situation again. 

“i bet you tell everyone that.” you shoot him an unimpressed look.

he pauses for a moment, his hands finding a comfortable place on your back before pulling you closer to him.  “i do.” he nods in confirmation, his gaze steady on yours. 

“i tell everyone that i love you.”

your heart skips a beat, actually no, you think you stopped breathing the moment those words left his mouth. does he know how much he tugs at your heartstrings? though you can’t help but wonder if he'll regret everything when he sobers up tomorrow. 

“aventurine, you’re drunk.” you say softly as you divert your gaze. "yes, and you’re everything i’ve ever wanted." he moves his free hand up to gently cup your cheek, eagerly waiting for the moment the room stops spinning so he can focus on your face again.

the world around you collapses the instant your eyes meet him again, it feels like he's baring his soul to you, grounding you with his touch, his presence. you gently place your hand over his that rests on your cheek, your voice barely above a whisper. "let's get you home first, and we can talk about this when you're sober."

“alright sweetheart, whatever you say...” he drawls out with a tipsy cadence, punctuated by his tightening hold on your back. you huff out in feign annoyance before grabbing his hand and dragging him out the tavern.

you navigate through the night with a very drunk aventurine leaning heavily against your side, his arm draped around your shoulder for support. “ugh you’re impossible when you’re drunk…” you chide with a playful roll of your eyes, half-supporting, and half-dragging him along. “please be reminded to give me a raise when this is over.”

aventurine’s occasional laughter punctuates through the quiet night, drawing the attention of a few late-night pedestrians who smile knowingly at the scene. and you swear you caught a glimpse of silver-white hair as you pass by an alley, maybe the lack of sleep is really taking a toll on you.

“you’re lucky you have a pretty face to make up for all this mess you’re dragging me through.” you remark subconsciously, only to be interrupted by him abruptly stopping in his tracks. he looks at you with a sheepish grin, cheeks still flushed.

“…you think i'm pretty?” 

you jab at him, maybe you should give him a few more while you have the chance. after all, he probably won't remember any of this tomorrow, right?

okay maybe aventurine wasn’t lying when he said he tells everyone that he loves you. (and apparently “everyone” includes his coworkers too)

the constant dinging of your phone makes you seriously consider launching it out the nearest window. you open the group chat and stare incredulously at the avalanche of texts flooding your screen.

[topaz sent an attachment]

seems like you weren’t hallucinating last night, topaz really was there —and she managed to snap a picture of you and aventurine.

“topaz?? i thought you had an emergency with jade”

“nah lol, jade was in on it”

“hope you had a great night dear, and make sure to let us know what happened~”

“you guys are menaces i swear!!!!”

before you can gather your thoughts, a pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you gently against his solid chest. you tense up, part of you wanting to melt into his hold; and despite your better judgement, you instinctively lean into him.

"so, what's the deal with you getting plastered every night?" you tease, momentarily forgetting about the texts as you turn your focus to aventurine.

“what else other than drowning out my sorrows over you, sweetheart.” he quips, sneaking a quick peck on your cheek, which you dodge just in time. 

“seriously? all those drinks were because you thought i wasn't into you?"

“hmm, yeah pretty much so.” he admits, truly his shamelessness knows no bounds.

“then i guess it’s about time you learn how to handle your losses.” you jest, nudging him as he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “there’s no need. i'll still tell you that i love you tomorrow, the day after, and every day after that until you finally let yourself believe it." 

aventurine will wait for the day you accept him, more than just your boss; he will wait for the day you whisper those three words, not just into his ear, but into the very depths of his heart. he will be there, patiently, until the day your soul finally speaks the truth that his heart has always known.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 

masterlist

©lowkeyren 2024. please do not plagiarize, translate, repost on other platforms, or feed my works into ai.

[pottersfia]

ask for it | theodore nott x fem!reader

summary: asking for what you want doesn’t come easy for you but theodore is more than happy to help out.

warnings/content: language, smut, oral, kinda shy!reader but it’s up to interpretation, praise/degrading

a/n: based on an audio lolzies, i’m just in love with this man

dating theodore nott was a dream. you were mesmerized by the boy since you first saw him and ever since you became his girlfriend you almost had to pinch yourself every day to make sure you weren't dreaming.

theodore was on of the most intimidating slytherin boys but you knew who he really was. he was funny and passionate about his friendships. he was incredibly smart and always the nicest to you. he helped you so much with growing as a person. your relationship was almost perfect but there was something you still struggled with.

speaking your mind isn't always easy, especially when your boyfriend makes you flustered every time you look at him. you've talked to theodore about this and he completely understood you. he wanted to help. he noticed how you shy away from asking for what you want in any situation, but especially when things got heated between you two. he figured he'd start there.

"do you like that, y/n?" he whispered in your ear. theodore was currently kissing your neck as you straddled him. your eyes were closed, your head leaned back, and the noises you made from his hands roaming your body was proof enough that you were enjoying yourself, but he wanted to hear it. you nodded at his question and he removed his hands from under your shirt and looked at you.

"open your eyes. look at me." you did as he said, the sudden commands startling you. "i asked you a question. tell me with your words this time." he went back to kissing your neck and stuck his hands under your shirt resting them on your hips and rubbing his thumbs on your skin.

"do you like that, y/n? does it feel good?" he asked again.

"yes theo. yes it feels so good." you replied. the boy smiled. he could tell your body wanted more but all you did was grind softly on his lap.

"tell me what you want, pretty girl. i won't do anything else until you say it." his words caused you to let out a small moan. your mind raced as you tried to muster up the courage to say something. did you even know what you wanted? theodore saw the look on your face, as if your thoughts were written all over it. he figured he'd help you out.

"do you want me to take your top off?" he asked, snapping you out of your mini freak out and making you look at him. you slowly nodded your head. "say it then." he smiled. "say, 'i want you to take my top off.'"

"i want you to take my top off." you repeated.

"if you insist." he replied making you smile. he lifted up your shirt and helped pull it off of you. he left kisses down your neck and on your chest. he reached behind you to take your bra off. you felt him grow harder underneath you but he didn't make any other movements.

"theo. i um." you practically whispered finding it hard again to speak up.

"want me to touch you more, pretty girl?" you nodded. "tell me. say, 'please don't stop'."

"please don't stop. touch me more." you said.

"good girl." he kissed you and played with your tits. he squeezed them and slightly pinched your nipples. he broke the kiss to focus his attention and them. he attached his mouth to your right one making you moan more. you had your hand in his hair gripping from the pleasure. you were practically dripping at this point and as if he knew (which he pretty much did), he put his hand in your pants past the waistband of your underwear to feel you.

“you’re so wet for me. what a good little slut.” he looked up at you.

“theo, i need you so bad.” you said. he removed his hand and sat up. he pulled your bottoms of including your underwear and laid you back. he then hovered over you.

“what do you want me to?”

“your mouth. please.”

“come on you can do better than that. tell me ‘i want you to eat my pussy until i cum’.” the boy was driving you crazy. he was looking you straight in the eyes and waited to make any other movements until you replied. the ache between your legs grew more and more each second. you let out a whimper before obeying, “i want you to eat my pussy.” you paused. he lifted his hand to grab your chin.

“until i make you cum.” he repeated.

“until you make me cum.” you said. he kissed your cheek and made his way down.

“your wish is my command.” he finally licked your clit making you moan once again. he attached his mouth to you, practically making out with your pussy. he held your hand with one hand and with the other he used his fingers to tease your entrance. he stuck in a finger and pumped it slowly.

“theo, that feels so good..” you moaned out. he was encouraged to go faster. he added another finger and swirled his tongue on your clit making you arch your back up, squeezing his hand. you felt so good but you needed more. you knew you had to speak up to get what you wanted.

“theo, theo wait.” you pulled his head up by his hair to make him look at you.

“what is it, cara mia?” he was slightly worried.

“i want your cock right now. i want you to fuck me.” you told him. he smiled at your words.

“that’s my girl.”

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 17 - Drunk Sex]

Pairing: Good Boy!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: new relationship!AU, Idol!Yoongi

Kinks: sex in his studio, romantic vanilla sex, consensual drunk sex, some dirty talk, lots of giggles and kisses, a quick breast worship cause it’s Yoongi, safe vaginal penetrative sex, vaginal fingering, dry humping, thigh riding, use of a vibrator, talks about male masturbation, he talks about using her moans in songs, Amazon position, they’re just drunk and horny and in love <3, he is The Man, like i need him so bad emotionally

Wordcount: 5.9k

a/n: if you voice me a wish of vanilla studio sex with some spice sprinkled on top, i take out my pen and deliver because i’m in a fact a whore for studio sex <3 fuckk i need to eat this Yoongi with a spoon no joke 🖤 i also miss him a lot :(

He makes you laugh. He is funny, you really think that he is. His laugh is also addictive. Deep, unless you match his humour just right and it turns into a squeak. You love laughing with him. You have been doing so for quite some hours today, sharing food and beer in his studio. You can feel the effects of the alcohol by now. It’s warm and fuzzy and dulls your boundaries a little. You don’t feel the need to force your senses to stay sharp. Not in his presence. He is safe and kind and sweet. Home, that’s what he has become. 

And right now, he is also incredibly cute in your eyes. He is wearing a yellow sweater and brown pants and he clearly did his hair. It’s because he knew that you would be coming over for dinner. He smells like masculine cologne and he wears rings on his fingers. He put effort into himself because you deserve nothing less. He is very attractive and beyond tempting, but most of all, he is cute. 

You stop laughing, completely engrossed in his face and how it moves when he smiles. 

Yoongi notices your change of attitude instantly, fumbling with his earlobe.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes suddenly struggling to upkeep contact.

“It’s just that”, you scoot closer, brushing the back of your hand down his cheek.

Yoongi’s breath hitches, his heart speeds up in his chest. 

“Your cheeks become red when you’re drunk. It’s such a pretty shade.” 

“Uhm”, Yoongi looks to the side. He stumbles for words and ends up laughing breathily instead. He clears his throat, scooting to the edge of the sofa to reach for his glass of beer. 

You smile, resting back against the sofa with your head on the edge of the backrest and your eyes glued to him. You giggle.

He glances at you and looks away, taking a big sip of beer. When you don’t stop looking at him, he finally speaks up.

“Don’t look at me for so long. I don’t know how to handle it”, he is pouting and using a cute voice for it.

“I can’t help it. I think that you’re so cute.”

He flusters, rubbing the side of his neck. 

“Okay”, he mumbles, eating a piece of fried chicken to distract himself from his nerves. The chicken is cold by now and he isn’t really hungry so it seems to never end in his mouth. He gulps it down when he suddenly feels your hands on his arms, feeling him up, touching him. Your kiss is placed on the round part of his shoulder. 

“Your shyness is very attractive. It makes me wanna ravish you.”

“___, oh my god”, he gasps, meeting your eyes because your statement shocked him. 

You simply flutter your lashes and smile playfully.

“Why are you saying this?” 

“Why not? It’s the truth.” 

“Yeah well, even if…oh my god.”

You laugh, closing the distance by putting your legs over his lap sideways and hugging his chest. 

You kiss his cheek, “I can’t get enough of you, Min Yoongi.” 

“You’re drunk.”

“Mhm, as are you.” 

He clears his throat awkwardly, rubbing his own ear again. You decide to match him by nibbling on his other ear. 

“Woah”, he gets out, tilting his head back as a surprise shiver shakes his body. He moves away instantly, widened eyes meeting yours. 

“Did you like that?” you ask him, playing with his earlobe. It feels so soft and squishy between your fingers.

“___, I don’t know what you’re trying to do but we have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t wanna take advantage of you. You drank and your boundaries are down and I…I’m not that kind of man. I like you, a lot, and I care about you. I mean, not that I would take advantage of you if I didn’t feel for you like this, but I just. I guess, I just, what I wanna say is that I’m not one of those guys that get excited when a woman is visibly drunk.” 

“I know. I never thought that you were. You’re kind, sweet, respectful and a total gentleman. I trust you, Min Yoongi. I feel safe with you.”

“Please just call me Yoongi.”

“Well, I trust you Yoongi. And I like you a lot too.”

"You do?” 

You change the way you sit so you can talk. You and he haven’t seen each other for long. This is all new and exciting. You had your first kiss already, your first cuddle and shared some intimate moments with each other. But all of this is still new. The big L word hasn’t fallen yet although both of you burn to say it. You also haven’t really gone official to the people who matter. Your friends and family and Yoongi’s in return. You don’t want to give other people a chance to ruin this. Your last relationships have been a while for either of you and you both agree that the last one didn’t feel like this. It didn’t feel so electric and right and almost cosmical. As if some higher power brought you and him together. When you are together, nothing really matters and everything seems so much brighter. Yoongi only has a good morning when he can wish you a nice day at work and in return gets to read your funny morning texts. You swear you start to taste his kisses with every sip of coffee because so often he tastes like coffee when he kisses you. Sometimes Yoongi stops and stares when something reminds him of you and he always has to take a picture and send it to you. Sometimes you stumble upon a stray cat and see Yoongi in it and you always have to send him a picture as well. You and he became parts of each other’s days and build little houses in each other’s hearts. And it feels good and right to both of you.

“Of course I like you”, you say, taking his hand to kiss his knuckles, “I think you’re the most exciting yet mundane thing that has ever happened to me.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. 

“I’m serious. You make my heart race and at the same time, you calm me down like no one else has ever done.” 

“That’s…” He lowers his head. “Actually such a sweet thing to say. Thank you.”

You flip his hand and push his sweater sleeve up to reveal his wrist. The scent of his cologne lingers on it. You inhale deeply and kiss his wrist. 

Yoongi gasps, heart almost jumping out of his throat.

“I mean it. You’re like my everything currently. You’re every single thought taking up my mind”, you say and guide your kisses further up his arm. The skin of his inner arm is so soft and smells like him. Kissing it makes you droopy. 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, but his head is turning. His breath speeds up, his skin tingles. He is really sensitive on his inner arm and your kisses feel electric on his skin.

You manage to kiss him as far as his elbow and then the jumper punches up too much to go up any further. You nuzzle your nose into the slope of his elbow, sucking on his skin gently. 

Yoongi sighs. 

The sound makes you lift your head. You pull his sweater down mindlessly, holding the hem of his sleeve as your eyes race between his’. 

His pupils are slightly widened, his cheeks are even more flushed. He is gazing, looking utterly bewitched and droopy.

“I feel the same”, his voice doesn’t want to go above a breathy whisper. With a warm timbre such as his’, it is very attractive. “It’s all new to me. These feelings. I’ve never felt like this before. You are in my mind all day and night and it’s so good. I can’t get enough of it and of you.” 

“You can’t?” 

His eyes flit to your lips. He shakes his head, mouthing an honest “I can’t.”

You close the distance. His lids lower, his nose brushes yours. 

“Are you really sure?” he whispers.

“I’m really sure. Are you sure too? I’m not that type of woman either who gets off on taking advantage of a drunk guy. If I came across as such, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“You didn’t. I know that you’re safe. I feel, uhm, I guess I feel safe in wanting to be myself with you when it comes to, you know, sex.” 

You snicker, rubbing your nose against his’ in a sign of affection. He closes his eyes, enjoying it with a sweet sigh.

“You’re so cute. You always get shy the moment we talk about sex. You rap about making people cum with your tongue, but you’re different behind closed doors.”

“It’s ‘cause I like you, I get nervous.”

“Why? It’s just me.”

“Exactly. I don’t wanna disappoint.”

“You’re not. Sometimes when I’m trying to sleep, I keep thinking about what we did and I get excited about the next time.”

He sighs your name softly, eyes gazing at your lips so longingly the distance even hurts you unbearably. You heal yourselves by breaking the distance and kissing his lips.

Yoongi moans your name, cupping your cheeks and kissing you back eagerly. Your initial plan was to break it after a short second to build tension, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now that it is actually happening. You love kissing him. You could do it all day. 

There was a day where you almost did. He came over after work and then spent the night. You and he weren’t ready for sex back then, but you both felt comfortable in making out. You barely left the bed the next morning, spending hours kissing each other. It was so amazing.

He has the perfect lips for it as well. Soft and always moisturized. The shapes of them are beautiful. They fit his face as if they were made just for him, they are pouty and delicate and yet plump as well. When he applies lip balm, his lower lip always moves with the balm before it bounces back into place. When he talks, he tends to pout with his upper lip. When he sleeps, he keeps them slightly parted and when he smiles, they curl back to make space for his teeth and gums. You could fill books with poems about them. Never in your life have you been more smitten with a pair of lips than his’. 

To kiss them and have them kiss you back, is true heaven. Tonight it is tainted by the encouraging power of alcohol. It isn’t long until Yoongi darts his tongue out to trace your lips. You instantly part them, meeting his tongue with your own. 

He gasps, breaking the kiss surprisingly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yes, I am. I fucking am”, he breathes, pulling you back into the kiss.

You moan softly, pushing him back onto the leather couch. Yoongi falls with a purr, feeling electric tingles in his crotch when you claim the space between his legs and scratch your nails over his scalp softly. Yoongi nudges your leg with his own just obviously enough that you break the kiss.

“Too much?” 

“No, just…I’m here if you need something too”, he whispers, gazing up at you devotedly.

“You say such sexy stuff, damn”, you get out and kiss him. You take up his offer, changing positions so you could grind on his thigh. You make sure to keep one knee against his own crotch, hoping that he likes it. 

He does. He likes it. All of it. He likes your weight on him and how warm you feel between your legs. He likes how your knee grinds against his crotch because it feels fucking electric to him. He likes kissing you, holding you and touching you and being touched in return. Oh, he really likes you.

Yoongi purrs, running his big hands up and down your back. He lingers on the parts which are softest, kneading and squeezing them as if he wanted to memorise how it feels to hold you. It makes you burn up like crazy. It also makes you breathless, forcing you to break the kiss you don’t want to break. Yoongi chases you with parted lips and a sigh of your name. 

“Sorry, air, hah”, you breathe, giggling shyly.

Yoongi chuckles, lips curling into a lopsided smile, “yeah ”, he lulls, voice rumbling in his chest.

You snicker and bury your nose in his cheek, “I’m dizzy. Closing my eyes really made it obvious that I’m drunk.” 

“Same. Did you change your mind?”

“No. You?”

“No.” 

“Mhm”, you hum and feel the consuming need to kiss his neck. The scent of his cologne drives you crazy, you need to eat it off of him until your tongue knows how he tastes. 

Yoongi gasps, tensing up for a second before an aggressive shudder turns his entire body limp. He moans throatily, rolling his head to the side. 

You claim the newfound space instantly, kissing his skin as much as you lick it. The alcohol lowers your shame and makes you bold. You kissed his neck before, but not like this. You are sloppy and messy. Yoongi swears he might pass out from light headedness. It feels unbelievable, turning him on like nothing else. 

The only way he can handle it is by grabbing your buttocks and giving them a squeeze. You whimper softly, lips stuttering on his neck and hips trying to chase his touch. Yoongi slides his hand between your legs to test the waters.

“Yoongi”, you sigh, making him shiver with a moan against his ear and your tongue tracing the shape of it. Your hips grind down on his hand, giving him all the knowledge he needed. He moves on his own, rubbing your sweet warmth over the fabric of your pants.

You shudder, fingers twisting his hair gently. It doesn’t hurt, it simply makes his scalp tingle like crazy. The quiet moans you let out, he answers in a throaty purr. The giggle you produce in reaction to it, he answers with a chuckle. 

You lift your head, meeting his droopy eyes just as droopily. His hair is messy at the top because you played with it. His neck is glistening where you licked and kissed it. Your heart flutters, your stomach does too. You make a sound and grab his hair to tilt his head back and therefore reveal his throat to you. He allows you, purring deeply when you swirl your tongue up his sensitive throat. His voice tickles so nicely that you have to do it again and again and again and again until it naturally evolves into you kissing your way to the side of his neck along his jawline. Yoongi rolls his head to the side gladly, lungs working overtime to breathe and head turning incurably. The shivers reach their peak when you take his earlobe between your teeth to tug on it softly. Yoongi writhes under you, arching his back to bear what you make him feel. You never had him arch his back before so this is ruining you. You lift your lips, having to look at his face. It is flushed beyond repair, contrasting deliciously against his love marked neck.

“Did that feel good to you?” you ask him, breathing heavily as you wait for his answer. His hand doesn’t move right now, resting on your pussy. It feels so warm.

“Everything does”, he breathes out. 

“You arched your back.” 

Shyness washes over his features, he looks to the side. You make him look at you with two fingers under his chin. His lips part in awe, his eyes cloud over in devotion. 

“I want to go further. Do you want it too?” you ask him.

“I do.” 

You sit up and hook your finger under your shirt. Yoongi sits up as well, doing the same with his jumper. You throw your pieces of clothing to the floor at the same time, looking at each other. 

“Weren’t you hot?” you snicker, tugging on the fabric of the white t-shirt he wore under the jumper.

“I actually wasn’t. I was cozy”, he throws back sassily because he knows that you share his sense of humour and see it as him being playful.

You snicker, scrunching your nose. 

Yoongi smiles at you and hooks his fingers in his shirt to take it off as well. When he reappears again, he is greeted with your naked breasts and your eyes looking at him expectantly. 

“Wow okay”, he lets out, staring in awe. He stays completely still, making you laugh.

“Did you turn into a statue?” 

“Huh? I uh, no”, he shakes off his paralysation. “Sorry, you’re just so beautiful. I can’t believe that you’re real.” 

“You’re beautiful too. Can I?” 

“Yes. Can I?” 

“Yes please”, you allow him, placing your hands on his chest to feel him up. 

Yoongi purrs deeply, wrapping his arms around you to pull you close. Sadly your hands have to slip to his shoulders for now, but you don’t mind because he makes you fucking arch your back and roll your head back with the way he worships your chest. His left hand is between your shoulder blades, while his right hand is between your legs, rubbing your warmth. The fabric is soaked by now. It turns him on so much. He moans and purrs, kissing and licking your breasts as if they were everything he needed to survive. Yoongi kissed your chest before, but not like this. Not with so much tongue and so sloppily. The alcohol makes him brave and bold, resulting in you almost wanting to cry from how good it feels. 

“You’re so beautiful”, he sighs, giving your nipples a break when they are swollen and sensitive. He marks your collarbones with his love instead, tastes your shoulders and repays the favour to your neck.

You collapse into him, knocking his nose into your neck and a laugh out of him. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hugging you when you hug him first. 

“I don’t know. Just haven’t felt so good with anyone before.” 

His heart speeds up. 

“I feel the same.”

“You do?” 

“Yeah”, he says and giggles cutely.  

It breaks you instantly and you match his drunk giggles. You and he hug and giggle, riding on the drunken waves of dizzy heads and giddy hearts.

He mewls and lifts his head by nuzzling into you first. It’s like a cat that asks for affection. 

“I’ll sound like a jerk, but can we go further?” 

“You don’t sound like a jerk when I want the same.”

“Really?” 

You nod your head. He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes widening in emotion. You smile and cradle his cheeks, pulling him into a giddy kiss. Just one more before you and he get naked. He accepts it happily, sighing and purring as his lips dance with yours. Like always when you break the kiss, he chases you. He is lovely like this. 

“It’s torture when you break the kiss”, he chuckles. 

“I know”, you snicker, “it’s for a greater good.” 

“Mhm fuck, I hope.”

You climb off his lap, almost face planting the floor if he didn’t hold your hips instantly.

“Are you okay?” 

You laugh, nodding your head. 

“Just dizzy as fuck.” 

“Sit down please, I don’t want you to fall.”

“I’m okay. Look”, you get on one foot to take off your pants. You lose balance and end up jumping around the small space between the couch and the coffee table as you try to take off your pants. 

Yoongi stumbles to his feet, calling your name and drunkenly wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, please”, he pleads, kissing your shoulder and neck. 

“I’m alright”, you sigh, taking off your pants with his support while your body feels electric. Yoongi has stronger arms than one might think at first. To have them around you as he drunkenly ravishes your neck is making you dizzy. 

“You can let go of me now, I’m naked.” 

“Can I feel?”

You gulp, nodding your head. Yoongi was never that bold before. You might ascend to a higher plain if he keeps being like this. 

Yoongi dances the flat of his palm down the middle of your torso. He stops. He takes your earlobe between his teeth. He tugs and moves his hand quickly, connecting it with your dripping heat. 

“Ah!” you moan loudly, arching your back. You throw your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself.

“It’s okay. My studio is soundproof. No one can hear us”, he whispers, voice tickling your ear as his long fingers part your folds in a slow and sensual massage. 

You drop your hand, using it to grab the back of his neck instead. He melts closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He plays with your dripping entrance, increasing the speed of your pulse.

“And you don’t have to hold back for my sake. Just let it all out, please”, he says, making you moan by burying two fingers in your aching walls. He presses the heel of his palm to your clit, applying warm pressure as he curls his fingers inside you. They are so long that he easily reaches your best spots.

“A-ah, ahm, ah…”

“Don’t hold back, please. You sound so sweet”, he purrs, curling his fingers just right. You are throbbing around him, feeling so warm and soft. He goes crazy at the sensations, aching to replace his fingers with his cock.

You mewl softly, hips trembling on his hand and fingers leaving red marks on his neck. Yoongi fingered you before and quite frankly, you still haven’t properly recovered from that first time. His hands are too sexy. Masculine, strong, big and veiny. Yet at the same time, they are so tender and careful and touch you with such gentleness. They are also very flexible and have way too much stamina to offer. Quite frankly, your legs never shook as hard as they did when he first fingered you.

“Ah, wow, oh wow, ah…”

“I love your sounds”, he drags his words, which is way too sexy, “makes me wanna record them and put them in a song.” 

“Wait this is”, you croak, knees buckling.

“Too far?” He pulls out. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s just a lot to handle on my drunk legs. You’re so sexy right now.” 

He chuckles. You snicker, turning in his arms. You put your hands on his chest. He touches your lower back, gazing into your eyes. There is a constant warm throbbing between your legs. And an ache only he could fill.

“You never talked like this before.”

“Blame the alcohol.”

You and he share drunk giggles and soft touches. 

“Can I undress you?” 

“Yes please.” 

You snicker, making him snicker too. You and he sway drunkenly as you begin fumbling with his pants, not once breaking eye contact. You are trapped in a dance between little distance and more distance between your lips, but never take the last step to kiss. It’s addicting to share space and air and moans but to never give in to temptation. 

Soon his pants are open and you push them down over his round butt. He steps out of them, almost face planting the floor if you weren’t holding his arms so tightly.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“It is. Fuck, I’m so drunk”, he laughs and hugs your waist, swaying with you to the melody of your beating hearts.

“Me too”, you chuckle, playing with his hair. 

He smiles, kisses your forehead before he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. You sigh, eyes closing from the loving affection. 

“You’re really sure about this?” he asks.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything. You?”

“I’m so sure. Just don’t expect a genius performance in my state. I think my hips are gonna have a mind of their own and forget how thrusting works in the middle of it.”

You snicker, letting him taste your next words by brushing your lips against his’.

“Then let me do the moving.” 

“Are you serious?” he almost whimpers the words, knees buckling. 

“Mhm very.”

Yoongi moans your name, trying to kiss you at the same time. You snicker, twisting his hair, lips parted and eyes half lidded. This is keeping you alive like nothing else. 

“Is that okay for me to do?” 

“More than okay.” 

“Then sit down”, you say and push at his chest gently. 

Yoongi falls clumsily, grunting in surprise. His eyes are comically big. 

“Oh! Sorry, are you okay?” You gasp. “I didn’t mean to push you that hard. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just got weak in the knees”, he assures you and laughs with you. 

“God, you’re so cute.” You climb his lap, playing with his hair and stubbing his face with your nose.

“You know that I need to get a condom first?” he smiles as he talks. 

“Then get it.” 

“I can’t do that when you’re on top of me.”

“Right”, you say and giggle, “shit, you’re right.”

You climb off his lap again, gazing at him as he waddles to his desk. He is still wearing his briefs. His butt looks so good in them. He bends down to open the second drawer of his desk. He grabs more than a condom.

“What else did you get?” 

He turns, showing off the black vibrator and lube proudly.

“Why do you have a vibrator in your studio?” you gasp.

“For when I get needy.”

“You use this stuff on yourself!?” 

“Yes? Why not?” he asks, cocking his brow up in question.

“It’s just really hot. Damn. So you’re telling me that you jerked off here before?” 

“Way too many times”, he confesses and chuckles.

“Hot. Wow hot. Damn.” 

He grins shyly.

“Do you want me to use it on you?” you ask him.

“If you want to, but it’s for you. If you need a little more to get there. Don’t worry, I sterilize my toys after each use.” 

“You’re so hot, holy fuck.” 

Yoongi steps out of his briefs and opens the condom, rolling it on his cock. You gulp, salivating like crazy. You never wanted him more than you do right now. 

“You’re so hot, oh my god. What the hell”, you murmur under your breath, making him chuckle. Your constant praise makes him confident so he gives his cock a few jerks just for show, purring deeply.

“Yoongi, oh my god, you’re so hot.”

“You’re hot too. Like a lot.”

“Oh my god, I wanna fuck you.”

He sits down and holds his cock straight for you. 

“Please? Do?” he begs with cute puppy eyes. 

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Can I do something new with you?” 

“I didn’t clean out my butt if you’re suggesting that.” 

“What? Hot, but not what I”, you snicker and close the distance, “we have to talk about butt stuff another time, I might bust if we do that now.”

He laughs, eyes filled with fondness.

“Okay. What are you thinking then?” he asks.

“I’ll just show you, okay?” 

“Yes, okay.” 

You push him down onto the cushions and take his legs to bend them and push them apart.

Yoongi laughs in disbelief, head going dizzy. He looks at you in a mixture of shock, amusement and arousal.

“Too far?”

“No, it’s so sexy.” 

“It is. I’ll take you like this. Just like this”, you say and change position so you can take in his cock. You sink him into you carefully, watching his face change into an expression of surprised bliss.

“Mhhhhm”, he lets out in a purr, eyes going hazy.

You move your hips, grinding and rolling them into him with his cock deep inside you. It is as if you were fucking missionary. Except that he is deep inside you and there is nothing penetrating him. 

Yoongi doesn’t see a difference, having to gasp for fucking air and dimple his own legs as he holds himself open.

“Like this. What do you think of it?” 

He nods his head vigorously, letting out a high-pitched whimper. He never did this before so it is making you dizzy. You chase the warmth between your legs, staring at his flushed face obsessively.

“Yes? You like it?” 

“So much. Ah!” he drops his head to the side, rolling his eyes back and grabbing your waist. “so much….”

You drop to your elbows, kissing his neck needily. Your hips are sloppy in how they fuck, filling each of you with electric pleasure.

“This is insane, what the fuck”, Yoongi gets out, following it up with a moan and a scrunch of his handsome face.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, fuck yes. Ah ___ don’t stop, please”, he begs, arching his back.

“Yoongi, oh god”, you keen, clenching around him in excitement. You could get used to making him arch his back. He is so sexy when he does.

Yoongi breathes out and mewls at the same time, resulting in the sweetest sounds of pleasure you have ever heard. You get off on it so good, wanting for him to make another sound. You bury his cock in you as deep as the position allows it, writing your names with your hips. Just as you had hoped, Yoongi makes the sweetest sound, squeezing your waist. 

You moan his name, falling into pleasure with him afterwards. You move needily and definitely motivated by alcohol. It is a messy fuck, passionate and confident and so incredibly good.

Yoongi is glad that he is drunk, otherwise he wouldn’t last long. Alcohol makes his cock work just a little slower than if he was sober. At first he thought it would be a problem, but he sees now that it is a blessing. You feel so good - too good - and he wants it to last longer.

“It feels good, please fuck me, please don’t stop”, he begs you, arching his back and curling his toes when your walls throb around him. 

“Oh god, you’re so hot”, you mewl, fulfilling his wish with such vigour the cushions of his sofa squeak and croak. Truly, they have never witnessed such a sloppy, good fuck and the best part is that this is only the beginning.

But enough about the sweet future which awaits unknowing you. In the present, you and he have started to share heat and shaky breaths, bodies hot from the long, passionate fuck you have been doing by now. Your thighs ache, begging for a break. Your pussy is so wet that it started to drip down his shaft and plumb balls. It feels so good, constantly keeping you on edge and yet you can’t seem to fall over it. It’s driving you insane by now. 

“Fuck”, you are both laughing and moaning your words, tickling his ear with them, “I’m really fucking drunk, it’s hard to get there.”

“Same, ah, but it feels….so good”, he agrees, head dizzy to the point he has to grab the edge of the sofa for support. You have him on cloud nine, high, feeling out of this world.

“It does, you do. Just need more.”

Yoongi flails with his hand on the cushion, trying to find the vibrator. You hand it to him, just as you help him push the button to turn it on. The rest he can do by himself. He guides it between your bodies, connecting it with your lower stomach first. 

“Lower, baby, that’s my stomach”, you giggle, claiming his lips in a passionate kiss.

“Sorry”, Yoongi purrs, obeying your orders with such precision you growl and feed him your tongue. 

He welcomes it gladly, drooling all over your lips which in this moment is so goddamn sexy and endearing to you. To think you ruin him to the point of sloppy kisses being his norm. You are going to be so fucking obsessed with this man, showing him your growing fondness with deep rolls of your hips. 

He can feel the vibrations too, grabbing your upper back as his cock finally begins to work again. This is going to break him and he fears he might pass out from it. He digs his heels into the cushion, meeting your movements needily and without a plan. The only thing his body runs on is how he feels beneath you and the warmth of your tight walls around his cock. 

Your body trembles, unoccupied hand burying itself deep in his luscious locks. The kiss breaks but you stay close, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths. 

“This is getting me there”, you whimper. 

“Me too”, he croaks. 

“Yoongi, I…I love you”, you confess, finally falling over the sweet edge. It feels so good, so intense and soul-consuming that you find yourself sobbing and shaking. 

Yoongi breaks the second you dropped the big L word, deep voice coming out as little gasps of your name and fingers grasping you for dear life. He didn’t even think that he could orgasm that intensely, but your emotional confession makes it possible. He feels on cloud nine, curling his toes and arching his back.

You collapse on him after your high, dropping the vibrator on the floor accidentally.

“What was that?” he mumbles into your shoulder, cock still throbbing inside you and ears ringing.

“Toy”, you lull, walls pulsating in the afterglow.

“Ah.”

He wraps his arms around you, wiggling his hips a little to ensure his cock would slip out of you. He doesn’t want to risk it softening and the condom slipping off. Cuddling like this, you recover, sharing silence and warmth. You are both so drunk, heads turning even as you lie down. It is almost as if being so connected and sharing such a passionate moment made it worse. You don’t mind it however, you have each other’s presence and that feels very safe to have.

“So this just happened”, Yoongi breaks the silence.

“I know”, you say and break into giddy snickers instantly. Yoongi joins you without hesitation, sharing in the warm fuzzy happiness you and he get to experience together.

“I can’t believe I did that. We did that.”

“It was so hot.”

“It was.”

He hums, rubbing his hands up and down your back. You settle into him with a content sigh, playing with his messy hair.

“The studio is really soundproof, right?”

“It is. Trust me I was louder on my own. Nobody heard me.”

“You are so hot, it’s insane.”

He chuckles lazily, craning his neck to kiss whatever part of your head he reaches first. You purr happily, chasing his kiss by tilting your head closer to him. Another kiss is placed to your heated face, you retort it as best as possible.

“Soo, uhm”, he begins, eyes sparkly and droopy, “you dropped the L word.”

“Oh god, too soon? I’m sorry, please can we just forget-“

“Hush, don’t worry. I’m glad you did. I love you too, just didn’t wanna say it first and scare you away.”

You lift your head. Yoongi meets your eyes.

“You feel the same?”

“I do. I have done so for a while”, he says, smiling softly and reaching up to brush the back of his hand down your face.

“Wow Yoongi, I’m so happy”, you confess, claiming his lips in a giggly kiss.

And of course, because Yoongi is drunk and happy and giddy, he giggles with you. What you and he are having might still be new, but it is right and it is good and it will last. You are both so sure of it.

[luveline]

I absolutely love love love the way you write!! I was wondering if you could write a Hotch x reader where their relationship is pretty new and reader gets unexpectedly pregnant and is worried about telling Hotch since they haven't talked about having kids and it's just a lot of fluff when Hotch finds out ! Thank you :) <3

ty for requesting!! hotch receives some unexpected news, but he loves you, and he’s happy to prove it. pregnant!reader, 1.5k

Oh fuck, you think, pins and needles in your hands you can’t shake. Oh, fuck. 

Aaron’s car pulls into the parking lot outside of the doctor’s office, fifty metres away, forty, less. You have about twenty seconds to think of what to tell him, and to conjure a lie he’ll believe. You’re a bad liar when it comes to him. 

You’ve thought of him fondly as a human lie detector since you met, apparently because you’ve never needed to lie to him before. As soon as you open the passenger door, he’s concerned. You hadn’t allowed him time to get out first. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning. 

“Can you give me a few minutes to think about it?” you ask. 

He clears his expression quickly, which would be impressive if you weren’t nauseous beyond words. “Sure.” His eyes soften. “I missed you.” 

He’s been away for a few days, and you'd thought it was great timing for him to come home just after your appointment, but now you’re not so sure. Regardless, he leans across the console and kisses the corner of your lips. 

You lean down under his touch. The pins and needles fade ever so slightly. 

Aaron looks good, you realise, despite the racing heart in your chest. It’s funny how you can think of two things at once, how you can struggle to put together what you have to tell him, and still acknowledge how sharply handsome he looks in his suit and tie. He must’ve been in the office before he picked you up. 

“I missed you too,” you say finally. “Really.” 

He squeezes your arm. 

Aaron turns onto the road out of the doctor’s office lot, past sparse greenery and into the city street that will lead to his apartment. “Is my place okay, or do you need to go home?” 

You aren’t sure. What if he doesn’t even want you there when you tell him? Panic flits through you and, evidently, across your face —Aaron catches it from a sideways glance and takes the first left into a quieter street. He parks as soon as he can. 

“What’s wrong, honey? You look like you’re waiting for me to yell at you,” he says. His brows pinch, eyes dark as always but not without tenderness as he turns in his seat towards you. 

“Please don’t be mad at me. I swear– I mean, I–” You stop. “Please don’t be mad.” 

There’s a pause. “I’m not going to be mad at you,” he says. He looks like he’s guessing the problem. You want to tell him before he can figure it out wrong.

“The doctor just told me I’m pregnant,” you admit, watching his face. When he doesn’t react, you stare down at your hands. You have no idea what to do.  “Almost four weeks pregnant. Aaron, I…” A hot flush rushes down your face. 

Aaron shakes his head. 

“I’m not mad. There’s no need to panic.” He speaks with deliberate slowness. You’ve heard him talk this way before, on the rare occasion where you’re upset and he’s been there to see it. 

“I would never try to trap you–”

“Okay,” he interrupts. You aren’t sure he’s ever done that, not once since you met. “I think you’ve just had very big news, and you’re panicking, but I need you to know that I’m not against you right now.” He holds your gaze. 

Your eyes water. 

“I’m gonna get out and come around, okay?” he says quietly. 

“Okay.” You sound pathetic to your own ears, like your voice is air squeezed tight from your chest. 

Aaron climbs out of the driver's side and walks around the bonnet. You can’t watch him. You’re still not looking when he opens your door, bending to touch your cheek. 

You turn into him. He takes it as permission to hold your face, giving you a quick once over before he kisses your cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, “it’s okay.” More kisses, three then four, a fifth pressed to the softest high point. 

You lean into him, immediately read for what you need, his arms wrapping around you and hugging you close. Maybe he’s right, you were panicking rather hard, and it’s not as though he’s given you reason to believe he’d react badly to the news, just, what man wants to hear from his partner of barely five months that she’s pregnant? 

You suppose you don’t have to continue the pregnancy. Then you panic worse, because you’re not sure what you want, turning rigidly stiff in his embrace. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly, “I love you, you know.” 

It isn’t the first time he’s told you but you’re not used to hearing it, either. It’s reassurance you needed. Just as quickly as you stiffened, you relax. 

He feels it. “I love you,” he says again, “and I’m so happy.” 

“What?” you ask, pulling your face back from his chest. 

“With you. This is the happiest I’ve been in a long, long time.” 

“You want me to have the baby?” 

He blinks. “Honey, I want you to do whatever you want.” You smile at him softly. He cups your face in both hands, his thumbs at the corners of your smile and pressing mildly into your skin. “It’s soon, isn’t it? But I do love you, I don’t say that lightly, and so I’d love for you to have a baby.” 

“Really?” 

“Are you surprised by that?” 

“You really love me that much?” 

“I want a life with you,” he confesses. How terribly sincere a thing to say, stooped under the car roof, trying to stop you from crying into his palms. 

You don’t know if you want a baby just yet, but you have time to think about it, and a clearly supportive partner. He waits for what he’s said to sink in, rubbing semi-circles into your cheek, dotting a kiss heavy with affection into the skin just shy of his index finger and the corner of your eye. “That’s a cruel surprise, for you to have been told alone. I’m sorry you were by yourself. If I’d known…” 

“If I’d known I would’ve made you go with me,” you promise. 

“Do you feel alright? I suppose we know why you were craving Dora’s so badly a few nights ago,” he says. 

He sounds achingly in love with you. You’ve never heard him so gentle, not even the first time he took you home. 

“Honey?” 

“I love you too,” you say. 

“I know.” He hugs you, a rare smile brushing your cheeks as he leans down and in. “Can you answer me? Do you feel okay? Hayley was sick to her stomach the whole nine months.” 

“She was? Are you kidding?” You baulk wondering if that’s what’s in store for you. 

“Not kidding. Sorry. Not that you have to… well. You’re not feeling sick, are you?” 

“I feel better now,” you say honestly. 

He rubs your back, big rough lines full of fondness. “Okay, good. I’m gonna get back in, okay? So you can think about things at home. What do you think, is that alright? We’ll order something to eat and you can take your time.” 

“No, no–” You grab him tight. He can’t leave. 

Aaron laughs and hugs you tighter. You spend a long few minutes like that settling, no tears shed, just trying to catch up to yourself without panicking again. It could be nice to be pregnant. It could be an early start on your life with him, there’d be nothing wrong with that. You’d live together with Jack, you’d get to wake up beside him everyday. You’d love that, you’d love to be with him, you and him and your babies. But it’s not that simple. 

Aaron’s right though, you have time to think. In the meantime, he loves you. 

“I can take a few days off.” 

“What?” You laugh. “Have you ever had a day off in your life?” 

“No, but I should start. I will. No matter what you choose.” 

He tips your head back for a chaste, adoring kiss. You can feel it in every millimetre of pressure, and the way he chucks under your chin with his thumb as he stands. 

He goes to shut your door, but doubles back for another hug. “I’m so lucky to have you. I love you.” He seems surprised he’s said it, though not regretful, laughing sheepishly as he pulls away. “I’m very sorry for putting you in this position unexpectedly.” 

It’ll be alright, ‘cos he loves you. You manage a short laugh. “Well, it’s okay. I’m just glad you’re not mad.” 

“It never even crossed my mind.” He closes your door, walking back around to the driver's side to take you home. 

[barcaatthemoon]

american beauty || lena oberdorf x reader ||

Lena doesn't know that you speak German.

"Sydney, put me down!" you squealed loudly as your best friend picked you up. She had her arms wrapped tightly around your waist, moving you back and forth as the two of you began to laugh. It had been a long time since you had gotten to see her in person, but now that you were free from college, you had signed to Bayern's senior team.

"No way, it's been over a year since you came to visit last. I deserve this," Sydney muttered as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. There was nobody in the world outside of your family that you loved as much as Sydney. Once upon a time you had harbored the biggest crush on her, but the two of you had learned quickly how hard distance was on young love and decided to stay friends. Now that you were back, a part of you was curious, but you were both more than content to stay friends.

"I have to go in and take pictures for the signing," you told her. Reluctantly, Sydney did let you go to do your pre-training duties. As soon as you had walked away, Lena popped up right next to Sydney.

"Who was that?" Lena asked, trying hard to be subtle about her intentions. One look at the darker haired midfielder, and Sydney knew exactly what was going on. Lena was terrible at being subtle, and Sydney had heard all about Lena's struggles to find someone to spend time with since moving from Wolfsburg to Bayern. The girl she had been hooking up with was gone, and Sydney didn't blame Lena for wanting to go after you, but she wasn't going to make it easy at all.

"(Y/n) (Y/l/n), she's come over from America. You're pretty lucky she's here because she almost got drafted to the Courage," Sydney said. Lena made a face at that, knowing that you would have definitely gone for Feli. There had always been a little competition between the two of them. Lena didn't know how it happened, but it kept things interesting in their friendship. They never really fought over girls, and Lena didn't know what she would have done if Feli would have brought you over to Germany, only for you to be off limits to her.

"You don't like her, do you?" Lena asked. Sydney shook her head as they made their way into the locker room. "You guys didn't date, did you?"

"It was a very long time ago, and very briefly. I barely got a kiss before she was gone," Sydney said. Lena hummed at this, deciding then and there that she'd find a way to woo you. "Are you interested in her?"

"I mean, she's definitely pretty. Oh, and I'd hate to see an American lost here. It can be very confusing for foreigners, I should really try my best to be helpful." Sydney could see right through Lena's words. Sydney chuckled to herself, deciding that she'd let Lena act like an ass for a little while, knowing that you would be more than happy to settle Lena down a bit.

…

"Syd, your friend, she's American right?" Lena asked. Sydney glanced at both you and Lena before deciding to do something she thought would be funny.

"Yeah, (Y/n) is American," Sydney answered. Technically, she wasn't lying to Lena. You were born in Germany to American parents on a military base. That was why despite going to school in Germany, you spoke with an American accent. Lena didn't need to know all of that though.

"Great, wish me luck," Lena said. Sydney watched as Lena confidently hobbled over to you. Immediately, Sydney could see the look of attraction as your eyes settled on Lena. That had surprised Sydney a little bit, not having expected for you to also be down bad for Lena. "Hi, I'm Lena, but my friends call me Obi."

"Ah, like the Jedi, nice. I'm (Y/n), unfortunately no cool nicknames," you told her.

"How about wunderschon?" Lena asked. She leaned towards you a little, enough for you to blame your blush on her proximity. "I think it's very fitting. Sydney told me that you're American. I'd love to show you around sometime."

"You aren't gonna just find another pretty girl to show around if I say no, are you?" you asked.

"Of course not, only you wunderschon," Lena said. You smiled and squeezed her hand gently before stepping away. "Is that a yes?"

"Ja, das wurde mir wirklich gefallen. Es ist schon eine Weile her, seit ich das letzte Mal hier war." Lena's jaw dropped at the fluent German coming from your lips. She glanced back at Sydney, who had the biggest shit eating grin on her face, just barely holding back laughter. "You're very smooth, even if it wouldn't hurt to tone it down a bit."

"Noted," Lena mumbled as she turned away from you.

"Hey, don't feel bad. I wouldn't have agreed to run around the city with you if I didn't like you," you told her. At that, Lena perked up a bit, despite feeling rightfully embarrassed.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

give me your heart, make it real

pairing: javier peña x reader

tags/cw: smut, f! receiving oral, p in v, undercover as lovers, big dick javi, no use of y/n, no reader physical description, gentle lover javi

summary: javi needs a 'date' to a party (where escobar and crew will be idk), and asks reader to help him by dressing up in a 'slutty' outfit (not his words)

a/n: okay, yes, the title is from smooth by santana ft. rob thomas (on my javi-coded spotify playlist even tho it came out post-narcos). i've only made it to s2 ep4 and slept thru s1 ep8-10, so i've been committing the crime of not knowing the lore (i am so down bad for javi it's insane)

wc: 3.8k

"I have a lead, and you're coming with me," Javi says, already ushering you out of the room.

"You can't just whisk me away - I have to ask Messina."

"Messina gave me the go-ahead."

"I still need to-" You try to walk away from him but his hand loosely holds your arm, and before you break free, Messina says, approaching from behind, "Go with Agent Peña."

It must be a good lead if she's so quick to send you off with Peña. He looks you over, and says, "You can't wear that. How quickly can you change?"

"Into my tactical gear?"

"No, into a dress."

"Whose quinceañera are we attending?"

"Funny. I have intel about a party happening this evening. You're going to be my date. I need you in a dress - the shorter the better - and makeup, lots of it."

"You want me to look like a hooker?"

"Something like that."

You expect Javi to drop you off at your apartment, but he follows you in – he tries to follow you all the way to your bedroom, but you stop him. Maybe he’s just running on instinct, not used to having a woman invite him into her home without the intention of sex.

"Go sit in the living room," you scoff, pushing him away. "Make yourself at home." You keep your tone sarcastic to avoid letting any nervousness creep into your voice.

You're not supposed to look pretty, per se. He's expecting slutty, and yet, you still worry about looking too slutty in front of Javi. You've made a conscious effort to keep every interaction between the two of you professional, and you are determined to keep it that way. While you cake your face in cosmetics, you remind yourself that you would not go to such lengths for Javi. This is not for Javi, this is for a nobler cause than landing in his good graces. You’re fulfilling your duties as an agent on a mission to stop a narcoterrorist, and that paycheck better arrive at the end of month or you’ll be forced to get on your knees for your landlord who is not quite as handsome as Javi.  

Yes, that’s right, Javi is handsome, disgustingly so. You loathe him, not for his sex appeal itself but for his awareness of such, not for the fact that he could leverage it against you, but for the fact that he thinks he can. He can.

Javier Peña sees all women the same way - not quite as objects, but conquests. Even if you're someone, rather than something, you're still someone he could have. But you don't bend to his will, at least you haven't yet, and that's the one thing you hold over him.

Your brain is logical, and holds you to a higher standard. This has nothing to do with desire, but simple facts put into an equation that gives you a clear output. Every time the illogical part of you that lives between your thighs begs for attention, your mind reminds you of your current mantra: Javi is a walking, talking, fucking bad idea.

The red lipstick and minidress are going to get you one step closer to catching Escobar, and if it means you have to be Javi's date for a night, then it's a challenge you're willing to take.

Maybe pretending to like him will be easier than pretending not to like him, which is something you've struggled to do every day for months.

It will not be, you realize, when he whistles at you from the couch when you step out of your bedroom, all dolled up.

"I'm carrying my gun in my purse," you say - an empty threat. 

"Good girl."

"Say it one more time, Peña," you warn him, pulling your lethal weapon from a tacky, dated clutch. Your grip on it is weak and the safety is on. He mirrors your gesture, lazily pointing his own gun at you.

But he keeps his mouth shut.

Between the two of you, who's the better shot? You hope you'll never have to find out.

Javi shamelessly flirts his way around the office, but his arm around your waist is purely professional as he guides you from the car, parked a safe distance away, to your destination.

"You don't speak Spanish, you respond to 'chica', and you definitely do not have a gun on you. Got it?"

"What do you want me to call you?"

"As long as it's not my name, whatever you want, chica."

"Asshole."

Playing dumb is more fun than you thought it'd be. The wandering eyes of drug lords make you feel icky, but you don't have to respond when they speak to you. You don’t have to prove your intelligence to every man you encounter, every man who will make you take on any task they can’t handle, don’t have time for, or simply can’t be bothered to do. You don't have to do shit for once.

You keep a drink in your hand as a part of the act. Party girls like you drink, right? Honestly, you’re dead set on keeping your hands full in the hopes that you won’t be given the opportunity to do a line, inevitably refuse such an opportunity, and risk being outed as someone on the other side of this war. Javi doesn't need to tell you to pour your own drink - it's a lesson all girls are taught from a young age. Training as a federal agent may have taught you sharpshooting, but your mother told you how to avoid getting roofied.

You have a tolerance built up thanks to picking alcohol as one of your favorite vices back in college, but you know how to act drunk. While you sway a little, Javi tightens his grip on your waist to keep you grounded. You pretend not to understand when he mentions to a small group of men that you might be down for more than one man tonight, he just needs to get you warmed up first. He sounds a little too comfortable saying those words, and you doubt it's just good acting. Regardless, they seem more than happy to hear about the possibility of getting in bed with you.

"What's everyone talking about?" You slur your words and smile stupidly.

"Don't worry about it, chica," Javi says with a sly look to a man you hope you won't actually have to sleep with.

You swear you see a twinkle of something in Javi's brown eyes as they meet yours.

You realize what that something is when he surprises you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, daring to slip his tongue in your mouth. His hand sliding downwards says, 'just go with it'. You kiss him back, pulling his hair as he grabs your ass. You know he's putting on a show, but his touch makes you feel something all too real.

You swear you hear a whistle, it's likely directed at the two of you but the hustle and bustle of chatter covers up what the onlookers are saying. Javi hears enough to know that his plan is working.

'Get a room,' they say.

'Do you have a spare?' he asks.

Too drunk for their own good and too horny at the sight in front of them, the leader offers one up.

Your embarrassment is real – you're not hiding a winning smile underneath like Javi is. You're directed to a bedroom, and resisting the urge to scope the room immediately, Javi lays you flat on the bed and climbs on top of you, pinning your arms above your head - and, making you wetter than you'd ever tell him. He's keeping you from pushing him away until the door shuts and he tones things down.

He whispers into your ear when he's sure the man who led you here is far enough away that he can drop the act for a moment, "You're going to do what I say. No questions asked. Are we clear?"

You nod, terrified and knowing he's the only one you can trust in this place. With less shame than one might expect, he shows you what to do, getting you to mimic him. He sucks on his own fingers and you follow blindly, he pulls up the bottom of his shirt and slaps his skin while bouncing on the bed just enough that it creaks, rhythmically, like you're – oh, you understand.

Then, he whispers in your ear, "moan for me," and you do. "Perfect, just like that," he says, and you're no longer praying that you don't get caught by the cartel, but that you don't get caught by Javi. "That's good, keep going," he says, and god, you couldn't stop it if you wanted to.

You've forgotten everything else he's said, so he takes your hand and slides it up your dress, slapping the skin of your thighs and then grabs your hips to bounce them up and down. You whimper at the loss of his touch - all thoughts other than 'Javi' have left your head. He starts searching the room for evidence of anything case-related, and you continue to suck, moan, bounce, slap your skin, pretend to fuck the man in front of you because he wants you to, because he told you to keep going.

You watch Javi's back - as you should. You watch his arms, the way his jeans fit perfectly, the shape of his nose as he turns to his side and you can see his profile, his focused eyes.

You imagine his eyes looking over your body, his nose tickling your skin, those jeans coming off, his arms caging you in while he's on top of you. You hope the bed's not slick with arousal. 

Don't touch yourself. But, he's not looking. Maybe you can pass it off as dedication to the cause. Don't. Don't. Don't.

When he finds what he needs, he takes what he can, receipts and encoded notes, and he shoves them down his pants. You watch him readjust. He sees, and gives you a look of 'what?'. He ruffles his hair, unbuttons his top two buttons, making himself look disheveled. Then, he licks thumb and runs in under your eyes, smudging your eyeliner and with the other, your lipstick. As if he's practiced, he wipes the excess red on his lips.

You look stunned, he looks satisfied. Everyone stares when you leave but for all the wrong reasons. They have no idea what went on in that room. Javi has no idea either. It's your own little secret.

When you make it to the safety of Javi’s car, you sigh, relaxing into the passenger seat, and he says, "Thank you. You did really well back there. I could just kiss you right now - for real."

You know what he means. It's another thank you, maybe even I'm proud of you. But he’s still giving you an opportunity. It has to be intentional. 

"Then, do it. I dare you."

He could make a joke but he doesn't, he smiles and does as he said. He kisses you, and his lips parting slightly is the offer. When your tongue meets his, he knows, he must know.

"We should celebrate," he says. "Wanna come back to my place?"

You agree, even though you should know by now that going home with Javi is risky business at best.

Javi is enough of a gentleman to offer you a drink before suggesting you move things to the bedroom. All he has is whiskey, and while it's not your favorite, you decide the liquid courage is worth the taste.

"To us," Javi says, raising his glass before tapping it against yours. Sure, you're supposed to look into each other's eyes when you tap your glass against his, but the look you share says something beyond the toast. He might as well have winked at you. The tension is palpable, and you become increasingly aware of Javi's experience in this field - he may hold superiority to you in the DEA due to his extra years working for the agency, but what intimidates you is not that, but his body count, which is surely dozens above yours.

But then again, how much of the sex he has is with prostitutes? Is he even a good fuck? Maybe that's why he pays for sex. No, you've heard rumors being passed around throughout the DEA, and unless Javi pays for reviews too, he's good, great even.

"Are you in there, querida?" His head is cocked to the side in a way that lets you know he's been trying to get your attention for awhile.

"Oh yeah, I was just thinking." 

"Anything interesting? I thought I was going to have to shake you."

"No, my mind's just…"

"Elsewhere?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Mine too." He places his glass on the table. "You did very well today. Have you ever acted before?"

"No, not really."

"You're a natural, then, because it was pretty convincing."

You think you've gotten away with it until you see the glint in his eye.

"It helps when you're… inspired," you say with a coy grin.

"Inspired? Is that what they're calling it now?"

"I don't wanna say it. It's embarrassing."

"You don't have to, it was pretty obvious how you felt."

It's good that you've had a drink or two because you'd be running out of the room in embarrassment if you hadn't. You're not as practiced as some of the girls he's been with, and it's probably obvious, but you're not a virgin either. You're also not an idiot. This is going in the direction you've always wanted it to - towards his bedroom.

Javi leans in, and whispers into the shell of your ear, "I didn't give you the tour of my apartment, did I?"

His hot breath on your skin sends chills down your spine, but you pretend to be barely-fazed. "Mm-mm, you haven't."

"Do you wanna see my bedroom?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

He takes your hand and helps you up, and though you’ve felt his hands before, you notice the way one of his can envelop yours. He kisses you, soft and sweet, he kisses you, passionate and feverish, he kisses you with purpose, walking you backwards in the direction of his bedroom. He can tell you're nervous about the possibility of knocking into things so he assures you, "Don't worry. I know my way around. I won't let you get hurt."

"You come here often?"

You get a laugh out of him, light and genuine, but most of all rare. "Not as often as I should."

You find that his grip on you is looser than it was in public. There's nothing to protect you from here. It's just Peña, your colleague. It's just Javi, the man you've seen in the risque dreams you have too frequently to write them off as a misfire in your subconscious.

If someone had asked you with a gun to your head if you thought Javier Peña would be a gentle lover, you'd be dead. And if you are, then you made it to heaven.

He slides your zipper down carefully and lets you slip out of your dress, insisting on abiding by the rule of 'ladies first' when you try to unbutton his shirt. Your fingers shake as you restrain yourself against the urge to rip the fabric, so he replaces your hands with his own. His belt is gone too by the time he sits down on the edge of the bed, hands holding yours while he gazes at you in your bra and panties.

"Do you dress like this under your work clothes every day or was this for your 'costume?'"

"I wanted to do a good job playing my part. I didn't know if I'd need to take off my dress."

"But you were willing to if I'd asked you?"

"You told me to do whatever you said."

"But you could've told me to 'fuck off'. Did you want me to see you like this? Is it possible that you wanted to look pretty for me?"

"You're very good at interrogations, Peña. You would make a good cop."

He keeps his laughter contained, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips when he says, "You're going to call me, 'Javi' when you're in my bed. Are we clear?"

You salute him just to push his buttons, and it works, he pulls you into his lap and holds you there. You love his tight jeans for the way they allow you to feel how hard he is right now.

"So fucking gorgeous," he mutters as his kisses trail down your neck. He undoes your bra with one hand and you brace yourself for impact, dying to feel his mouth on your newly-exposed skin.

You would never have expected his skin to be so soft. His hands are calloused and he has wrinkles between his eyebrows, but his broad shoulders are perfectly smooth. You feel like apologizing preemptively for the marks you might leave.

But Javi flips you onto your back and you see a flash of hunger in his eyes. He's wanted this for a long time too.

"When you were moaning for me earlier, I couldn't stop wondering if that's what you'd sound like if I touched you like this."

'Like this' means one hand slipping into your panties and playing with your clit while the other thumb runs over your nipple. You take a sharp inhale of breath and try not to moan loudly but end up letting out a whimper that must sound awfully pathetic.

"Even prettier," he says, as his voice gets further away and you realize he's getting on his knees.

You must be dead. You must've died at that party because this is too perfect to be true.

He places gentle kisses on the inside of each of your thighs before slipping off your panties.

"Javi." Breathy and urgent, it’s an admission of your arousal. 

"Querida?" 

Your voice trembles as you tell him the secret you've been keeping. "When I was 'acting', I had to stop myself from saying your name."

"You were such a good girl."

His lips ghost over your clit before he presses a light kiss to your skin. You're so desperate you could cry. You let his name slip out now that you're alone.

"You're still a good girl."

One finger slips inside you like a reward and his tongue circles your clit. You swear he can hear your thoughts - "I'm sorry I pulled a gun on you earlier when you called me that. You make me feel flustered all the time, so much that you piss me off". He groans into your core as if to say, "It's okay. I already knew that".

But then your brain turns to mush and all that's left is, "Javi, Javi, Javi." And his response is to put your legs over his shoulders and slip another finger inside you. He can tell you're struggling against the pleasure, gripping his bedsheets in a desperate attempt to avoid tugging his hair. His unoccupied hand finds one of yours, coaxing you into holding it. The tenderness only heightens the pleasure.

"I know, cariño, just let go for me. I've got you."

The safest you've ever been is with Javi next to you. Safe enough to keep you alive, safe enough for you to cry out his name without fear. You come down from the most intense orgasm of your life, panting with Javi's hands stroking your sides before lifting your legs so he can climb into bed beside you.

Without a thought left in your head, your eager hands reach for the button of his jeans, but he stops you. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course. I'm in your bed, aren't I?"

"But your legs are shaking, querida. You need a minute to relax."

"I want you."

"I'll still be here in five minutes."

He comes back with water and a condom and you understand why women sleep with him.

He bargains with you - you drink some water and he takes his pants off. He doesn't intend to make a show of it, but you marvel at his body, now fully on display in front of you. The dryness in your mouth reminds you of the cold glass in your hand, which you down, equal parts nervous and aroused at the sight of his cock.

Javi notices the genuine concern in your eyes – surely women have looked at him with the same hesitant desire. In response to the unspoken, he strokes your cheek with a sweetness that makes you blush. "We'll go slow."

He sinks into you slowly, incrementally. His length strokes a particularly sensitive spot inside you that makes your walls tighten around him, and you can feel his hips jerk in response, self-restraint wavering as he holds himself back from fucking you roughly.

Once he bottoms out, he stops and lets you savor the feeling of being full. His lips still red and puffy from their time spent between your thighs, find yours and he kisses you with a fervor that cannot be sustained when you're both breathing so heavily.

"Javi, I need you," you whine.

"You have me."

"I need you to f–" he starts thrusting in and out of you while you speak, forcing you to cut yourself off with a moan.

The way he groans is gorgeous. He sets a steady pace and gets lost in the feeling. The urge to be closer to you takes over and he has you sitting in his lap within seconds. His hands cup your ass and allow him to move you as he pleases.

Your words in his ear are less than coherent when you bury your face in his neck. His teeth graze the skin on your shoulders and in the back of your mind you know you should worry about the marks he might leave, but the desire to be his, to remember that you had something even for a moment overtakes you. So, you throw your head back and give him access to a greater expanse of your skin.

Arousal fills you with a jolt of energy, giving you a boost in stamina, and you leverage yourself on Javi's shoulders and take over the work of sliding his cock between your wet folds, hips erratic and faltering. 

You don’t need to tell him how close you are, he can tell. He’s seen you cum before, he’s tasted it. 

"Me too," he says. It's more intense than the first one - you keep your eyes open with sheer willpower because you need to know what he looks like when he cums. There's a fair chance you won't see him like this again and you need to keep his beautiful 'o' face in your spank bank.

But what slips from his lips is not a string of curses or a wordless groan, but your name. It sounds even better when you hear it again during round two, and even better when it follows ‘good morning’. 

[screampied]

saying “goodnight,” to gojo is one of the worst things you could ever tell him.

some may ask why . . it’s a simple word, a sweet farewell of good dreams if you will. but in this case, perhaps not. just a simple word, a simple word that always knew how to bring the strongest to complete tears.

“goodnight, ‘toru.” you’d murmur, swiftly running your hands through his white tangled strands. he was struggling to keep his eyes open. the calmness of your voice soothed him. cerulean irises stared right back into you before he lets off a soft sigh. his face was so relaxed, he stares into your eyes with his own becoming a bit droopy.

“goodnight,” he’d utter before his eyes briefly closes. “i love you.”

is what you thought he’d say in a moment like this. but even sometimes, reality can be faux. life’s pretty funny, isn’t it.

gojo didn’t like the word ‘goodbye’ simply because it brought back too many hard memories.

he wasn’t one to really explain why, he was more resvered sometimes than anything. he was often too embarrassed to get things off his chest. especially things like this, you did always wonder why though. how sometimes you’d kiss him on the cheek, reaching for the light before uttering off those fatal words of, “goodnight, satoru.”

despite everything though, he always gives you a soft kiss on the lips, murmuring, “sleep well, angel,” instead of goodnight. he’d hold you in his arms, stroking you gently until you fell fast asleep into his arms, where you always belonged.

why was goodnight such an avoidance to gojo’s vocabulary. it was simple, really. a bad experience, a very bad experience actually.

“i don’t like seeing you cry like that,” he’d grumble in a merely defeated voice. he sounded so different, so tired, so … weak. gojo’s voice, it was once so full of life and oh so effervescent. and now, it sounded like he was clinging onto his last and final conclusive breaths—in which he was. “hey, hey. look at me.”

you’d sniffle, glancing at gojo. your eyes were merely blind with your own pathetic tears, everything you saw through your own lens of eyesight was straight blurry. that dumb dorky smile remained plastered on his face despite the circumstances.

the circumstances, gojo satoru had been finally defeated. the strongest, considered as once the strongest, was now lying in your arms, squeezing your wrist as if it’d be the last time he’d touch you. and it would be.

“don’t cry for me. you’re gonna make me cry, silly,” he whispers in a jesting tone, brushing a thumb against the outer part of your hand. you always loved his touch, there was nothing like it. gojo actually for once seemed scared, he was always so good at concealing his emotions—but with you, that was an entire different story.

you could hear the tremble in his voice, his time was rapidly running out, and he just wanted to reassure you, even though perhaps you should have been reassuring him.

“s-satoru,” you’d reply in a shaky voice, you felt an abrupt sharp sting prod through your heart.

you didn’t expect to come to contact with the feeling of heartbreak so soon, but it hit you like a truck. you hated feeling powerless, you couldn’t do anything but just sit here and . . hold his hand.

one … last … time.

“you’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and he lifts up your hand, struggling at first. you’re kneeled down beside him as he lies on the floor. a pool of his own defeat starting to fill from underneath him before he kisses the palm of your hand. “i… i want you to promise me something though. can you do that, angel?”

“y-yes,” you immediately reply, your grip on his hand only growing tighter. suddenly, the air felt so thick and warm—everything felt so out of place. your ears, both of them rang and rang. there was a sting in your heart and it refused to go away. you were experiencing heartbreak at its finest, in slow slow waves.

gojo inhales, and you watch as his pretty lashes flutter at least twice before he says in the most broken, defeated voice you’ve ever heard.

“promise me,” he starts, and you watched as a tear ran down the corner of his eye. even he knew what his fate was coming to, everything was catching up to him and you were sharing the exact dreading emotion. gojo’s eyes flicker up towards you before he sniffles. “promise me, promise me that you’ll be here when i wake up?”

silence—pure silence was your reply, you didn’t know what to say.

but that pure silence only lasted for about three seconds before you nodded, feeling your own tears start to trickle out the crevices of your eyes. “i promise, i’ll be here, i’m always here, ‘toru,” and with a sob nearly escaping your lips, you whimper out a, “i love you.”

“i love you,” he replies with a cheeky grin, and by now he’s really clinging onto his final breaths.

all gojo could focus on was your face, the tears that swelled up through your eyes. he hated seeing you cry, he truly loathed it. with your fingers interlocked with his, gojo says in a soft broken tone, “goodnight, baby.”

“… goodnight, ‘toru.”

but instead of waking up next to gojo like promised, you woke up alone with his side of the bed empty. then reality hit you, he was already gone.

[star-sim]

his "oh" moment ☆ enha hyungs

☆ non-idol! enhypen hyungs x fem! reader ☆ summary: the exact moment that your enha boy realized he loved you. ☆ genre: fluff, down bad boys, very domestic and intimate, can be interpreted as either pre-relationship or established relationship, wtv u want :) ☆ warning(s)? no, theyre all just so atrociously down bad ☆ word count: 1.3k total

heeseung just came back from a little run to the convenience store for snacks. when he asked you if you wanted to come with him, you only smiled and said that you'd stay in his apartment to watch the boiling pot of ramyeon that you were preparing.

it was 3am when he ventured out into the cold, night air, pulling his hood over his ears. as the bag filled with all of your favorite drinks crinkled under his fingertips, heeseung slipped his housekey into the keyhole, sniffling softly from the cold.

as he cracked the door open, he was met with warm, orange light, warm air, and the smell of his favorite ramyeon.

"i'm back!" he shouted from the door, slipping his shoes off. you didn't hear him, so he just made his way into the kitchen.

the sight he saw before him was enough to make heeseung's heart skip a beat.

there you were, humming quietly to yourself as you graced his kitchen. lost in your own world, almost like the only thing that matter to you in that moment was the small pot of hot ramyeon, the same one that you always made when you were with him because you knew that he loved it. the way his kitchen lights shone down on you made you glow, almost like you were a saint to be venerated.

the sound of heeseung's breath getting caught in his throat caught your attention.

you turned over your shoulder, and the moment that you eyes met his, you expression melted into a smile— the one where your lips lifted so that he could see your teeth, your eyes forming thin crescents as your nose crinkled— the smile that heeseung swore he saw in his dreams.

"welcome back, hee," your voice greeted him.

as those words tumbled from your lips, heeseung's eyes widened into saucers as his heart dropped to his stomach.

he wouldn't mind hearing you say that to him everyday for the rest of his life. the thought of him coming home to you everyday, seeing your pretty, smiley face as you said his name, made heeseung light-headed, his face becoming the same color as the red broth of your ramyeon.

shit.

jay didn't think what he just said was really that funny.

it was a small, off-hand comment that he made, a mere remark that was miniscule in the grand scheme of things.

but the way that you keeled over yourself, your eyes squeezed shut yet tears spilled out of them, gripping onto the table as you laughed, told him otherwise. you struggled to form words, constantly cutting yourself off with laughter, wheezing so hard jay was worried that you'd stop breathing.

the sound of your laugh was like music to his ears. jay couldn't help the small, dumb grin that began to bleed onto his face; it started with his chest filling with warmth, rising up his neck, to his ears, and finally his lips. one corner of his lip raised slowly, before the other one did. his lips wobbled, watching you as you wiped a tear from your eye, until he couldn't hold it back anymore, and the smile that he tried so hard to swallow back unraveled across his features.

"st-stop!" you cried as laughter erupted from your chest, throwing your head back. you cheeks were beginning to hurt, but jay's words kept reverberating in your head. "i-i'm gonna pee myself!"

that's when jay laughed.

"shut up," he said, but no matter what he did to push the sound of your laughter to the back of his head, there was nothing he could do.

his cheeks were already too red, his heart already pounding in his chest like a drum, this memory already cemented into his head.

and plus, he already made up his mind: he could get used to hearing your laugh everyday.

or even better, he wouldn't mind being the reason for your laughter.

jake had no idea how his brother did it, how his brother managed to have a kid and not snap into a million pieces.

but as you held his infant nephew, cooing at his small hands and chubby cheeks, jake felt his entire world pummel to his feet.

"hi baby!" you cooed to the child, your knees folded below you as you helped jake babysit his nephew. when the baby babbled back, soft and sweet giggles fell from your lips, you laid on your back, holding the baby over you.

you gently rocked the baby in the air, relishing in the way that it let out small and high-pitched giggles.

jake watched. the way your touch was so gentle, pulling the child to your chest as you cuddled with him. your tenderness was so... soft. so soft that it made jake's brows furrow together, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, in order to hide the look of pure stupid that was threatening to seep through his expression.

you were so warm, so kind, so affectionate, that it made jake feel all mushy inside, like he was going to evaporate.

he sucked in a sharp breath, trying to keep the palpitations in his chest at bay, trying to keep the ache in his heart from consuming him whole.

"i didn't know you were so good with kids," he said to you, kneeling beside your figure that embraced his baby nephew. his tone was half-teasing, but jake knew better. there was a war raging on in him, and frankly, he wasn't going to win.

the more he watched you, the more everything became clear to him.

maybe he wouldn't mind having kids, if it's with you.

sunghoon had a strict sleep schedule, one that he would do anything to protect.

as his phone illuminated his bedroom, the blue light gleaming so bright that someone could go blind, and as that godforsaken ringtone shook sunghoon awake, he thought that he was going to punch someone.

but the moment his half-asleep eyes traced the letters of your name, his finger darted to answer your call, no questions asked.

"hello?" he rubbed his tired eyes, yawning, yet with no intention of going back to sleep. after all, it was you.

"hooooon," your voice slurred on the other line. he could hear loud music in the background.

"are you drunk?" he asked, worried. his brows crashed together, concern bubbling in his chest. "where are you?"

you laughed, the sweet sound almost making sunghoon feel at ease. "at the cluuubbb."

"shit," sunghoon muttered under his breath.

"don't worry about me!" you reassured him. "not drunk.... hehe!"

sunghoon was already grabbing his coat and keys, slamming his front door.

it was only when you snuggled up against him in the backseat of his car, pushing your cheeks into the crook of his neck and clutching his arm, that everything came crashing down on sunghoon's shoulders.

it was a quiet realization, like the small light that had always been glimmering inside him suddenly flickered on. it was no surprise to him: a silent and hushed wave of fulfillment crashing onto the seashore that was his heart, before fizzling out into white seafoam.

his eyes traced your features under the dim light, taking in the faint scent of your perfume.

you muttered his name, reaching out for him, and all he could do was feel his heart throb for a few pulses, before sucking in a sharp breath and letting a curve form on his lips.

"i'm here," he said quietly into your ear. "i'm always here."

[aemondsbabe]

summary: your uncle catches you sneaking from the keep and decides you need to be punished, but finds a sweet surprise instead

pairing: daemon x niece!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, infidelity but it's not really mentioned rhaenyra just exists lol, mentions of menstruation, reader is on her period, period kink on daemon's part, blood kink, blood, spanking, mild coercion, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m), slight corruption kink, good cop/bad cop daemon

word count: 4.4k

a/n: this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and daemon and, being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it -- choosing our own characters & how to play the story!

🩸masterlist of everyone's fics here!

all board creds to the lovely @zaldritzosrose ♥️

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Uncle, please!” You plead again, though you know it’s useless; your voice carries in the empty corridors of the Keep, “I promise I won’t do it again! I swear it!” 

Daemon merely grunts in response, his grip on your shoulder tightening while he guides you along. You struggle to keep up with his long strides, his quick pace nearly knocking you over; your heart leaps into your throat when you’re finally tugged to a lurching stop.

“In you get,” he says gruffly, leaving you no room to argue as he ushers you into his study, “You and I have much to discuss, little niece.”

Huffing petulantly, you duck under his arm and slowly make your way into the small chamber. Truthfully, it was normally used as storage for the library but since Daemon and Rhaenyra and their sons had been back in King’s Landing, he had all but commandeered it for himself and had ordered that a writing desk be brought into the room. Glancing around at the various high bookshelves, you wince when he finally pulls the door closed. 

“Now,” he drawls, walking around to stand before you, arms crossed over his broad chest, “Do you want to explain to me exactly why I found you sneaking through the halls at this hour?” His violet eyes bore into yours, making you feel flush under his exacting stare. 

“I was merely going to the kitchens!” You murmur defensively, holding his gaze for only a second longer before glancing away, “I just… I was going to get more of the lemon cakes we had at dinner this evening! I know it’s naughty, but I –”

“No,” he cuts you off, voice low and firm as he narrows his eyes at you, no doubt seeing through your lies with ease. “You were being naughty, sweet niece, I dare say that bit is true,” he smirks, hooking a finger under your chin and forcing your eyes up toward his, “But we both know it wasn’t lemon cakes you were after.”

“I-It was!” You try once more, internally flinching at the way your voice cracks.

“This is a very fine dress for simple lemon cakes, then, isn’t it?” His brows raise knowingly while his other hand comes up to pluck at an embroidered sleeve. 

“Well… well it wouldn’t be proper to be out in my night –”

“So, it’s propriety you’re so concerned with now, is it?” He cuts you off again, smirking wildly as he’s hardly even having to work at cornering you, the sweet little thing that you are, “That’s quite funny, seeing as how it’s also very improper for a young lady, a young princess at that, to be out galavanting around King’s Landing all night…”

You balk at that, lips parting in surprise as your brows furrow. “I wasn’t!” You quickly breathe, voice sounding more like a mousey little squeak, “I would never, uncle! I merely… I o-only got dressed to go to –”

“Come now,” he says slowly, voice low but firm, “This isn’t even the same pretty dress you had on at dinner. If you’re going to lie, at least try and be good at it.”

You open your mouth instinctually, a defensive reply ready on your tongue, though you quickly think better of it and snap your lips shut once more, jaws clenched. Your eyes flit away from him and your heart hammers in your chest; you hate the way you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as you swallow thickly, fighting against the tightness building at the back of your throat, the stinging behind your eyes. 

“Shh, there’s no need for all that,” he murmurs, swiping a thumb beneath your eye to quickly wipe away an errant tear; your breath catches in your throat at how quickly he can shift from intimidating to doting. 

“Please… please don’t tell my mother,” you whine, switching to bargaining instead, “If she finds out, I won’t be allowed out again until I’m married and Gods know when that might be…”

He chuckles at that, a playful smirk on his lips when he shakes his head. “I won’t tell on you, sweetling,” he all but croons, making you relax somewhat until you see a devious gleam in his eyes, “If you tell me what you were really up to. Because I know damn well it wasn’t lemon cakes.”

Your heart sinks again and you chew at your bottom lip for a moment, nervously wringing your hands. You cannot tell him the truth, you know that much but you hardly trust yourself to speak at all, fearing he’ll work it out of you one way or another.

Daemon’s impatient grumble makes you wince. “I was just… just going to a tavern! Honest!” You rush out, squeaking and stumbling over your words like a nervous mouse, “I merely wanted to go out on my own! Just once!”

He stays silent for a moment, eyes boring into yours and narrowing just slightly, before he sighs heavily and shakes his head. “What in the world were you thinking?” He murmurs, sounding exactly as he does when he scolds little Joffrey, “Do you have any idea what might’ve happened to you?”

“I would’ve been careful!”

“It’s not about what you would’ve done, naive little thing,” he snickers, making your cheeks flush, “Certainly you’re aware that nearly every man in that wretched city would give to –”

“I’m quite aware,” you interject, snapping in annoyance and shuddering at the thought of what he was insinuating. 

“Careful,” your uncle warned, gaze darkening and growing serious once more, “Don’t take that tone with me, I could very well march you right to your mother; you’ll be lucky to be made a septa if she catches wind of this.”

Your jaws clench and you have to fight the urge to scoff, to roll your eyes. “Well, I don’t appreciate you speaking to me like I’m some idiotic child!”

“Oh, aren’t you?” He huffs, taking a step closer to you, “Only an idiotic little fool would venture into King’s Landing in the dead of night to get up to Gods know what with Gods know who!” 

“I told you!” You bite back, trying to keep your voice steady, “We would’ve been –” 

The air feels as if it’s been sucked out of the room by the time you manage to shut yourself up, though it’s already much too late. Daemon’s head tilts to the side curiously, a sinister smirk on his lips once more, the second you squeeze your eyes shut and internally scold yourself for making such an error.

“We?” 

“Aegon,” you admit after a tense moment, knowing there’s hardly any use in drawing it out further.

“Ah, Aegon,” he drawls, chuckling to himself as he nods, “Letting big brother take you on a tour of the city then?”

“Something like that,” your voice is little more than a whisper while you nervously bite at your lip, keeping your eyes downcast.

“My, my,” you can practically feel the smugness radiating off of him as he circles you, arms behind his back, “An unplucked little flower, galavanting around the city, and with a married man, no less.”

Again, you clench your jaw as anger builds within you, grinding your teeth together while you will yourself to just stay quiet. You can’t help but remember a story Aegon had told you once, years before. At the time, you thought it was nothing more than a rumor, just old family gossip compounded by the murmurings of smallfolk. Now, though, just the mere chance that there may be even a sliver of truth to it makes your blood run hot. 

How dare he.

Daemon snickers again, the sound of it makes you clench your fists. “I do wonder what my dearest brother would think of that.”

“Yes, uncle, what would father think?” You snap before you can help yourself, lips set into a tight frown while you peer up at him.

“I said careful –”

“Because he’s heard all of that before, hasn’t he?” You try, heart skipping a beat when his eyes widen just slightly before quickly narrowing again.

“Watch yourself.”

“No!” You scoff, chest heaving with a righteous rage, “You’re no better than me, certainly no better than Aegon – doing the exact same thing to Rhaenyra! You’ve no right to lecture me in this –”

“I married her, that is the difference,” he says lowly, a harshness to his tone you’ve never heard before; he grips your shoulder with one hand, fingers digging almost painfully into your skin, “I made an honest woman of her, something your drunken cunt of a brother cannot ever do.”

“An honest woman,” you scoff, some part of your subconscious is begging you to shut up but you ignore it, “Honest enough to birth three strong boys, isn’t that right uncle?” 

That’s the final nail in your proverbial coffin – echoing Aemond’s words from earlier in the evening, though you suppose you at least had the wherewithal to not ruin dinner. 

“That’s it,” Daemon snaps, violet eyes burning with a fire that would rival that of the Dragonmont, “I really didn’t want to have to do this, princess.”

Your brows furrow for only a second and you’re silently planning an escape route as he presses against your shoulder, assuming that he’s making good on his threats to parade you before your parents. Your cheek is already pressing against the smooth, dark wooden surface of the desk before you register that he was never pushing you toward the door. 

Flustered and disoriented, alarm bells ring in your head as you squirm against the hand on your back, pinning you down. Your eyes widen when you feel him tugging your skirts up, panic flooding through you when you realize what he’s doing.

“Uncle, please!” You plead, bracing your hands against the desk as you attempt to push yourself up to no avail, “I’m sorry, truly! I didn’t mean it!”

“Enough!” Daemon barks, pulling your skirts up over your backside and letting the fabric bunch in against the small of your back, “You need to be taught some manners, little brat.” 

You hardly have time to take in another lungful of air before his hand is cracking down against your rear, making you yelp even as the pain of it is dulled by the thin fabric of your smallclothes. You fight against his hold all the while, grunting and squirming like a rabbit in a trap. 

Unfortunately, he realizes after a moment that this particular method doesn’t seem to be quite enough. A little panicked yell is wrenched from your lips when you feel his fingers hook into the waist of your smallclothes, making an icy chill run down your spine for an altogether different reason than the threat of pain.

“Uncle Daemon, wait!” You beg, shoving an arm behind your back and attempting to bat away his hand, “Y-You can’t, you mustn’t!”

“Come now,” he scoffs, easily pushing your hand away, “It’s only a backside, sweet niece, you think I haven’t seen one before?”

“It’s not tha –”

“And you seemed more than prepared to let dearest Aegon see much more than that, hm?” He drawls, going to tug at the fabric once more.

“I wasn’t!” You try again, desperate to make him understand, “W-We couldn’t have done anything, anyway!”

“Couldn’t have done…?” He questions, brows furrowing as he finally wrenches your smallclothes over the curve of your rear, tugging them unceremoniously down until they hang at your knees. It’s only then that he sees the issue, unable to keep the smirk off of his face as he hears you whine softly against the desk. 

This is what all that fuss was about? He thinks, eyes trailing over the bright red streaks, tacky on your inner thighs, until they settle on the blood soaked linens folded in the gusset of your underwear. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he sighs, the hand on your back rubbing up and down in a way that would be soothing in any other circumstance. “Now, what were you saying?” He asks casually, like he’s talking to you about the weather and like your arse isn’t out on display. 

“Aegon… Aegon and I couldn’t have done anything anyway,” you try again, praying he’ll take mercy on you, “Because of, well…”

“Because of what? A little blood?”

You merely nod, flushing so badly that your cheeks tingle as blood rushes to them.

“Oh, you sweet little lamb,” he coos, suddenly bringing a hand down against your rear again, smirking when you yelp at the sting, “Do you think men care about getting their swords a little bloody?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer as he smacks you again, easily holding you down when you begin struggling once more. Again, his eyes trail over your slit, heart quickening in his chest while he admires the crimson against your skin. Rhaenyra has only let him have her like this a scant few times, the pains that come along with her monthly blood keeping her from arousal and though he has not given into his cravings, he would be a fool to deny them. 

His jaw clenches as he grits his teeth, spanking you yet again, alternating between cheeks, before soothing the sting with gentle caresses and smirking when you shiver at the soft touch. You remind him of her, you always have, though he’s never voiced it. All youthful vigor, filled with an untamed confidence that only naivety can bring, and with a fiery temper to match – more like your half-sister than you knew. 

Perhaps his desires could be managed in… other avenues. 

He brings his hand down once more, relishing the way you squirm and cry, your delicate skin hot beneath his palm. His member stirs, pressing angrily against the ties of his trousers, when he notices a little rivulet of red running down your inner thigh.

“You know,” he starts, petting his hand over your back while you sob, tears leaking onto his desk, “Many men quite enjoy their women this way, sweet niece.”

He smirks when he hears your breath hitch, swears he can hear your heart fluttering like the wings of a little bird in the quiet chambers. 

“Warm, open… slick,” he drawls, taking a second to squeeze at the soft skin at the back of your thigh, the very tip of his thumb just barely running through a little crimson drip. He brings his hand up, marvels at the dark droplet staining his finger for only a second, before flicking it away with his tongue. 

You gasp, having been watching curiously from the corner of your eye as an altogether different kind of heat swarms your veins. You don’t fight his hold any longer, victim to his spell even as your mind wars with itself. 

“I-It’s messy, though…” You try, your voice sounding unconvincing to your own ears; you swallow nervously when he chuckles. 

“Mm, it’s not all that different from any other honeyed hole, sweet niece,” Daemon soothes, putting your worries at ease while he trails a hand over your inner thighs, licking his lips at the way your tacky skin feels against his fingers, “It can be messy, yes, but… some men prefer mess.”

Do you? You wonder, although you already know the answer, legs spreading unconsciously at his touches. A whine slips from your lips when he moves his hand back up, rubbing it over your still sore backside. 

“Still stings?” He asks, one eyebrow raised. He tuts when you nod, soothing you gently, like the sting isn’t his fault, “Lucky for you, I know just the thing for it.”

“What…?” You question, brows furrowing as you attempt to push yourself up from the desk, only to be pushed back down against it – albeit a little gentler this time. 

“You just relax,” he croons, all traces of the anger from before gone; the fires within him extinguished at the thought of finally getting what he’s missed for so long, “Let uncle kiss it better, hm?”

A shiver goes through you at his words and your breath catches in your throat, eyes wide as you feel him move around you, slinking from his place at your side to your back. Fabric rustles behind you and just as you open your mouth to ask what’s going on, a loud gasp tears itself from your throat. 

Daemon kneels on the floor behind you, bent down on one knee, and leans in, pressing a gentle, feather light kiss against one cheek before alternating to the other. His hands grab at your hips, holding you in place, eyes trained on the side of your head drinking in the little flashes of emotion on your face – shock and uncertainty slowly giving way to a cautious curiosity. He could work with that. 

“Feeling better?” He husks, smirking against your soft skin when he sees you nod, hears the little whimper halfway trapped in your throat. He carries on, pearlescent hair tickling the backs of your thighs each time he leans in, kissing your skin. Eventually, his touches begin to linger, hands rubbing over the sides of your thighs while his tongue licks against you every so often. The soft, patient touches soothe you, tamper your worry, and soon enough pleased little sighs and hums begin filling the room, music to his ears. 

Quickly, he pulls at the ties of his trousers, groaning against the curve where your ass and thigh meet when his member springs free, bobbing against his lower belly. Wrapping a hand around himself, he continues – kissing and licking along the backs of your thighs before finally reaching what he most desires.

“U-Uncle!” You gasp, eyes squeezing shut when he licks into the crease of your thigh, the skin there no doubt smeared with the blood you can feel running down your legs every few moments, painting streaks of red down to your knees. 

Your feeble little warble is drowned out by the deep, throaty growl that leaves him – a man dying of thirst finally finding an oasis in the desert. He nudges at your thigh, panting a low, “Good girl,” when you part them more – as much as your smallclothes, still bunched around your knees, will allow. His head spins thinking of how passionate you’ll become with more experience, already so eager.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, spitting into his palm and grunting while he works a hand over his cock, panting as he admires your flowering center for a moment – your little petals shining, crimson staining your skin nearly all the way down to your knees. He feels like a man possessed, drunk and proud as his cock twitches against his palm. 

Another groan rumbles in his chest when he dives in, all thoughts of being gentle and slow thrown to the wayside as he presses his face against you, uncaring as to whether he can fill his lungs or not. 

“Daemon!” You yelp, hands scrambling over the smooth surface of the desk, mind reeling while you try to find something, anything to hold onto. His tongue is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, eons better than the way your own fingers feel pressed against your cunt in the wee hours of the morning. 

Your chest heaves when he groans against you, tongue toying with the stiff little bud at the apex of your slit for a second before he fucks it into you, all but punching whines and moans from your throat. Your cheeks flush at the sound of it, the slick, wet sounds of his tongue working against you almost painfully loud in the small study. 

His hips rut into his hand as he suckles at your pearl, burying his nose into you while deep moans resound in his chest — head clouded at the taste of you, at the slick feel of your blood against his lips, on his tongue. 

Gods, he’s missed this. 

The fire in his belly builds steadily while he takes what he needs from you, the little throbs your cunt gives around his tongue only serving to push him further and further toward the end. 

“Seven Hells, you taste divine,” he growls, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock, his other hand tugging an arse cheek to the side, opening you more for him before skimming his fingers over your taut bud, smirking at the way your core clenches. 

“Please, please,” you pant, hips canting against the edge of the desk, breath foggy against the dark wood.

“Don’t worry, sweetling,” he murmurs, licking your taste from his lips, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

Your knees nearly buckle when he licks you again, laving his tongue over the entirety of you – lapping from your pearl almost all the way up to your other hole, the thought of such a thing stealing the air from your lungs. Your mind reels as he suckles at you, core aching from how tightly the knot in your tummy is wound. 

Daemon growls against you, the rhythm of his hand stuttering the closer he gets, stones pulling tight as he nears his end. He can tell you’re close as well from the way you press back against him, rutting on his tongue while breathy little moans tumble, unbidden, from your lips. 

The thought of your wet cunt clenching around his tongue causes his length to pulse again, causes it to leak against his fingers. Gods, he needs that. 

“Ah!” You pant when he redoubles his efforts and presses his tongue as far into you as he can, groan rumbling against you as he nuzzles into your folds, savoring the sweet coppery taste on his tongue. 

He feasts then, hand striping up and down his cock with abandon while he fucks his tongue into you, curling it and pressing it against as much of you as he can while his chin presses against your pearl, pulling loud cries from you. 

“U-Uncle, uncle, I… Gods, Daemon, I’m…” you stutter, words dying on your lips as pleasure threatens to white out your mind. You pant, breathlessly rocking against his face while your body tenses, instinctively preparing for the incoming onslaught. 

He grunts into you, fucking into his fist while his other hand squeezes at your arse. His eyes roll back in his head when he feels you tighten on his tongue, your walls finally beginning to suck at him in earnest. Just as his stones tighten to the point of no return, he smacks his hand against your rear once more, groaning victoriously as the dam finally breaks. 

“Fuck!” You shout, muscles tensing and falling limp all in the same breath as your high slams into you, rough and unforgiving — heightened by your menstrual flux. You can hear Daemon grunting and growling behind you, your cunt pulsing on his tongue. 

Below you, he feels as if he’s ascended to the clouds, stomach lurching like it does when Caraxes takes flight. He groans, long and loud, against you, into you, as his cock throbs, spend splashing down against his trousers, dripping to the floor. 

“O-Oh!” You breathe, hips twitching as he licks over you for a moment more, taking all he can. Your little tired cries make him chuckle as his touches border on overstimulation. He finally takes mercy on you and pulls away with a satisfied sigh, tucking his member back into his trousers as he stands, grunting at the soreness of his knee. 

There’s a heady fondness in his eyes as he lets them trail over you, watching as you catch your breath, limp. “Feel okay?” He asks, petting a hand down your spine before bending to press a sweet kiss against the back of your shoulder. 

You nod, your cheek slick against the desk while you finally start coming back to yourself. “Gods,” you sigh tiredly, blinking the fog from your eyes. 

Daemon chuckles at that, his normally mouthy niece reduced to little sighs. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and walks to a small mirror on the wall, well really an old, polished placard, but it’ll do. 

His eyes widen when he catches sight of himself, features distorted somewhat in the reflective golden surface, but clear enough to see the blood left on his skin. A smirk grows on his lips and he lets himself admire it for a second, mind flashing back to the aftermath of his victory against the Crabfeeder, before he begins wiping at his skin. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees you beginning to stir, arms shaking as you push yourself up from the desk. He stares at his reflection for a moment, jaw clenching as his heart pangs feebly. 

With a sigh, he walks the few steps over to you and steadies you, pressing a hand to your back. “Careful,” he warns, playful glint in his eyes while he guides you to the spare chair against the wall and coaxes you to sit, not caring if the fabric gets stained, “You’ll give me a complex.” 

Your lips quirk into a smile at that and you chuckle, eyes widening when you finally get a good look at him. “Ohh…” you balk, not expecting to see blood, your blood, trailing down his chin, painting him like a satiated lion, “I’m… I’m sorry…” You murmur, not knowing what else to say. 

“Why?” He chuckles, affectionately carding his fingers through your hair as he blindly wipes at his face a little more, “Did you not enjoy it?” 

“I did…” you admit softly, bashful before him now. Strength seems to find you again and you bend forward to pull up your smallclothes, only to stop yourself when Daemon leans down to do it himself. 

“Then there’s no reason to be sorry,” he says with a sigh, pulling your smallclothes back into place and letting you adjust them to your fancy, “Blood can be wiped away, sweetling.” 

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier too,” you murmur, wringing your hands while the two of you stand together. You watch as he busies himself with righting his clothes, making sure his trousers are tied well and smoothing out his tunic. You can’t help thinking that he looks handsome like this, finally seeing him how Rhaenyra might. 

Nervously, you pull at your skirts, smoothing them out and fidgeting with your bodice. You look up when he clears his throat, surprised to be met with a smile. 

“As I said,” he placed a hand on your shoulder, gentle this time, “Blood can be wiped away, sweet girl.”

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

check out the rest of the pieces in this collab here!

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

[gremlinmodetweeker]

(the rare) Ghost's Empire of Icks

I'm gonna be honest, I think a lot about Ghost, but I don't put much to paper. I think that it's because maybe I write so much König that I don't have much time for the big Brit. I do like him, but ya know, time. And energy too. However, today I woke up and I chose British. I must be true to my heritage.

Art from This Post

So! Ghost is rather different from the others because I suspect that every spark of joy in this man's heart is naught but a wee ember. He's genuinely such a massive killjoy it's insane.

There is no doubt in my mind that Ghost is the hardest person in the 141 to get along with. Not because he's mean, he's just... Flat.

See, the problem with Ghost is that he makes jokes all the time, it's just nobody but the 141 team picks up on them.

Ghost has the driest black British humour known to mankind. It's insanely hard to tell when he's joking about having beaten a man to death for a cup of coffee or if he actually did it. The problem is that there's a very good chance he isn't joking, but who's gonna tell the you that he's not? It's funny to watch you try and figure it out yourself.

Struggle, bitch.

That's essentially the T141 motto when it comes to figuring out Ghost's character. Gotta learn to earn, baby.

But the thing is, a pattern starts to form.

Whenever something goes wrong, Ghost will make the flattest joke you've ever heard.

*Car breaks down* Ghost: "Whelp, looks like we're walkin' boys. Cheer up, it's only a ten mile hike. We'll be there soon enough."

That's how subtle his humour is. You might genuinely mistake it for optimism if you didn't know him better. It's hard to follow sometimes, his jokes can be a wee bit cerebral, but he's a funny guy in all honesty. Not bad company after all.

Ghost might be the hardest person to really get in the 141, but if you crack the code he's absolutely hilarious. He genuinely is! It's just usually the most sarcastic one-liner you've ever heard.

If it's not hard to get Ghost's jokes, it's easy to understand how he feels about good ol' Great Britain.

He's a bloody patriot.

Patriotic to a fault.

That's not to say he can't take a joke, of course not. Hell, he's cracking them half the time. He is totally fine with laughing off how shitty his country is

But if you genuinely mean it? If you genuinely think Britain suck? Oh he has words. Maybe not out loud, but he's judging you hardcore.

You don't like the rain? Tough. Rain's what makes the Englishman a hardened man.

You don't like all their slang? Get used to it. If he can learn American slang to get your movies and use South African to go undercover, you can learn his. He's pretty petty about this too.

If you think Britain has a lot to answer for? He does agree, he's not going to advocate for colonialism and genocide, but also 'the past is the past so there's not much use dredging it back up'. He's a bit of a prick about this actually. I could have a lot to say to him, but he's too patriotic to really accept any faults.

He's also just really obnoxious about anything British. If it was invented by a Brit? He'll be sure to bring it up (notably will not bring up the fact that the inventor was actually Welsh/Scottish/Northern Irish)

Tying in with his patriotism, Ghost is a bit... Stubborn. He's a bit of a stick in the mud, if you will. Bullheaded to a fault. He'll refuse to admit to something going wrong in his life in any way shape of form. Unfortunately, this mostly shows up when his hearing bothers him.

"Once went to a concert in Stonehenge. Crackin' good concert, but I got a ringin' in my ears for weeks afterwards. Still got it, if I'm gonna be honest."

"Wasn't that when you enlisted in the military? You know, started doing firearms training?"

"Well yeah. Why?"

It will take ages to get Simon's attention. Not because he's not interested, but because he just can't hear too well. When it's quiet he can filter noise easily enough, but if you're trying to get his attention in a club it's next to impossible.

When he's in loud situations, he's learned to rely a fair bit on lip reading. He'll never admit it, of course. He can hear just fine, you know.

He is too stubborn to take a hearing test. You'll just have to suffer with yelling at him when he's just in the next room or having to go hunt him down in the house whenever you need to get his attention.

Speaking of, finding Ghost is a whole issue in and of itself. He's a big man, about 6'5 (maybe a bit under but nobody would dare question him), and pretty broad. However, when he's moving about, he's entirely silent.

The problem with this is that Ghost likes to walk around quite a bit. If you leave to go do some shopping and ask him to wait outside the changing rooms, he'll bugger off and do his own thing.

You can't call his name, but you can try his phone. You just have to hope he has it on him. Or that it's charged, he's horrible for keeping it uncharged.

He's a bit of a menace with his sneaking off. Usually it's fine, but sometime you need him right now and he's off in the ether doing whatever

You'll get a phone call from the bank that he needs to take immediately and you'll spend the next fifteen minutes scurrying around the house trying to find him. You can't call his name, you just have to hope you find him as the person on the other end of the line steadily grows more irate with each passing minute.

It's a genuine nightmare scenario that you have to go through on a monthly basis

Once you find him, he's under his car in the garage fixing something and he's completely oblivious as to why you're so upset.

"If you needed me so badly, why didn't you just yell my name?"

You're going to kill him in his sleep one day.

Anyways, those are just some of my thoughts. I think he's a big gross man but I love him. He's just so grumpy all the time that it's fun. Grumpy, sarcastic, bitter. The perfect man.

Ghost Dump

Ghost Headcanons

[m0nsterqzzz]

Dating Clarisse La Rue Headcanons

pairing: Clarisse La Rue x reader

summary: some of my favorite clarisse headcanons I've heard or come up with

a/n: how many words in Clarisse? ATE. anyway, heres this while I work on like 5 different clarisse fics cuz I always finish writing, second guess, and then delete it so i can start over in hopes it'll turn out better.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS IS HER TROPE (just because she’s so good at making enemies, and who wouldn’t fall for her charm even as she holds her spear up to their face?)

Can cook (super well too) but she doesn’t do it very often because she doesn’t have a reason to

^ will sneak into the camp kitchen at night and cook for you if you say please

Loves matching outfits with you. Not like twin babies matching, but like loves paying attention to what you’re going to wear the next day and picking out clothes of a similar color (I don’t know bro but I can see it and it’s so ahhhhhh)

Purposefully flexes her arms as she hugs you just so she can show off her muscles

Casually calls you her wife/husband whenever she feels like it simply because she can and it makes others confused and you flustered.

Keeps all your favorite books on her nightstand. Not because she likes reading (girly never picked up a book before she met you) but because she wants to read them so she’ll understand more of what you’re saying when you ramble about them. (it’s her silent way of saying she cares)

Is nervous to give much affection when you first start dating but absolutely MELTS the first time you hold her hand.

Randomly pokes you to the point that you get up and walk away just because she finds it funny.

Is pretty tall for her age, but still wears combat boots or platform hightops because she likes being taller than her siblings and you.

When she smirks at you, you’re either about to hear the fluffiest, love sick, sentence ever known to mankind, or a deserves-jail-time, barn floor type dirty, pick up line.

“And you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me.” Literally describes you and her. She makes the most, down bad, don’t say it around the younger camper, jokes you’ve ever heard and all you can do is laugh while staring at her in shock.

Puts a DISGUSTING amount of sugar in her coffee

Struggles to fall asleep all her life, but the moment she feels you playing with her hair or rub her back, she’s OUT

In another life, she is in a band and you go to every performance. Nobody can convince me she wouldn’t DOMINATE a guitar solo.

[lostgirlmuseum]

Pulse 💗

Summary: Bucky can hear your heartbeat through the wall, and he can tell everything isn’t alright.

Pairing: Bucky x gn!Reader

Words: 600 (exactly 600, holy moly)

Warnings: None really, just mentions of anxiety and adhd. Wrote this within an hour, sorry if its bad

A/N: Self indulgent fic alert! This goes out to all my peeps who struggle with ADHD/anxiety. It sucks, but hang in there!

Divider credit: @saradika

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up from the papers on your desk.

A brief second passed, and the door creaked open. A cautious Bucky peeked his head in.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked.

You suddenly became aware of your leg bouncing 70 miles an hour, and forced yourself to stop. 

“Yes, why?” You replied, ignoring the urge to get up and walk around.

“Well, I—” he hesitated, and brought his hand to rub the back of his neck, “I was passing by and I heard your heartbeat going really fast—super hearing and all that,” he awkwardly chuckled.

“120,” you stated, glancing at your watch.

“What?”

“My heart rate is 120 right now.”

“That’s pretty high for just sitting,” he responded, having a hard time hiding his concern.

“Well, y’know, anxiety,” you breathily laughed, but it wasn’t that funny.

“What are you anxious about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Nothing.” You sighed, lowering your pen and facing him. At this point he was now in your room, perched in front of your door.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Seriously, I’m kinda freaking out over nothing right now.”

“C’mon, you’re always telling me I’m valid for having concerns, you are too.”

“No, I mean there is literally no singular thing I’m anxious about right now—it’s just physical anxiety, the general feeling that I’m going crazy, or dying, I don’t know, both I guess. That sounds so dramatic. I really am fine. I mean, I’m not fine, but I am, yeah?” You rambled on and on, and cursed yourself when you noticed your leg had started bouncing again.

“I don’t think you’re okay, do you want me to bring you to Dr. Cho?”

“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t think there’s much she can do. The worst of this should pass in thirty minutes anyway, it’s just my meds.”

“Oh.” 

You could tell Bucky wanted to ask more, but wasn’t sure if it was polite.

“I have ADD. ADHD, whatever you want to call it. So I take medicine so I can focus on certain tasks, like these reports. And it does help me focus, but it’s also a stimulant, so it also gives me a lot of anxiety, which is totally awesome!” You scoffed.

“Why do you keep stopping your leg from bouncing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to annoy you.”

“If bouncing your leg makes you feel better, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I feel like I’m embarrassing myself,” you whined. 

Beep.

You looked at your watch.

“Oh, look at that, 126!”

“Do you—would…would a hug be something that would help you? Calm you down?” He offered, casually putting his arms out for emphasis.

“Sure, Bucky,” you smiled, and stood up to meet him halfway. You knew it wouldn’t fix it, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

Bucky wrapped you in a big embrace, and you were shocked by how warm and teddy-like it was. You gave a small sigh, and rested your face in his neck, knowing you weren’t going to be the first to let go.

He held onto you for longer than you expected, just calmly swaying together in your room. 

To your dismay, he eventually let go of you. You were about to thank him and return to your work, but he gently grabbed your wrist and brought your watch to his sight. 

“107. Good, but I think we can do better than that,” he sweetly smiled, and wrapped you back up into his arms. 

“It might take a while.” You mumbled into his shirt.

“As long as it takes.” He cooed.

A/N: Should be either A) studying for a history exam I have tmw, or B) writing my stupid essay that the rough draft is due tmw, but I wrote this instead bc I’m procrastinating  HELP ME

[rogueddie]

Sweet Nothings T | 545 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if it's nothing special

Eddie has his keys in hand, holding his jacket with his teeth as he gets ready to leave, when someone knocks on the door.

"Hiya, Ed," Steve greets with a grin, that quickly falters. "Oh, sorry, is it a bad time?"

"Sorta? You're not interrupting anything important."

"But you have other plans. No worries, I'll- uh... what are you going out for?"

"Need a part for the van. Was gonna head up to the scrap yard, see if I could find anything there."

"Oh, cool. I could help, if you want?"

"You sure? It's pretty boring."

"Nah, it'll be fun! C'mon, tell me what you need."

Steve steps back, waving Eddie over to his car.

"You sure you want us to go in your car? Some of the shit we're grabbing is gonna be dirty."

"So I'll clean it? Come on, I'm excited now."

"Excited to go digging through a scrap yard?"

"With you? Yeah." He walks back over, gently pushing Eddie towards his car. "We can make it fun! And I know Henderson has been on your ass as much as he has been on mine about us finally hanging out."

"You're just bored with nothing else to do, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. But, hey, two birds with one stone!"

Eddie sighs, finally stepping to the passenger door, rolling his eyes. "Fine, whatever, let's go."

Steve whoops, doing a little fistpump, before rushing to the car when Eddie raises an eyebrow at him.

He keeps up conversation the entire drive and Eddie quickly realises that Steve... he genuinely loves cars. He doesn't know a lot about how they work and, knowing now that Eddie does, he has a lot of questions.

Eddie is happy to answer them.

At the scrapyard, they end up distracted almost immediately. Eddie ends up spending most of the time showing Steve how engines work.

Thanks to the visual and practical aid, Steve learns fast. It only takes him two attempts and a lot of running around, tearing other shit apart, to get one of the abandoned, broken engines to roar to life.

It sputters out as soon as it starts, but it does start.

"This stuff is so cool!" Steve says, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as they finally head back to the car.

Thanks to how much destruction they'd thoroughly caused, finding the little replacement part that Eddie needed hadn't taken long.

"Yeah, surprisingly so."

"Aww," Steve coos, teasingly. "But are you saying that because you mean it or because you love me?"

"It can't be both?"

"That- oh, haha."

"Didn't even mean to make that pun. I'm just that funny, huh."

"No, your jokes are terrible."

"Steve, hey," Eddie stops, faking a serious tone. "You can't say things like that about your boyfriend, it's not nice."

"What are you, the love police?"

"Yes. Put your hands up, you're under arrest."

Steve sticks his tongue out at him, before sprinting off to the car.

Eddie is hot on his heels, struggling to keep himself from laughing as he yells after him, unable to bite back the grin.

He can't help but wonder how he'll ever manage to come back to the scrapyard without Steve.

Nothing is ever as fun as it is when they're together.