#its really really frustrating that i can only play this for another day or so else I'll injure the shit out of my wrist for a week or two

[weemssapphic]

Split in half

Larissa Weems x f!reader

This is a part two to We're not who we used to be set a few months after that fic, from Larissa's POV. It's just as angsty as part one, maybe even worse. It's inspired by the song Stick Season by Noah Kahan. Enjoy 😅

Words: ~1.5k | ao3 link in title

And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas And I'll dream each night of some version of you That I might not have, but I did not lose Now you're tire tracks and one pair of shoes And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

-

“Ow - fuck!”

It takes Larissa’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness blanketing her quarters. She steadies herself against the little table by the door and squints at the floor as she searches for whatever she’s just tripped over that caused her to ram her hip into the corner of said table. 

Now she remembers - she’d changed her mind about her heels that morning and left the initial pair next to the door. She sighs and kicks off the heels she’s wearing now, leaving them lying haphazardly next to the others.

She walks towards the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light now that her eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Pain blooms in her hip, growing sharper with each step - she can already feel the deep purple bruise forming across her hip bone. She opens the fridge and stoops down, the bright, fluorescent glow shooting straight through her eyeballs into her already throbbing skull, making her eyes water. The fridge is nearly empty and Larissa groans in frustration as she closes its door and blindly reaches for the cabinets above the stove instead, running her fingertips across the smooth, familiar wood as her eyes adjust again.

Her fingers bump into the little brass handle and she opens the cabinet, pulling out the first bottle she finds. Whiskey. She opens another cabinet and takes out a crystal tumbler, then pads across her quarters to her little balcony, clutching both bottle and tumbler to her chest. 

A chill seeps through her stockings and straight into her bones as she steps outside, and she grits her teeth as she lowers herself onto the oversized pillow she’d taken out here when she first started spending her evenings after work out on the balcony. 

It’s a lot colder tonight than it was those weeks - or has it been months? - ago. Fall is as good as over, the trees barren of their gorgeous red and orange foliage, but winter hasn’t fully started yet either, the first snowfall having yet to make an appearance.

Larissa pours some of the amber liquid into the tumbler, raising it to her lips and tossing it back in one go. It burns her throat and the swift motion smudges her lipstick, not that that matters. It warms her a little from the inside, so she pours herself another.

She supposes she could do something productive, or at least try to distract herself, but there’s not really a point - she can’t read books or watch films or even knit without spending the entire time trying to reign in her wandering thoughts. Even her work is suffering as a result.

She should’ve seen it coming, really, you leaving her. After all, she thinks bitterly, as her thoughts once again hone in on you, she had been rather absent in your marriage. Even when you told her you were moving out, that you were done trying, she could hardly wrap her head around it. Hardly believe it was actually over.

On the day you’d left, she’d woken up to a horribly loud rummaging in the closet. It was a Sunday, and she remembered the pang of irritation that mixed with her confusion, the frustration that you’d woken her early on the only day she ever slept in. She’d remembered readying herself to berate you, tasting the words on her sharp tongue as she’d pushed herself up onto her elbow - the words dying just as quickly as they’d come when her sleep-filled eyes were met with the sight of your half-full suitcase (the big one, the one you used for longer vacations) on the floor in front of the walk-in. 

Between stuffing everything from your underwear to a few framed photos into the suitcase, you’d explained your reasoning rather coolly for someone who usually wore her heart on her sleeve and cried at even comedy films - it had unsettled Larissa to see you so casual about leaving. Perhaps it was due to this that she didn’t say much. She didn’t say any of the things she should have said, any of the things you might’ve hoped she’d say or the things she wishes today that she had said. She’d watched you pack, nodding along to whatever you were saying about divorce lawyers - divorce? - and robotically seeing you to the door. 

Your tires had screeched a bit on your way down the driveway - the sound rings in Larissa’s ear as she tosses back another tumbler of whiskey.

Everything had passed so quickly after that, weeks and months blurring together. She’d signed the divorce papers in what she can, in hindsight, only describe as a fugue-like state, not realizing until much later the full consequences of her actions. And ‘much later’, apparently, translated into ‘too late’.

So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad No, I am no longer funny, 'cause I miss the way you laugh You once called me forever, now you still can't call me back

One tumbler turns into two turns into three, and then she’s abandoned the glass in favor of drinking straight from the bottle. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her blazer, scrolling to your contact as if on autopilot and staring at it as if it would suddenly come to life.

You’d forgotten an old pair of sneakers at the back of the closet. She’d told you when you’d stopped by with the divorce papers, and you’d told her to just throw them out.

Just throw them out.

It should be so easy. They’re dirty and they stink and the sole is peeling off on the right one. Every time Larissa sees them, she picks them up and wills herself to walk straight to the trash bin. She picks them up - then puts them right back, next to her own rarely-used running shoes.

Larissa clicks ‘call’. She lifts the phone to her ear as she waits, taking another gulp of whiskey. It doesn’t burn anymore.

Her throat gets tighter with every ring, a thin film of tears beginning to blur her eyes. After a few long minutes, the call goes to your voicemail - which is full - and Larissa’s tears spill over, clinging to her lashes before racing each other down her cheeks.

“Pick up, goddamnit!” she growls, her voice hoarse and wet. She tosses her phone angrily onto the floor beside her, not caring if it gets scratched.

There was a time when you’d have picked up the phone in the middle of a packed movie theater if it was her calling - now she hasn’t been able to get ahold of you since the divorce was finalized. It’s at least half her fault, she supposes, but she’s still angry at you for ignoring her. For leaving her. Even if she seemed intent on driving you away.

It’s getting late. Larissa knows this not because she’s checked the time, or because the moon is already high in the night sky, but because time always manages to slip away from her when she’s sitting out here, and because her ass is numb and her knees hurt from sitting in one position for so long. 

She pushes herself up, a bit shaky on her feet, nearly stumbling then steadying herself against the railing of the balcony. She bends, stumbling again, grabs the whiskey bottle by the neck, fumbles with the tumbler, then makes her way into her quarters, leaving her phone on the floor and the balcony door open behind her. It’s been so drafty in her quarters lately.

The bottle of whiskey is placed on the counter and, as Larissa goes to place the tumbler into the sink to be washed, it slips and shatters, shards of glass flying everywhere. She feels the warmth of her own blood on her finger before she feels the sting of the cut.

“Fuck!” 

A little bit of moonlight is streaming into the kitchen, and Larissa raises her finger into the light and stares at it, watching blood form a large bead on her fingertip, then slowly trickle down towards her hand. She sucks her finger between her lips, trying to stem the flow of blood. The metallic taste mixes with the whiskey on her tongue and, as she stands there in the darkness of her kitchen, she suddenly feels tired, so unbelievably tired.

She wants to call you again. She wants to tell your full voicemail box to go fuck itself, all she wants is to hear your voice. It’s all she wants yet it’s all she can’t do. 

-

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

x

Taglist: @alexusonfire @pro-weems-places @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69  @fictionalized-lesbian @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @http-sam @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @niceminipotato @thevillagegay @barbarasstar @lilfartbox1 @dovesintherain @fallenbutch @lunala-rose23 @ahauandthesun @thenazwife @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @thesamesweetie @theonefairygodmother @lvinhs @rainbow-hedgehog @daydream-cement @im-a-carnivorous-plant @milfomaniac @ilovetlcc @lesbiahonest24 @wastdstime @gwens0girl @larissa-weems-chokehold @makemyworldworthliving @spacetoaim22 @m1lflov3rrr @nightingalespen @jadewolf22 @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens-wife

[sugarwizard]

playing animal crossing new leaf n on saturdays K.K slider will play songs at your request in the club n its a genuinely transformative experience with stupid good quality headphones. im home again

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Maid who looks at the castle in front of him, then the flier in his hands, then the castle again. Unless there was a typo in the address, the job interview should be here. He hesitantly uses the bat shaped door knocker and waits...This place looks so creepy and ominous, was this a prank ? Was it to scare him? Seriously? Sigh…He has had enough of being treated like a fool. As he continues his descent into frustration, bitterness and self-pity, he doesn’t hear the door opening. Nor does he see the butler standing at the entrance until he hears a: “Sorry for the wait, my kind sir. Are you here for the housekeeper position?”.

Yandere!Maid who thinks the butler is telling him a load of bullshit. According to him, the owner of this place is a vampire in search of additional staff members. He resists the urge to scoff. Whatever, if the “mistress” wants to take part in some weird role-play, then so be it as long as he would get paid. The same guy tells him to “please take a seat” in the living room and that “mistress will come and attend to you in a moment”. Soon after his departure, the air shifts. Black particles float around until it materializes something, or rather someone. The poor boy's shock and confusion quickly turn into enchantment. Fuck, you are totally his type. This is bad, he can feel his face burning. “Shall we go to my office?”, you ask with a smile.

Yandere!Maid who hates you. Who hates the fact that your personality matches your looks. Who hates how much control you have over him. The other day, your...pet sneezed on him, so he needed another uniform. “It seems that I only have a female one left ”, you told him. “There is no way in hell I am wearing that”, he sneered. “But wouldn’t you look cute in it? Besides, it is either that or cleaning with your normal clothes on until your new uniform arrives here-” “Alright, shut up, just give me that”, he abruptly took the offending dress from your hands and went to change. Since that conversation, his work attire has fully transitioned to said maid outfit. Maybe he becomes a bit too proud of himself whenever he catches you staring at him. And maybe, just maybe he wants to give you a nice view by bending down and taking his time “to clean the table” whenever he knows you are behind him. He will never admit that though.

Yandere!Maid who, one day, demands asks you about your eating habits. As soon as you answer, something regarding animal blood, he turns oddly quiet. You are about to ask what is wrong, but then he surprises you by climbing into your lap. You watch him get comfortable and, with trembling hands, undo the first buttons of his dress. The cherry on top is him pulling on its collar a bit to show a silver of his chest. He now avoids eye contact as he waits for you to take the lead…You are still just looking at him, so, with a blush becoming darker, he snaps at you: “A-are you stupid or something ? Do you want me to spell it out-” “I am just enjoying the view”, you respond with a teasing smile. Before he can sputter more insults, you grip his chin and tilt his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry gaze. “But if you insist…Thank you for the meal <3”

Yandere!Maid who has his face buried deep in his pillow while he tries to calm his flustered self down. After you finished drinking from him, he hurriedly got up and scurried to his room without so much as a word. The more he recalls the embarrassing noises he made in front of you, the more mortified he becomes. It was not his fault, it just felt really good and you even pulled him closer and tugged on his hair and-He whines and squirms in his bed as he feels his body turning hot again like that time. The action causes him to feel a sharp sting on his neck. He freezes. That is right. You marked him. You marked him. You marked him.

...

Don't drink from anyone else, ok?

[bywons]

IRRESISTIBLE 𖥔 抱擁

𝖫𝖠𝖢𝒪𝖭𝖨𝖢───he’s home late, but he knows just how to melt your heart

𝑜𝑓 · 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝑖𝐒 ܃ hubby!heeseung x wife!r 1219 fluff domestic au ── 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 kissing skinship suggestive ｡｡｡ ／ ( 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 )

૮ ♡◞ ◟ ა not proofread at all, but i hope this hits ! TT

reb𝑙ogs& ˊᗜˋ 𝑓eedbacks

12:27 am. middle of the night, the second hand of the clock mocks you for your fowl mood as it ticks away without any care. another minute passes by.

12:28 am.

tick. tock. tick. tock.

in a careless and hasty manner, you take out the last bowls from the dishwasher and dump it in its racks, before marching forward to and dump them on the racks, before making your way towards the couch, back facing the doorway.

12:30 am. and still no hint of your husband, heeseung. he should’ve been home by now, grinning as he burst through the door with an excited “I’m home!” ready to sweep you off your feet, holding you against him. instead, the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock are your only companions, the silence amplifying your growing frustration. your fingers drum against the arm of the couch as your gaze drifts repeatedly to the door, despite your resolve to stay indifferent.

your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, and the cushions of the couch creak softly under your weight as you shift, refusing to turn toward the door. the dim light in the living room casts long shadows, matching the brooding mood you’ve wrapped yourself in. of all days, why today?

12:31 am. the front slowly creaks open.

you hear the soft rustle of his keys hitting the table, but you don’t move, determined to stay mad. the faint sound of his footsteps approaching sends a shiver down your spine, your heart softens at the thought of him being tired, and you slowly get up.

“i’m home,” his voice is gentle, as though he’s approaching a ticking time bomb, and, in a way, he is, “hello?”

heeseung has a small heart attack when he sees you standing still in front of him. eyes narrowed, hands by your side, a bored expression and body language as you step forward to take his briefcase, your fingers brushing against his as you do so.

just as you turn around swiftly, without even greeting heeseung or looking at him, his hand does find your wrist in a swifter motion. he steps closer to you, you feel the material of his shirt against his back, his tall figure looming above yours.

“are you really that mad?” heeseung mumbles, his voice low and teasing, the warmth of his breath brushing against your ear as he tightens his grip on your wrist. his chest presses gently against your back, the familiar scent of him — a mixture of cologne and something uniquely heeseung.

you try to keep your composure, lips pressed into a thin line, but the way his thumb softly caresses the inside of your wrist makes your resolve falter. he knows exactly what he’s doing, the way his presence alone can make your anger melt away.

you don't answer, still determined to play this out. instead, you pull your wrist free and make a beeline for the kitchen, after placing his briefcase on the couch. returning to the isolated sliced tomatoes on the kitchen counter, you wipe away a drop of sweat from underneath your chin.

“come on now, baby,” his voice is low as he sighs and comes right behind you, his hands sneakily wrapping around your waist. with the other, he pushes away the hair from your shoulders and neck, his fingers enticing an electric shock within you as soon as his skin touches yours.

“i know im late,” he mumbles, lips close to your ears, hands fully wrapped around you as his back presses against you again. finally, placing an array of kisses along your shoulders to your neck upto your ears, trying his best to calm his angry wife down, “forgive me, pretty? i had to work overtime this week, that's all,” he whispers.

he’s so irresistible.

you try to maintain your anger, but the warmth of his touch and the tenderness in his voice are like a slave to your simmering frustration. you pause, knife in hand, hovering over the half-sliced tomatoes, unwilling to give in just yet.

“overtime?” you say, your voice laced with sarcasm as you shrug his arms off. “that's all you ever say, heeseung? you could've at least called. i sat here wondering if—”

heeseung interrupts your rant, gently spinning you around to face him. his hands rest lightly on your hips, and his dark eyes hold a soft, apologetic gleam. “you're right,” he says, his voice low and earnest. “i should've called. i messed up.”

“you can't just show up late, say ‘sorry,’ and expect me to forgive you,” you retort, though your voice lacks the venom it held earlier.

heeseung smirks, a playful glint replacing the guilt in his eyes. “you're right again. so let me make it up to you.”

before you can protest further, heeseung steps closer, his hands firm on your waist as he lifts you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. the cold surface contrasts with the warmth radiating from his touch, sending a shiver through you.

“you deserve more than just words,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

his hands remain at your waist, fingers splayed as though he’s anchoring himself to you. slowly, he leans in, his face so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. his nose brushes against yours, soft and tentative, as though giving you a moment to pull away.

but you don’t.

when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not a rushed kiss meant to placate you; it’s deliberate, deep, and full of meaning. the world around you blurs into nothingness as his mouth moves against yours, firm yet tender. he tilts his head slightly, angling to deepen the kiss, his hands sliding up from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer.

your hands, which had been hovering hesitantly in the air, find their way to his shoulders. the fabric of his shirt is soft beneath your fingers as you clutch him instinctively, grounding yourself in the moment. heeseung’s lips are warm, moving with a mix of urgency and reverence, as if he’s trying to pour every unsaid apology, every ounce of love, into this single act.

his tongue grazes your lower lip, asking for permission, and you grant it without a second thought. the kiss deepens, turning more passionate, more consuming. his fingers trace patterns along your spine, sending shivers coursing through you. the faint scent of his cologne mingles with the lingering aroma of tomatoes and dish soap, creating a sensory overload that makes your head spin.

when he finally pulls back, just enough for your noses to touch, you’re both slightly breathless. his forehead rests against yours, his lips curling into a small, triumphant smile.

“still mad?” he whispers, his voice rough and teasing, his thumb brushing gently against your hip.

“you’re infuriating,” you mumble, though the words lack conviction.

“and you’re irresistible,” he counters, his hands not leaving your waist, as though he’s afraid to let you go.

you smack his shoulder lightly, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “fine,” you sigh, feigning exasperation. “but this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, his tone laced with amusement as he steals one more kiss, his lips lingering just a little longer this time.

© BYWONS, 2024 / do not copy or repost without permission

taglist────open tags in the reblogs ! network tag. @/k-labels @k-films CLICK ME

[moviestarmartini]

yellow flowers. — jude bellingham x gf!reader

él sabía, ella sabía y se olvidaron de sus flores amarillas.

summary: how can your relationship recover from such a serious argument the night before?

wc: 975

warnings: angst, not that much dialogue, like three words in spanish, established long-term relationship.

A/N: WHAAAAT?? GIGI POSTING TWICE IN A DAY??? its more likely than you think! thank las flores amarillas hehe.

now playing... flores amarillas from floricienta

The fight was stupid, really. 

You both had to admit it was. Even then, that doesn’t take away the fact it snowballed into issues each of you held back for what seemed ages, and only ended up with Jude slamming the door on the way out of your apartment. 

After hours of crying, your own exhaustion from the ordeal lulled you to sleep. When you rose up in the morning, neither your mind nor your body prepared for the fact it was a Saturday. 

Nor the fact everyone and their mothers were receiving yellow flowers, something you’d always craved but were always just another bystander. 

If you listened to that song again you might just rip your hair off. 

You had a whole day planned with Jude after the game, he wanted to do something special, but the fact you couldn’t hold back your jealousy the night before was more than enough to dampen the idea, whatever it was. 

For a second, you tried to put things on the positive side. A self-care day. In theory it was wonderful, but the second you sat alone in the bubbly bathtub, you broke down in tears. 

You’d been together for years. You changed your whole life around him, learning German to go to school in the same country and planning your masters in Spanish. Maybe that was part of the reason he called you spineless; you adapted to other’s needs and perspectives easier. His words bounced around your head, each reminder taunting you more. 

To top it all off, Spotify seemed to have a vendetta against you, your daylist was insanely depressing. 

“Is this because he plays for Real Madrid?!” You spoke out into the world, growing frustrated with your situation. 

That did spark an idea in your brain; or more of a reminder. 

Jude had a game today. And you weren’t going to be there to watch him. That just made you jump out of the bath, get changed into decent clothes and leave the house for once to watch him at your best friend’s house upon her request, miserably so even when the team got their footing back up— knowing you should be in the stands cheering him on. But alas, you weren’t.

And you wondered if you would ever be again. 

The moment he fell clutching his shoulder, your heart stopped. Tears welled in your eyes but you avoided letting them escape, remembering the long hours of work and recovery, the utter joy you felt when he informed both you and the team he was comfortable playing without the big chunky brace again. All that, and it crumbled down right before your eyes, like your relationship. 

Still, you didn’t hesitate on reaching for your phone, not finding any elation on the team’s victory. 

[ I know you don’t want to see or hear from me ] 

[ But how’s your shoulder? I’m seriously concerned ] 

You knew he wasn’t going to reply right away, and when your companion found out who you’d texted, she ripped the phone out of your hands and put it away for the reminder of your evening laced with white wine and take out sushi. 

“Thank you for releasing me, master.” You joked by the time she gave you the mobile back, swallowing hard upon seeing Jude hadn’t replied. 

He hadn’t even read it. 

Now you were actually panicking, swallowing down the tears in the Uber and wishing the small elevator could go fast enough that you didn’t break down somewhere that wasn’t in the comfort of your home. 

You were overwhelmed enough that you didn’t even take into account your door was unlocked when you clearly left it locked, nor the warm light coming from the tiny space under the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Were the first words you registered before your eyes caught the indoor prairie your boyfriend had installed in your living room in the shape of yellow daisies. 

Your eyes trailed the hundreds of petals before your eyes finally fell on him, scanning from his toes up to the apologetic expression he was carrying. Now it all made sense; your friend insisted on getting you out of the house for this. He didn’t reply because of this. 

Though your heart was running at a whopping speed of thirty miles per second, your feet took you painfully slow— cautiously— towards him. You were still marveled, carefully watching where your sneakers landed to avoid stepping on the beautiful work he’d planned for you. 

“Perdón,” Jude repeated, as if the words in Spanish meant so much more than the English language. He opened his mouth for what seemed to be a rant, but the way you squeezed the life out of him with a desperate hug left him speechless, followed by your hugs. 

“I thought you— you were going to dump me and I would have to move back home and— and I can’t imagine that because I love you so much and that’s why I was scared!” You babbled between hiccups, trying to calm yourself down before his gentle hands cupping your face did the job spectacularly. 

“I would be such a fuckin’ idiot to do that.” He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, not at you nor your claims, but at how ridiculous he had been. 

“Te perdono,” You sniffled, your bottom lip still puckered up ever so slightly. 

“But what’s all this?” You turned to look at the scene, something straight out of a Van Gogh painting. 

“You thought I forgot with the thousand TikToks you sent me on this day?” He leaned in to kiss your forehead before pulling you into another warm hug. 

“I also watch Gilmore Girls whenever you do. Whoops.” 

Your laugh echoed as you snuggled closer to him in your upright position, being extremely thankful the last sentence of the song wasn’t your reality.

A/N: if y'all seriously thought it wasn't going to have a happy ending you clearly don't know me well enough rip

[whoreforwonwoo]

Onggg but imagine hard dom!scoups or hard dom!wonwoo like what would they be interested in? But one thing ik for sure is that they're both interested in spanking, edging and overstimulation and at tye end of the night? You're crying with tears falling down your face and pussy battered,,

I was wondering if you'd be want to write what type of hard!dom they were? Would they be interested in bdsm? Bc as far as ik its always the quiet kids and c'mon scoups?? Oh he's just scoups

Omg. I think both wonu and coups would be interested in the same thing but a little different.

Hard dom!Wonwoo

• Spanking: it's a must. There wont be any punishment without spanking. Don't underestimate him though. Even if his hands are thin and not as big. He is skilled. He knows how to make it hurt. His hands won't stop beating your ass until it's sore and red. And ofc he WILL definitely use other tools like the paddle and the whip. He won't stop even if your crying and begging. Even when you're at your limit and close to passing out from the intense pain. He won't care. He needs to drive the lesson into your head. And he'll do anything to do it.

• BDSM: OK but I don't think he is the person to be into bdsm to much. But. If he needs to be rough with you in a particular way. He will use blind folds and handcuffs ofc.

• Overstimulation: OK. But I know that Wonwoo would definitely be interested in this. Like how can he not. He can over stimulate you almost everyday. But let's talk about those nights when he's a little too worked up. He'll tie your legs to the bed and Overstimulate you with a vibrator to the clit and his finger. He won't stop until you're sobbing and your legs are shaking badly. If you move too much. He would slap your pussy or pinch your clit hard. By the end of the night, your pussy is swollen and beaten up. But he'd still fuck you for the next 2 hours on his dick. So yeah...good luck to you.

• Breath play: something this man is totally good at. He would be pounding into you from behind and would just snake his hand up to your throat and squeeze it tightly. He would make you hold your breath for so long. Until you're struggling and and almost at the verge of passing out. He would slowly release your neck and let you cough and choke as you cry out when he starts to pick up his pace again.

Hard dom!Scoups.

• Spanking: this man isn't gonna let you go without spanking. His hands and fingers are big and thick. Don't think he'll go easy on you. He's serious. If you're already across his lap. That means you're in for a long beating. He won't stop until you're sobbing and begging.

• Bdsm: this man is all about bdsm. He wouldn't use tools on you. Nor would he use handcuffs and blind folds. But. He definitely has a good body to use on you. Soooo. I think he would be into fisting. Like mannnnn. He would just fist you one day out of frustration. And no begging and pleading is gonna stop him from pounding his fist inside you. Your pussy forcefully opened by him. It's painful yet so delicious.

• Deep throat: Something I think everyone knows Scoups would be into. I can just imagine him fucking your throat deeply and warning you to not use your teeth. But no matter how hard you tried. Your teeth only touched his dick inside you, and he's gonna make a REALLY BIG DEAL out of it. Trust me. He would slap you across the face hard and squeeze your cheeks together. "Wtf did I tell you. Huh?" He would ask before giving you another firm slap. Another thing is that he's BIG AF. He won't care if you choke on his dick tho. Your his cocksleeve. So he'll use you like one.

• Overstimulation: Even if he isn't into edging that much. He is into overstimulation. He would use his tongue on you for hours. Making you cum almost 4 times. After that he'll fuck you in all the positions possible. Trust me. At the end of the day. You've came so much you couldn't even cum anymore. But he won't care. He would spread your legs again, ignoring your pleas and cries for him to stop. He would force orgasm after orgasm after you until you've passed out.

Damnnn....I think I might make a oneshot out of this heheh.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; after a tense confrontation with laswell, you find comfort and support in alejandro and rudy. but just as you're beginning to regain your footing, an unexpected call pulls you back into the fray.

⚠️ warnings; slightly graphic content, body horror

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

Entering through the back door, you find Laswell already settled in the quiet of the bar, humming softly to a tune playing low over the speakers. She’s at ease, arranging bottles and tallying inventory, a steaming cup of tea beside her. The smell of fresh herbs mingles with the earthy scent of aged wood, creating a warmth that would normally be comforting. But today, it feels stifling. It’s strange to see her so relaxed, not even glancing up as you approach.

Finally, she looks up, her face softening with a small but welcoming smile. “Early morning for you too, I see,” she says, taking a sip of tea. “Couldn’t sleep, I take it?”

“Not quite,” you manage, biting back the surge of emotions. You clear your throat, shifting your weight, the ache in your injured ankle sharp and relentless, yet she seemed oblivious to your state.

“Is everything alright?” she asks, her tone too polite, too casual. “I was just going over inventory—didn’t expect any company.”

The sheer calmness in her voice, the way she doesn’t mention last night's missed call or notice the obvious signs of wear and urgency, makes your stomach churn with a dawning realization.

“Laswell, I’m here because something’s wrong. Deeply wrong,” you begin, pushing down the frustration building inside. “I have confirmed it—here, look,” you take out the nail and unwrap it, carefully keeping the cloth between it and your skin.

She barely glances at it, lifting her cup again. “It’s just a nail,” she says, a hint of bemusement in her tone. “Really, you’re letting your mind run away with whatever this is.”

You feel your chest tighten as you feel your face flush with a mix of indignation and flaring anger. "Laswell, I found this embedded in my floor—right where Ghost scratched it, again and again, after he attacked us. He nearly tore the place apart, and Sybil… she was badly hurt. Whatever this is, it's powerful. It's gotten into him, into all of them!"

You’re practically pleading now, voice rising, words tumbling over each other in near hysteria. "S-someone is using Leah as a conduit. It’s a manipulation curse, this isn't some baseless paranoia—it's real, and it's tearing us apart from the inside out!"

Still, she doesn’t respond with the urgency you need. Instead, she watches you with that frustratingly calm demeanour.

Laswell sighs, setting her cup down as though indulging you. “You’ve always been dramatic, but this is getting excessive. Think about it: a nail?” She offers a patronising half-smile. “It’s unlike you, letting yourself be so easily swept away.”

Her words are like a slap. You feel the fury finally bubbling over, mixed with disbelief. “I’m not imagining things. I need you to see it for what it is—”

But she only raises her hand, dismissing you with a calm indifference. “Enough, really. There’s no curse here, no manipulative power. Just a town, a pack, and emotions running high. Take a few days, step back, and you’ll see it, too.”

Your hands tremble as you clutch the cursed nail. The way she brushes off your concerns, the lack of urgency despite everything you’ve told her—it’s too much to bear. Without another word, you turn on your heel, seething, but not before leaving him with some scalding last words.

“This town, these people—you’re supposed to protect them,” you say, your voice sharp and bitter. “What good is all that power if you’re blind to everything that’s rotting under your own roof?” The words hang in the air, and before she can respond, you storm out, the cursed nail still in your grip, its weight like a reminder of everything gone wrong.

. . .

Outside, the cold air hits you, but it does nothing to cool your anger. Just as you take a shaky breath, a car pulls up with a shrill just a few steps ahead, and your heart jumps. Then, you spot Alejandro and Rudy inside, their expressions shadowed with something. Instinct flares, and you stiffen, suspicious and guarded. You take a step back, but Alejandro calls out to you.

“Preciosa (Precious/Darling) get in,” Alejandro urges, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “We need to talk.”

You hesitate by the curb, your instincts still buzzing from your one-sided confrontation with Laswell. Alejandro’s face is unreadable, but Rudy leans over from the passenger seat, his eyes searching yours with concern.

“We know about the attack,” he says, his tone low, though you sense his anger just beneath the surface. “Alejandro and I found Ghost earlier today. He was…covered in blood. Your blood.”

After a breathless pause, you nod and climb into the back seat. The door shuts with a thump, and Alejandro swiftly pulls away from the curb, guiding the car back into the street. 

“We saw the state of your place. And also we found Sybil.” Alejandro's gaze meets yours through the rearview mirror, his usual hard expression softening. “She told me everything.”

A wave of relief washes over you. They know—they understand. You’re no longer alone in this nightmare, and the realisation loosens something inside you. The strength you’d clung to so desperately wavers, and for a moment, you almost break.

“I see,” you manage, voice thick with the strain of it all.

Rudy reaches over from the driver’s seat, his brow furrowing as he gives you a careful once-over, spotting your wrapped ankle right away. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asks quietly, reaching out to lift your wrist and gently turn your arm, checking for bruises or scrapes that might’ve been missed. His fingers hover over your shoulder, where you wince, and he draws his hand back slightly, though his concern is palpable.

Alejandro peeks at you from over his shoulder. “You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he says before looking back at the road, voice steady but laced with concern. “Let's just head back to your shop. We’ll talk there.”

His words are firm, leaving no room for argument. Beside him, Rudy nods, his hand still resting on yours as if grounding you. “You’re not doing this alone,” he adds, gentle but insistent.

Seeing them both so attuned to the toll this has taken on you, the comfort of their presence chips away at the wall you’ve held up, giving you space to breathe—if only for a moment.

The drive back  is spent in tense conversation as you bring them up to speed, laying out everything—the cursed nail, Leah’s manipulation, and your suspicions about the pack’s infection. Rudy listens intently from the passenger seat, brows drawn with a mix of disbelief and concern. Alejandro nods along, his jaw tight, gripping the steering wheel as you delve into the twisted details.

When you arrive at the shop, they immediately set to work. Alejandro rolls up his sleeves and begins putting everything Ghost toppled back into place, lifting shelves and setting furniture upright. Meanwhile, Rudy moves closer to inspect your injuries. Despite your insistence that they’re fine, he gently checks over your bandages, his expression softened with a mix of care and worry.

Alejandro pauses, dusting his hands off. “We shouldn’t stay for too long,” he says, voice low, as if half-worried the town itself might hear. “If the pack’s fallen under whatever's hanging over Leah’s, then it’s only a matter of time before it tries to spread. Whatever’s protecting us might not hold up if we stay around.”

A lump forms in your throat at the thought of being left alone again, but he doesn’t give you time to dwell on it. “Look, we can help in one more way,” he adds. “Let us take that nail, and we’ll get it checked out. We know people—ones who are good at tracking this sort of thing.”

You hesitate for a moment but know he’s right. Their network is solid, and they might be your best shot at uncovering the root of this twisted curse. Finally, you nod.

Rudy and Alejandro then continue to finish helping to restore some semblance of order to the wrecked shop. Only when the last of the glass is swept away and the floor looks almost recognizable do they finally step back, taking a moment to exchange glances. They’re still worried, you can tell, but the relief in their eyes says they can see you’re calmer now—more prepared to handle what’s to come.

Alejandro puts a hand on your shoulder, swiping some hair away from your face, his voice steady. “Remember, we’re a call away. And say goodbye to Sybil for us, yeah?”

Rudy nods, adding, “Yeah, tell her to stay safe. Both of you.”

You give them both a small smile, touched by their concern. They head for the door, casting one last, reassuring look over their shoulders. “Buena suerte, (Good luck)” Alejandro says as they finally step outside. “You’ll figure this out, and if you need us, we’re only a call away.”

As the door clicks shut behind them, the silence settles around you, leaving only the lingering comfort of their support. You turn back to the remnants of your shop, now tidier and slightly more familiar. But there’s no mistaking the weight still hanging in the air, pressing you forward.

. . .

Later that day, you’re carefully tending to Sybil. Between gentle touches, you juggle phone calls to regular shoppers, letting them know their orders will be delayed, and texting to suppliers, asking them to hold off until next week.

"Yes, Mrs. Eldridge, I understand the urgency. I’ll have the tonic for you as soon as possible. A few more days, thank you so much for your patience."

“Can you give me just a few more days? I’m handling some unforeseen… complications.”

The anxiety gnaws at you, a creeping feeling that your business teeters on a precarious edge. You remind yourself, almost like a mantra, that you have some savings—it’s enough to keep things afloat, for a time. But only if matters resolve quickly.

Returning your attention to Sybil, you feel the weight of it all settle onto your shoulders, heavier than you care to admit. You reach out, pressing a soft kiss to her snoot. “We’ll make it through, love. One way or another, we’ll figure this out.”

You settle on the floor, back pressed against the edge of your bed where Sybil is resting, her breathing calm but shallow. Your contact book lies open across your lap, and your phone is balanced precariously on your knee as you scroll through names and numbers, ticking off the people you’ve already called. Each tick brings a sense of relief, a small semblance of control in the storm that has upturned your life. You pause, taking a moment to rub your temples, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in your bones.

As you prepare to make another call, the sudden shrill ring of your phone pierces the quiet. The sound jolts you, and your grip tightens reflexively. Glancing down at the screen, your heart flounders and tightens painfully. Price. His name flashes across the screen, dread washing over you—why call now?

You nearly don’t answer. But your thumb hovers, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press accept and bring the phone to your ear.

“….Hello?”

His voice comes instantly through, raw and laced with an edge you’ve never heard before. “It’s Leah,” he says, words tumbling over each other. “She’s burning up, sick as hell, and nothing’s working. We can’t get the fever down. We’ve tried everything.”

“And so you called me?” you say, voice hardening against the anger rising in your chest. “After everything, you think I’m the one to fix this?”

He’s silent for a beat, then quietly, “Yes.” He doesn’t try to justify it, and the simple honesty in his answer makes you hesitate, grounding the anger you wanted to unleash. This wasn’t just a request—this was desperation.

“Start from the beginning,” you say, voice tight but steady. “Tell me every detail of her symptoms, when they started, how they’ve progressed—don’t leave anything out.”

Price’s voice, strained but controlled, begins to unravel the story: Leah had seemed fine until a few nights ago, just tired, but by morning, the fever had set in—high, unrelenting, and resistant to everything they’d tried. She’s grown weaker by the hour, barely coherent. His descriptions blur into each other, desperation breaking through his calm as he shares every attempt they’ve made, every remedy that’s failed.

As he speaks, you descend the stairs into your shop, eyes scanning over the remnants of what’s left. Some vials remain intact, and you sift through them, gathering anything that might help—the fever reducers, the cleansing tonics, a few precious herbs that hadn’t been shattered in the chaos.

“Alright,” you say when he’s finished, stuffing the gathered supplies into your bag with a steady hand. “I’ll bring what I can and get there as soon as possible. Just… keep her comfortable, and don’t try anything else. I’ll be there soon.”

You go back up to find Sybil with her head raised, her large eyes full of a quiet, unwavering insistence. She’s done laying around; every inch of her posture says as much. She huffs, as if to say, If you’re going, so am I. You hesitate, feeling the weight of her stare—knowing she’s right. If whatever is behind this catches you apart, it’ll only make things worse.

Sighing, you brush a hand over her snout and murmur, “Alright, girl, you win.” Carefully and balancing your bag on one shoulder, you lift her and move her into the truck, arranging some blankets you keep in your trunk to make her as comfortable as possible. Sybil settles there, eyes sharp and ready as you get a move on.

When you reach the house and park your truck, you dig into your bag and pull out a small bundle of sage, binding it to the rearview mirror with a careful knot. Whispering a few words over it, you weave a protective spell that should shield Sybil from harm while alerting you if anything—or anyone—tries to break into the truck.

You lean over the seat and give her a gentle kiss on her head, murmuring, “Stay safe, girl. I’ll be back soon.” She watches you leave, calm but alert.

As you walk up the driveway, memories drift up. The last time you were here, Leah had answered the door, her face bright despite the chaos inside. Now, as you step up to the door, the silence presses down like a heavy weight.

No one comes to greet you. The door creaks open with a single push, echoing down the empty hall as you slip inside, clutching your bag of supplies. The moment you step further into the threshold, the stench hits you—a sickly blend of decay and stale air. Instinctively, you raise a hand to cover your nose, eyes narrowing as you take in the disarray around you.

The entryway is a wasteland of discarded belongings, papers scattered and kicked to the sides, dusty furniture slumped as though forgotten. You feel the hairs on your neck prickle—Price would never leave things like this. And as for Gaz…his wards are gone, their faint warmth and hum that once guarded the house is now absent.

You continue forward, each step creaks underfoot, the house itself feeling more hollow, like it’s been emptied of any life it once held. Climbing the stairs, the stench only worsens. Passing door after door, you scan each room until, finally, near the far end of the hall, you find him.

Price sits on the floor, back against the wall, head in his hands. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t even flinch as you approach. His clothes rumpled, stained, his usual military crispness replaced by a weary, slumped figure.

“John?” you call softly, your voice barely a whisper.

He lifts his head, and the exhaustion in his eyes is like a punch to the gut. His beard is wild and unkempt, deep lines crease his face, shadows under his eyes dark and hollow. He looks up at you as if he’s only half-awake, half-alive, struggling to register that someone else is even there.

“It’s…you,” he mumbles, a hint of relief breaking through the fog in his eyes. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

His words are tinged with something raw, almost pleading, and you tighten your grip on your bag. “Of course I came. I tried to reach you all, and you didn’t—” you bite back the accusation, the fear twisting into frustration. “…what the hell happened here?”

Price’s gaze flickers away, his shoulders slumping further. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to muster some semblance of composure, but it crumbles almost immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly, voice hoarse. “Things just…fell apart.”

His words are weak and lacklustre. You want to lash out, unleash the anger and frustration that's been building since you first walked through the door—the endless, ignored messages, the silence, the sheer neglect they've let fester. You want to scream at him for allowing things to come to this. 

But reality hangs heavy in the air. No amount of shouting will help undo things. 

“Where's everyone else?” you ask, trying to mask your anxiety.

“Gaz is inside with Leah,” he replies, his voice taut with worry. “Ghost… he’s locked himself away in the far wing of the house. We’ve set up protective spells on the door to keep him contained. And Soap—he’s somewhere in the forest, too feral to be around right now.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, and square your shoulders. With Ghost gone for now....you feel a little safer. “Show me to Leah,” you say, voice steady. “We can talk about everything else later.”

He stands up and guides you into the room, which is Inside is clean, organised, and untouched by the decay and disorder in the rest of the house. Just as you step inside, Gaz appears, his gaze catching yours with a flash of shock. “You…you came.” His voice is hoarse, filled with a mix of disbelief and hope.

But you cut him off with a look. “I’ll talk to both of you once I’ve seen Leah.” You push past him, heart pounding as you approach the bed.

Leah lies there motionless, her skin pale and almost translucent, sweat dampening her hair as she struggles to breathe. She’s a shadow of the person you remember, her body frail, almost brittle-looking. You press your hand to her forehead, feeling the unnatural heat radiating off her. 

Setting up on the nightstand, you start with a fresh egg and an empty cup. “I need to check for any curses or malign influences,” you explain to Price and Gaz, who hover close, concern etched on their faces. You position the egg over Leah, your breath catching as you begin to run it gently over her body. 

As you pass the egg over her chest, it feels heavy in your hand, and you take note of that at the back of your thoughts. When you finally pull it away and break it over the cup, you grimace at what comes out: the contents are putrid, blackened and oozing a foul-smelling substance. 

“Damn it,” you curse under your breath, your heart racing as the implications sink in. “This is worse than I thought.”

Panic flares in Price’s eyes, and Gaz leans in closer, both of them wanting to understand, to help. “What does it mean?” Price asks, his voice tense with fear.

“Out!” you shout, frustration boiling over. “Both of you, out! I can’t think with you hovering like that!” The urgency in your voice surprises even you, but they back off reluctantly, exchanging glances that communicate their worry.

Once the door closes behind them, the air feels a bit lighter, and you let out a shaky breath. You pull the covers off Leah, apologising under your breath. “I’m sorry, Leah. I need to do this.” Gently, you start to examine her body, careful and methodical. You can’t shake the guilt of not getting her consent first, but you know this is necessary.

You search her body meticulously, hoping to find any physical signs of injury or affliction. But as you scan her limbs, you find nothing—no cuts, no bruises. Just skin that feels too hot, a pulse that’s weak and fluttering. Anxiety gnaws at you; if there’s nothing physical, then what is causing this?

With no other options left, you resort to the looking glass spell—one you keep at the back of your mind and rarely use. You quickly step out, and catch Gaz’s attention with a quiet call of his name. John is nowhere to be seen.

He steps forward immediately, brows knitted in concern. “What is it?”

You hesitate only a moment before asking, “Could you bring me a bowl of warm water? And some soap—any kind, just… something that’ll make enough bubbles.”

Gaz’s expression flickers with curiosity and a bit of worry, but he nods. “Sure thing. Won’t take a minute.” He disappears down the hall and into the kitchen.

Within moments, he’s back, handing you a small basin filled with steaming water and a bottle of liquid soap. “Anything else?”

You shake your head, barely sparing him a glance back. “No, I’ve got it from here.”

He glances at Leah, and with a brief nod backs away, closing the door softly behind him.

You shake your head in dismay, before squeezing a healthy amount of soap into bowl and dipping your hands in, the heat soothing against your chilled fingers. You rub your palms until a layer of bubbles forms, the light, pearlescent film floating just above the surface. Steadying yourself, you shape your hands into a ring, forming a delicate, translucent ‘looking glass’ with your thumb and index finger.

You take a deep breath, focusing your energy, letting it flow from your fingertips into the circle as you gaze through it. The room dims, the world beyond your fingers blurring, until the scene sharpens again, revealing the inside of Leah’s chest.

Inside, her heart pulses faintly, its rhythm disturbingly slow, a faint and fragile beat. Wrapped tightly around it is a writhing, segmented parasite—long and winding, like some twisted centipede. It coils and constricts, pulsating in time with her heartbeat as though feeding off her very life force.

A sickening wave of horror hits you, and you gasp, the bubble popping and breaking the spell. This is forbidden magic—and worse of all, vampiric in nature. Your hands shake, and you clutch them tightly to your chest, fighting the urge to look away from her still form on the bed.

It’s one thing to read about such creatures in dusty old texts, where they’re distant, almost mythological threats. But to see it here, wrapped around Leah’s heart, consuming her from within…!

You’d need something far beyond the usual tools to dislodge it. The necessary charms, wards, and talismans to attempt such a removal aren’t here in your humble kit, and even if they were… you’re not sure you’d be able to muster the energy needed. Not now. Not after everything.

Your thoughts immediately freeze, instantly conjuring the one person who could help—a name surfacing like an unwanted ghost in your mind. The thought of her makes your skin prickle, a reflexive dread settling deep in your gut.

Unlike before, you wouldn't be calling for a friend. No, far from it.

You glance at your discarded phone, wet fingers hovering just over the screen. To ask for her help would mean facing scrutiny, judgement—the cold, familiar sting of disappointment. Worst of all, the quiet, unspoken proof of what you already fear: that you were never strong enough on your own.

But right now, there’s no time to weigh the consequences. And so, you dial a number, that even thought you had long deleted from your contacts, you still know by heart.

The line rings, each tone echoing your mounting anxiety, and when it finally clicks, silence stretches between you and the other end. You know she’s there—she’s just waiting for you to speak, to ask for what you need.

You squirm, shifting your weight as you muster the courage to break the tension. After what feels like an eternity, you finally manage to speak, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“Mother,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, strained with urgency. “I need your help.”

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[reiderwriter]

can i request for a mean!spencer x bau!reader? like they are not enemies but there's just this really intense sexual tension with prompts 2, 30, 48, and 49? thank you!

#2 "I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last person on earth.” #30 "You're not as hot as you think you are.” #48 "You belonged to me before I even made you mine.” #49 "I'm so fucking obsessed with you.”

A/N: Thank you for requesting! Sorry it took almost an entire season to get it done 😭 I hope it's as good as you expected it would be :D

Warnings: slight BDSM themes, Dom!Spencer, dry humping, choking, thigh riding, finger sucking, cum play, facial, penetrative sex, use of contraception, probably more that I don't remember right now... 18+ Minors DNI

There was no one you wanted to spend the night with less than Spencer Reid.

He was annoying, and frustrating and most importantly never knew when to shut the fuck up.

No one was better at getting under your skin, and no one seemed to relish it quite like he did. It wasn't that you hated the man, just that he had the presence of an unkillable mosquito in your life.

He was irritating.

“Y/N, are you even listening to me?”

“I try not to make a habit of it,” you rolled your eyes, pushing past the man as you both finally made it to your motel room for the night.

You weren't sure if this was divine punishment or Emily's idea of a joke, but you'd ended up with Reid as your roomie for the next week.

As your case location was remote and as back waters as it could get, you'd ended up needing to bring Penelope Garcia along with you physically. And with only four rooms available, the eight members of your team had to all scramble for acceptable roommates and, having gotten off the jet last, you'd drawn the short straw.

Rossi had been quick to pair up with Luke, citing Spencer's snoring habit as reason enough, and the girls had happily fallen into two pairs. It was your lucky day.

With your hands busy with your bags, you tossed the key to Spencer quickly and waited for him to unlock the door, eager to escape the cold chill of the night.

“Hurry up, Spencer, or we'll both turn into popsicles out here.”

“Not only is that physically impossible, but it also isn't that cold out here, Y/N. Don't you think you're being a bit sensitive.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and he let out a sharp chuckle as he finally managed to unlock the door.

Despite your best wishes, stepping over the threshold didn't solve your problems. Instead it seemed to present even more.

“Fuck, how is it colder in here than it is out there?” You said, shivering violently as you stood in the doorway. If you thought that was reason enough to cure though, you thought you'd practically spit fire when you saw the sleeping arrangements for the night.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your body forgot its fight to keep warm, letting your blood run cold as you found yourself face to face with one singular, though large, bed. Another cursory glance around, and the heart motifs on the walls and pink themes cushions on the bed suggested that this was likely the motels joke of a Honeymoon Suite.

“Emily did mention that we booked out their last four rooms.” Spencer said, walking up beside you and frowning deeply as he took in the same scene you did.

“She said nothing about the rooms being igloos though, Spencer. I never thought hypothermia was going to be my cause of death after spending the night with you in the room.”

“You think I'd shoot you.”

“I think I'd shoot myself.”

He scowled a little at that and moved to check the room's thermostat. Although it was presently reading 215° so you didn't know how much good that could do.

“There's no sofa,” you grumbled as you watched Spencer move to the small bathroom.

“And there's no hot water. And according to the sign on that table, there's nothing we can do about it until the morning.” You picked up the sign yourself, just to verify and practically moaned in frustration.

“This is insane, we'll freeze to death.”

“It has to drop below 32° in here for us to even possibly freeze death. There's no wind, rain and we have blankets, so maybe you should focus less on being dramatic and more on what we can be doing to warm up.”

“I'm sorry, Doctor Genius, whatever can I do to warm up? Please impart some of your wonderful knowledge on me, I beg.” His eyes flashed with some annoyance and you quietly enjoyed the expression, happy to have affected him as much as he affected you.

“You can start by stripping.” It was his turn to enjoy the abject look of horror that crossed your face in that moment, and you were convinced that of he let even a hint of a laugh out, you'd throttle the man.

“I'm sure you'd just love that,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well, there's no water, no thermostat and no other source of heat, so if you're so worried about hypothermia, there's only one solution viable to us right now.”

“You're joking. You want us to huddle together for warmth?” You backed yourself into a corner as you tried to distanced yourself from him as he suddenly began divesting himself of clothing.

As soon as he reached the top buttons of his shirt, you let out a quick squeak and turned around.

“Unless you want me to watch you get undressed too, I suggest you hurry up and do it before I get into bed.”

You quietly cursed and started unwrapping each of your layers, fingers fumbling with the cold already seeped into your skin.

“I am not getting naked, Spencer Reid.”

“I didn't ask you to. Just get comfortable.” You turned around to shoot him a glare, but when you noticed his back was turned - and bare - you lost all memory of the purpose of the movement.

You'd never quite realised before how broad his back was. His shoulders looked strong despite his lithe frame, twisting rather attractively as he pulled his nightshirt over his head. You were almost disappointed that he wasn't facing you, suddenly curious about Spencer Reid's happy trail.

You snapped yourself out of it and continued to change, wrapping your coat around your waist to hide your legs as you switched your pants to your sleep shorts. It was an awkward fumble, but at least the lights were low.

When you were finally ready, your steps back to the bed were hurried and near painful as you felt colder than ever.

Spencer was already there, and without a second thought, you pulled the quilts up and plastered yourself to his side. He was the only thing in the entire room offering you a modicum of warmth, and you weren't going to let your personal hot water bottle go just because everything that came out of his mouth was hot air.

“So you're a big fan of this now, huh?” He said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in. Your back was pressed against his chest as you both laid on your sides, piles of duvet and blankets laid out on top of you. You hated to admit it, but this position was comfortable.

Maybe it was just months of working cases non-stop and perpetual singleness, but the feeling of a man at your back was infinitely pleasing.

“Don't expect anything more Spencer Reid. I wouldn't have sex with you if you were the last man alive.” The words were harsh, and if you were being honest, a little bit untrue. Your small peak at his back earlier had definitely sparked an interest in you that was bubbling up in your throat. Like bile.

“You don't have to worry about that. You're actually not as hot as you think you are.” His words were tinged with the same faux bitterness as yours, but you refused to hear it. Instead all you felt was another unpleasant heat spreading throughout you, quiet anger plotting in your stomach.

You knew you probably shouldn't push it, but you needed Spencer to eat those words. Desperately.

Your mind ticked through a few options before landing on one. If you were so unattractive, then surely there's no way he'd physically react to you.

Scooting your body closer to his, you take advantage of the less than comfortable bed, making each of your movements similar to ones you would make when getting comfortable. Except, of course, with the added bonus of making sure your ass pressed directly up against his crotch, moving up and down and grinding into him.

You felt him slightly stiffen behind you, and decided that a few we'll time groans of frustration could go a long way to spurring him on.

So you began letting little gasps and sighs out, graduating to moans when you thought he wouldn't question it, each small movement rubbing against him deliberately.

What you'd failed to remember though, was his hand on your waist. Although you knew he was awake beside you, despite the now late hour and somewhat comfortable bed, his hand held you firm. Or it did until you risking bounced yourself gently against him, and his now limp hand slipped underneath your shirt.

The moan you released then was genuine, the cool touch of his fingers against your burning skin causing you to flush and shiver at the same time. You cursed your earlier self for valuing your comfort over your general peace of mind, because as Spencer's hand once again settles centimetres away from the edge of your boob, you desperately wished for your bra back.

You stopped moving, hoping that if you just pretended to sleep for a few minutes, his hand would reach higher and he'd prove to you that he did think you were attractive. He didn't though, showing off how gentlemanly he was. It pissed you off. Most of his good qualities pissed you off, and you were sure that said more about you than him .

You tried your best to just give in, to even out your breathing and let the black haze of sleep take over but his hands on you were maddening, and you found your body reacting in much the same ways you'd wished him to react.

It didn't help that he'd casually shifted his lower body away from you slightly in your stillness, letting himself fall onto his back rather than his side. As he made this shift, his hand trailed across the expanse of your body before cutting all contact with you altogether.

So much for huddling for warmth if all he had to do to return you to record heats was stroke you like that.

You needed to feel him again, so, feigning the most realistic sleeplike movements you could muster, you turned your body in his direction, and placed your head over his chest. You weren't finished, just proceeding with caution. Your hands obviously fell over his chest, if slightly lower than you'd expect.

It was only when your leg finally came up over his that he broke his silence.

“I know you're awake, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, a solid hand on your thigh holding it down right over his crotch. You felt your prize and grinned in your sleep.

He was hard. You'd won. It was time to play.

You opened your mouth to purr victoriously at him, but he moved so abruptly you were never expecting it.

Shifting his hands to your ass, he hauled your body over him, letting his hands stay on your hips as he began to help you shift them back and forth. You moaned at the friction, even as your head stayed rested on his chest. The movements were shallow, just a teasing but you already felt more aroused than you had in months. Slowly, your hips started moving for themselves and his hands moved onto more important things.

“Am I suddenly the last man on Earth, Y/N?” He smiled, tipping your head up so you could make eye contact with him.

“Go to hell.”

“I think we're already there, don't you?” With that, his large hands sat you up, meeting with no resistance as you let yourself become pliable.

“Show me.” He whispered, hands right on your hips, pushing into your flesh just a touch part forceful.

“Show you what?” You narrowed your eyes, but you knew exactly what it was he wanted and that you weren't going to out up much a resistance before giving it to him.

“Show me how much you want to fuck me. Since your mouth isn't honest, I'm going to have to listen to your body.” You let your hands fall to his chest, pushing lower until you reached the hem of his shirt. He'd pushed the quilts off of your torso, letting the cold air attack your upper body, so you knew your hands were cold, and the hiss he let out at the contact was satisfying enough to shut up and actually start following his directions.

You shifted your body up and down, grinding and dry humping his crotch, wishing for him to stop being a tease and just get it over with.

He wasn't letting you compromise, though. Each small sound that left your body met with a soft smirk from him, each halt in your movements a prod from his hands. You'd tried to still your hips entirely once out of frustration, but he'd delivered a slap to your ass that had you gushing, desperate to reach a release even if he'd only allow you it this way.

“I don't think you're trying hard enough.” His voice was lower than before, something gravelly to it as he began pulling your clothing off one item at a time. Your sweater went first, before he flipped your positions and shimmered your shorts off your body, taking underwear soon after and then you were bare to him and he was rolling you once again.

“That's better. Now, where were we?” He moved your hips for you again, but his eyes stayed focused in the rigid peaks of your nipples, bouncing with each rock of your hips. You weren't sure if it was the cold temperature of the room or your sheer need to cum that had them reacting, but you knew he was seconds away from wrapping his tongue around one and giving into you, so you just accepted it.

His hands stayed put, still on your hips, though the direct contact was heating you slightly more. If you looked down, you were sure you'd see a wet patch against his sweat pants, so you didn't.

You just moaned and whimpered searching for your orgasm on top of him.

“What's wrong, Y/N? Do you need my help to finish?” He noticed your every insecurity, your weakness and exploited it. You were running close to inconsolable, desperate to hit that climax now, more than ever before, so you just nodded at him profusely, desperate for him to touch you in whatever way he could.

It wasn't his hand you felt on your clit, though. It was your own, he wrapped a hand around your fingers and bought them up to the correct stop, showing you exactly what he'd like to see.

“Touch yourself, Y/N. Touch yourself and wish it was me.” With the friction from grinding against him for so long, the satisfaction from the rigid tent underneath you and your hands taking his guidance, it was really not long before your pussy finally twitched familiarly and sighed, soaking his pants underneath you as you shuddered in delight.

He had to ruin your moment of bliss by talking.

“Is that enough, slut? Or do you really need to be filled right now?”

You didn't care if he saw you sticking your tongue down his throat as you collapsed on top of his chest as an answer to that question, or if he saw it as what it was - a desperate attempt to shut him up. All you knew was that he tasted sweet and hot, and that his hand wrapped around your throat was also hot as he pulled you up and off of him.

“Let me be clear. I am in charge.” A simple shift of his legs was enough to flip your positions, landing on top of you ungrateful, but you didn't care.

Using his new high ground, he wedged your legs open and slid a single finger inside you as you moaned. He too found success in silencing you by sticking his tongue down your throat, forcing you to battle him for dominance you knew he'd never allow you.

Having cum only moments before, you truly believed that there was no way he was going to push another one out of you after so little time. The night was full of surprises though.

As you relaxed into his intrusion, he opened you up with a second finger, then a third. You already felt yourself building towards your end goal, but it was his head dropping to tour cold nipples that finally had you cumming around his fingers. His mouth was wet, tongue warm against your skin, and he toyed with you so effectively, you practically forgot your previous qualms.

“See? You belong to me before I've even made you mine.” It irked you that he was right. Had this been any other man, you're sure you'd be bragging about such passionate sex for weeks with your friends. You were resentful that it was him, but you didn't want it to end yet.

Your arms pulled up to hide your face as he traced kisses up and down your chest, fingers coming free to pay attention to your since abandoned nipples.

“I can't wait to fuck you. You're going to feel so good wrapped around my cock,” he whispered into your ear as he pulled your arms away from your face, making sure your eyes were focused on him before his next line.

“You have no clue what you started. I'm so fucking obsessed with you.”

His hands fell to your face, where his thumb pushed against your lips, slipping into your mouth where you sucked on it, getting it wet as his cock teased the folds of your pussy, running up and down with each gentle push of his hips. You entertained him for a moment before pushing up slightly, his thumb falling from your mouth as you blindly reached for the bedside table. Pulling it open, you were relieved to find what you were looking for.

“If you're so fucking obsessed with me, Spencer, show me.” Carefully unwrapping the package, you grabbed his dick and gently slid the condom onto him, making sure it was secure before you propped yourself back on the pillows, waiting for him to initiate once again.

“Pillow princess. You're acting like I haven't been dreaming of exactly this for the last 12 months.”

You couldn't waste time processing those words before he again ran his cock through the folds of your pussy, then sank himself deep inside you. And you meant deep.

The sudden impact robbed you of your thoughts, pushing out every miserable thought and leaving you with just Spencer and pleasure. The two concepts soon became synonymous as his hips lazily sent him careening in and out of you.

His strokes gained speed gradually until the only words shared between you were the animalistic pants of pleasure, his voice driving you insane as you tried not to get overstimulated before you could cum for a third time.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, Spencer-” your moans turned to screams as your orgasm rolled over you, his dick hitting just the right spot inside you that forced your nails to bite his skin, and forced your voice to scratch at your throat as it pushed up from your gut.

Noticing your relentless twitching, Spencer immediately pulled out of your cunt, allowing you a moment of reprieve. Pushing up to his knees, he moved to your side, his crotch parallel with your face as he rolled the condom off his dick.

Stroking himself to completion, he came right over your lips, your eyes dripping with lust as you licked them clean, catching the dribbles that fell down your chin with your fingers and popping them into your mouth as well.

After your whorish display of desperation, it took a full ten minutes for your brain function to resume.

In that time, Spencer had cleaned both of you up speedily with a hotel towel, wrapped an arm around you and began spooning you once again, his chest warm and comfortable against your back, his scent intoxicating.

It didn't stop being so when you finally came down from your post-cum bliss.

“You're not allowed to tell anyone what happened tonight,” you said, turning over to look him in the eye.

“Nothing from tonight, got it. What about tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, am I allowed to tell them how I plan to wake you up tomorrow, and how your current state of dress made it possible, if not directly invited it?”

You flushed at his words, tingling already at the mention of tomorrow.

“We're sharing a room, Y/N. If you think I'm not going to be inside you whenever were both free, you're entirely mistaken.” His voice was clear - not even a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

“I'm not letting you go that easily, Y/N.”

[cocoakrispis-blog]

SCENT

pairing ~ ellie williams x fem! reader

summary ~ you try and take your girlfriend out to pick out a new perfume but she claims that she likes the way that you naturally smell more what could that possibly mean?

warnings ~ smut written by a minor, nsfw, porn with some plot, ellie is a MUNCH, idk she’s kinda nasty in this one but in a really hot way, oral (r! receiving), lots of foreplay, making out, light nipple play, its kind of straight filth ngl, spitting, licking, biting, spitting, hair pulling, panty sniffing, cursing , lmk if i missed anything!!

wc ~ 1.8k words

“what about this one ellie?” you rose your arm so that you or wrist could be placed directly under your girlfriends nose.

“uhhh like probably like maybe vanilla?” ellie gave you a hopelessly confused look.

you sighed at elile’s extremly halfassed answer and roughly pulled you wrist away from her.

“you’re not even paying attention dude.” you roll your eyes before waking away to go investigate another bottle of perfume.

today you had decided to drag ellie to your local bath and body works to hoepfully find a new scent for the fall since it was fast approaching. while also escaping your unairconditioned shared apartment. however what was supposed to be a cute outing/escape from the heat for you and your girlfriend turned into what felt like dragging around a whiny toddler.

“this was supposed to be fun ellie you always tell me you love how i smell so i thought you would love this.” a defeated sigh leaves your lips.

ellie frowns at your obviously upset tone and shifts awkwardly at your statement. “i-i do love how you smell but whenever i say that i’m not talking about the perfume.

you raise a curious eyebrow at what ellie says and silently urge her to continue.

“i mean l-like i love your natural scent.” ellie mumbles out, very clearly emabrassed.

she groans when she sees you’re not understanding her and roughly places her red face into her sweating hands.

“can we just go home so i can show you what i mean.” ellie gives you those puppy eyes she knows you can’t resist.

“wha- but ellie we haven’t even bought anything i dont even understand what’s going on.” your hands wave in frustration at the confusing predicament.

very gently ellie grabs your hands and squeezes them tightly with yours.

“please?”

a large groan leaves your lips before you curse and comply with your girlfriend’s pleas. luckily the store was walking distance from your shared home so you didn’t have to worry about waiting in traffic or at long drawn out red lights. the only downside to this was that it was the middle of the summer and at this time of day the sun was at its peak. in other words it was hot. as hell.

still cursing to yourself at how easily you folded for your girlfriend you unlock the door with a huff before ushering her and yourself inside before slamming the door. you frowned once again once you fully entered your apartment that was barely cooler than outside.

“alright ellie fess up and tell me what you mean by my natrual scent” you make sure to put air quotes on the phrase natural scent to show her just how ridiculous you really though she was being.

without any explanation ellie grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into a hot and heavy kiss. the kiss caught you by surprise and you gasped into the kiss in shock. ellie used this to her advantage and stuck her wet tongue inside of your warm mouth to deepen the kiss.

you moaned as soon as you felt her skilled tongue against her own you whined into her mouth unconsciously. the intensity of the kiss almost made you forget what this was all about so before she could make you loose yourself anymore you reluctantly pulled away from the intimate makeout session.

“ellie woah slow down you still haven’t explained anything and you’re sure as hell not gonna kiss your way out of it.” you give her flushed face a stern look.

“it’s embarrassing though.” she whines while playing with the waistband to your shorts.

“eyes up here sweetheart.” you grab ellie’s chin to force her to make eye contact with you.

ellie attempts to move in for another kiss but you quickly dodge her and tighten your grip on her chin.

“explain.”

once ellie sees that you’re obviously not going to give this up she sighs before dragging you into your shared bedroom and gently lying you down. you wait patiently before she warily climbs on top of you and stuffs her face into your neck.

“i’m sweaty baby get off.” you softly try to shove her off of you.

“no you wanted me to show you what i meant so here we are now.” ellie responds back sassily before latching her lips onto your sweaty neck.

you softly moan when you feel her suck on that sensitive spot on your neck and immediately move to grip onto her auburn locs. ellie continues to kiss around your neck and suck softly on your skin before finally deciding to speak up.

“this is what i mean.” ellie sighs between kisses to your neck. “smell so damn good like this.”

you whine softly at her words and mumble out an excuse. “but i’m sweaty and gross.”

“no you smell so good like this smells like one hundred percent you it’s addictive.” a soft gasp leaves your lips when you feel ellie straight up lick you.

“taste good too.” ellie gives you a smirk before gently easing your tank top off of you so she could see your exposed breasts.

“fuckkk baby no bra.” ellie bites her lip at the sight before wasting no time to latch onto one of your perky nipples.

“was too hot for one.” you throw your head back at the euphoric feeling or ellie sucking on your nipple.

to maximize our pleasure ellie takes her other hand to grab and pinch at your neglected nipple. your moans rise in pitch at the feeling and your grip on ellie’s hair tightens which makes her let out a groan around your nipple. ellie pulls away with a pop before moving to the other one to make it even.

once ellie finishes she licks a stripe up in between the valley of your breasts for good measure.

“you’re nasty baby.” you sigh at her, to which she only gives you a grin back in response.

ellie quickly switches gears and rips off your shorts to reveal your half-soaked through panties.

“this all for me?” ellie gently runs her hands across your thighs while making embarasedly intense eye contact with the wet spot that was steadily growing on our underwear.

“all for you ellie.” you smile down at her.

without shame ellie engulfs her head right into your cunt and deeply inhales your most intimate parts scent.

you shakily exhale at how hot the sight off your girlfriend was from in between your thighs but gently push her head away to ask her a question.

“what are doing down there baby?” you softly rush your fingers through your lovers hair.

“just doing what you asked me to do, and showing you how good you smell.” ellie looks up at our through her lashes with her big hazel eyes making you bite your lip softly at the sight and nod.

once ellie doesn’t sense any objections she stuffs her face back in between your legs and gives your cunt another sniff, almost like your scent was the air that she needed to breathe.

soon after ellie slyly slips her tongue out off her mouth to begin to lap at your cunt which was still covered with your panties. in response you whine softly at the feeling and tug harder against her hair which makes her moan. “stop teasing ellie and do it properly.”

ellie ignores your plea and continues to eat you out through your panties which just make you feel more and more needy. she makes sure to bring up a finger to press against your covered cllit and continue to lick your dripping hole.

“ellie!” you cry out even louder.

at your second request ellie finally decides to comply and gradually tugs your panties down with her teeth.

without wasting another second she latches onto your clit and moans loudly at the taste, providing even more stimulation. due to the fact that she had been playing with you over your panties now everything felt ten times more intense.

your moans increasing volume as ellie grips at your thighs tighter and pushes her own head further into your pussy to keep eating. she was eating you out like a woman starved and wasn’t loosing any steam.

some subtle movements catch your eye and you let out a groan when you see that ellie is grinding against the covers just from your taste.

ellie briefly takes her mouth off of your clit to spit on it before immediately stuffing her face back in. your eyes roll back into your head at just how filthy the whole thing was and you start to feel your orgasm approaching.

you start chanting ellie’s name like a prayer which makes her realize that you’re being close. once she notices she doubles down on her actions and starts sucking at your clit even harder.

“oh my f-fucking god ellie gonna make me cum so h-hard baby.” you’re barely able to get out in between moans and gasps.

you feel ellie smile against you pussy, when ellie lightly brushes her teeth against your clit you see white and immediately feel yourself fall over the edge.

a scream rips from your throat at the pure intensity of the orgasm and your thighs lock around ellie’s head in response.

your vision slowly starts to come back and you whine in overstimulation when you feel ellie still lapping at the cum that was slowly dripping out of your hole.

“enough ellie.” you weakly push at the auburn girls head to release yourself from her mouth.

ellie give your now twitching and swollen clit a kiss before finally removing her head from in between your thighs.

once ellie is up she temporarily leaves the room to grab you a cold wet washcloth and water bottle. after she come backs she very gently cleans you up and opens the water bottle up from you so that you can access it when you’re ready.

“holy shit ellie that was a lot.” you sigh into your girlfriends chest blissfully. “i can’t even remember how we got here.”

“cause you wanted to know what i meant by natural scent duh.” ellie jokingly rolls her eyes while rubbing soft circles on your back.

“yeah yeah i totally get it now you’re a freak who like it when im sweaty and sniffing my pus pus.” you laugh at your own statement.

ellie groans at your words and tries to further explain yourself. “that’s use when and where you smell the most authentically you it’s comforting.”

you smile at her soft words and squeeze her into a tight hug.

“i’m just joking silly i know what you mean and i think it’s adorable.”

ellie smiles at your response and nuzzles her head into your hair.

“you’re still going shopping with me to get a new perfume though.”

ellie cries out dramatically and then proceeds to beg you not to force her to go through that nostril prison again.

a/n: idk yall im kind of actually proud of this one i feel pretty good about it and didn’t cringe that much reading over it. watched a lot of lesbian movies today maybe that helped. i was also listening to really freaky music so that also assisted me. i really wish tumblr had an autosave feature i deleted half of this and had to rewrite it but whatevs. anyways i hope you guys enjoyed love yall!!

[eggtargaryenii]

EAST OF THE SUN | PART III

"Bastards are supposed to be born of lies and temptation, not love," Jacaerys said, "at least according to the Faith. If we are indeed the bastards of Ser Harwin and my mother, then we are proof that lies and temptation are all that existed between them.” You thought of all the septas and their prayers and Alicent Hightower screaming at you to behave. Bastards are not so different from the daughters of whores, you mused. They see us all as products of sin.

11.1k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys. childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. chapter warnings for targaryen incest and themes of xenophobia/racism and misogyny. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

SERIES SUMMARY & MASTERLIST.

IX. THE EMPRESS

“You raised the girl to be too clever, Alicent. I fear she cannot be controlled.”

Otto Hightower did not often show weakness, but his voice was heavy with exhaustion—or perhaps frustration—as he spoke to Alicent. He was poring over the papers you'd put together for your petition earlier in the day: a detailed summary of all of the records of your father's spending in Essos during his diplomatic visits, presented as evidence that none of your inheritance in the Iron Bank was actually Crown wealth. Apparently you'd gone and stolen the ledgers in the middle of the night—with the help of that Strong bastard, the one who was besotted with you—and done the maths yourself. All current and past Masters of Coin still alive—Lord Beesbury, Prince Daemon and Tyland Lannister—examined your work and could only attest to its accuracy.

It was unprecedented, but not too surprising to Alicent. Of all your lessons as a noble lady—in the Seven, in dancing, in needlework, and so on—you really only ever paid attention to arithmetic and household stewardship. So I may someday be a competent wife and oversee my husband’s affairs, you once explained to Alicent, after my Queen chooses a match for me, of course. When Alicent then advised you that most men enjoyed graceful women who could sing and dance, you had replied to her that you did not want to marry a man—you wanted to marry a lord.

Just as you and your father want me for me, do you not? you had asked. I do not wish to disappoint either of you in that regard. It would be no good for any of us if I married a man who tossed me aside because he met a woman more graceful than I could ever be. But if I kept his household running flawlessly and his accounts full of gold? Well, he might eventually take another lover, but he would never want to take another wife.

You had been so young when you’d said that—younger than she’d been when she wed King Viserys, but no less aware. Alicent understood your play then, and she never chided you for neglecting your needlework ever again.

“The girl has a talent for figures,” Alicent admitted. “She has a keen eye for household management.”

“Figures?” Otto laughed in a way that sounded derisive. “It’s not the maths that impressed me. You can hire any steward to do maths. No, it was her foresight in stealing those ledgers. And the way she talked in the throne room—gods, can she talk!” He laughed, though it was entirely mirthless. “Though I suppose Rhaenyra may have prepared her. The blacks have never been interested in her before, but now it seems that they want her as an ally.”

It did look that way during the petition, with Daemon backing you every time the Hand seemed to corner you. As usual, the man could hardly string together a coherent argument, but he did not need to. What really mattered to all the smallfolk and nobles watching your petition was that every time Otto alluded to your disgrace of a mother and your mongrel pedigree, Daemon never let them forget that you were also a trueborn Targaryen.

You would steal from your kin by marriage? he asked. You would deny her birthright? You would spit in her father’s legacy, after all he has done for the Realm? You would disrespect my niece?

Niece. Alicent found it laughable. Daemon had never spared you a glance as you grew up in the Red Keep, nor did Rhaenyra.

“Of course they want her as an ally,” Alicent said, her words sharp with frustration. “Rhaenyra ignored the girl when she had nothing, but now that she’s come into enough wealth to hire an entire army of sellswords and more, the princess is suddenly her greatest benefactor.”

Alicent was wroth to think of it. She had wanted no part in raising you, had resented you for it when her husband charged her with the duty. She could hardly manage her own children, let alone some foreign waif who was loath to speak the Common Tongue and threw tantrums whenever she was forced to pray at the Sept. Worse yet, your mother had been a bed slave from Lys—a country of harlots, criminals, and sin—and Alicent knew, just knew by looking at you, that you were likely to end up equally sullied. It was in your blood.

But you had no mother.

You were at court, a young and lost girl, and you were entirely motherless. She still remembered how you wept after your mother kissed you goodbye, the way that you would sneak off to Blackwater Bay just to wait for your father to return. Alicent’s heart ached for you then, for she too knew how horrible court could be for a young and motherless girl.

Rhaenyra was your kin by blood. She should have looked out for you. She had been more than capable, but she was too busy with her sham marriage and bastard children and that paramour of hers. What could Alicent do but care for you instead? You had no mother.

The Seven would have never forgiven Alicent if she simply left you to the wolves of the court. She could not leave you to her father’s court. You would not have survived. You would have been married off at ten-and-two to some lord thirty years your senior, tortured in your marriage bed until you were swollen with child while still a child yourself. Alicent could not let it happen.

Even if Alicent would never love you—and she knew she never would—she knew she must still care for you.

And today she watched as you spat in the face of her protection. How you paralyzed her when you turned to Daemon and chided him: I am familiar with the prudence and wisdom of Her Grace, as well as her kindness, you'd said. I know she would never intentionally try to take someone’s rightful inheritance. It is merely an ambiguity of the law that has led us here. She only thinks of the Realm.

Said in front of King Viserys, with his daughter-heir in the room? Alicent had no choice but to support your position, lest she look like a scheming traitor.

And the worst thing about it was that, despite her father’s ponderings, Alicent knew that Rhaenyra had not coached you to say that. For she had raised you, and she knew your talent for speech and for people—and she knew those words came from you alone, and you had learned how to say them from watching Alicent.

Rhaenyra could have never taught you how to appeal to people like that. Rhaenyra had no need, for she could always do whatever she pleased. She could flout the rules and disrespect the entire court, and King Viserys would only protect her. But you—just like Alicent—could not. For you had no mother, and you had no father, and you were the daughter of a foreign whore. All you had was Alicent, and for your sake she tried to make you disavow your sinful mother, for your sake she tried to make you find the light of the Seven, for your sake she tried to beat out of you your wilful nature. For your sake she tried to save your soul from both the Seven Hells and from the judgemental eyes of the Red Keep, the lords and ladies who saw nothing but a sinful whore when they looked at you. But you always resisted, as if you wanted to be a pariah, as if you wanted to suffer despite her best efforts—but Alicent could not hate you.

How could she hate a powerless girl without a mother?

“I do not think it was Rhaenyra who taught her how to speak in court,” Alicent voiced, thinking of all the hours you spent watching petitions, watching her. “Rhaenyra does not know how to handle herself with such grace nor subtlety.”

“Ah. So it was your influence.” Her father laughed, sounding genuinely amused. “If only you had raised Aegon to have even half the talent—then perhaps the King would have changed his mind about his succession.”

Alicent’s fingers tightened, and then she found herself picking at her nails.

“It is no fault of mine that Aegon was born with his disposition,” she said. “I tried my best.”

“You did,” Otto agreed. “You did not fail in all regards. Aemond, at the very least, has talent. Were he your firstborn son and that girl born a Targaryen princess—my, imagine the power they could have on the Iron Throne together. Our family would be untouchable. A pity.”

Alicent’s jaw tightened. She could not hate you, but she also could not stand to think of you sullying any of her sons. Your influence on them had already done irreparable damage. Your habit of tempting men had already driven Aegon into terrorising innocent women with his lust, and whatever silk-sweet words you whispered into Aemond’s ears had turned her lovely boy into someone cold and distant.

No—Alicent could not imagine you wedded to either of them.

“A pity, but there is no use in mourning it,” she dismissed. “Aemond will be matched to a respectable lady of the realm, and we will use the girl to buy the loyalty of a useful lord—as was always your plan.”

“Yes. My plan.” Otto looked at your papers thoughtfully. “I think we will need to make haste with her marriage. The blacks intend to ally with her, and I believe she is too ambitious to decline their offer. We cannot let her inheritance fall into Rhaenyra’s hands—we shall need to find her a match and send her someplace else immediately.”

Alicent swallowed. She had hoped to push for your match to a Northern house. She knew you would be happiest in the North—with people who worshipped the Old Gods, and a husband who was far enough removed from the politics of court to care much about your heritage. Starks were known for their honour, and the Warden in the North had carried himself with great dignity during his time at court. She knew that Cregan Stark would not have mistreated you. Lord Manderly’s son seemed promising as well, and the young Lord Bolton would have been keen for a dragon. But the political benefits of those matches were modest at best, uncertain at worst—Alicent knew her father would not have chosen any of those betrothals for you.

You had no mother. Only she could defend you.

“And where,” she asked carefully, “would we find a match on such short notice?”

She hoped for Lord Stokeworth or the Tully boy. The former was kind and the latter was dutiful, and she had already convinced her father of both proposals. But when the Hand smiled, his eyes glinting sharp, she knew it was neither of them.

“It is, in some ways, fortunate that she is so clever,” he replied. “The Tyrells have been here for the past few days on their own business, and they watched her petition. They were quite impressed with her and have made an offer to take her as a ward—and to eventually marry her to one of their sons.”

Her eyes widened. The Tyrells were one of the great houses, and ordinarily would only be interested in a betrothal with a Targaryen prince or princess. “Was it the talent they wanted,” she asked, “or the gold?”

“The gold for the marriage—and her dragon, of course. But the talent is why they want her as a ward.”

Alicent considered the offer. They likely wanted to groom you for something, and as long as it was not dancing or needlework, it would keep you happily busy. You may eventually find yourself content with such an arrangement. But she could not help but feel that something was amiss. The Tyrells kept strongly to the Faith, and they cared greatly for status. They would not be so eager to take someone like you into their family.

“And which son would they want to squander upon her?” Alicent asked.

“The bastard they just legitimised. To wed a Targaryen lady with a dragon would be quite the achievement for such a man—hardly a squander.”

“You wish to marry her to Arthur Flowers?” she asked, appalled.

“Of course. We are buying the son of a great house with her. The son of our liege lord!”

“Arthur Flowers is a bastard and a raper!”

“Arthur Tyrell is now a legitimate son of the family controlling the Reach!” Otto sighed. “Do not detest me for this, Alicent. We will need to secure all the help we can get when the succession of the Iron Throne is contested.” Otto gave her a severe look. “And remember,” he added, “this has always been your plan too. You have always wanted to use the girl for the sake of your own children—or would you rather that Rhaenyra use her instead?”

Alicent could not say anything. She could not stop this match, she realised. No one would speak in your defence, for you had no mother—you only had her. And Alicent, at the end of the day, was not your mother.

She was a Hightower.

X. TEMPERANCE

The edge of the Kingswood today was peaceful. The sky was a clear blue; the birdsong was a soft warble in your ears. Vhagar—who was old and liked to rest when she was not at war—was calm beneath you, her saddle rising and falling with the rhythm of her breath. Aemond, never one to chatter, was equally quiet. Even though Vhagar had been at rest for a while, your arms were still wrapped tight around his waist, and your cheek was pressed against his back.

You had not held or been held since your parents departed from King’s Landing. Given your reputation, it was impossible for you to touch anyone without setting off whispers, and none of the septas who cared for you had any desire to touch you—your blood was too dirty for it. But sharing a dragon with another person offered a kind of analogue to an embrace; allowed you to feel close to someone without raising brows. You would never admit such a thing aloud, but you liked to ride with people partly because of that.

Aemond was, of course, the only person in King’s Landing who would ever ride with you on any dragon. Ordinarily you would limit contact with him—he did not strike you as a person who particularly liked being touched, and you did not want to scare him off—but you needed to feel close to someone today. You had just spent three days without sleep to prepare for your petition, and during the manic rush of having won it, was approached by Alicent Hightower with dampening news of your betrothal. She'd finished her announcement by requesting that you plan your father’s funeral; it was plainly an attempt to ruin any happiness by reminding you to grieve.

Too proud to show weakness, you’d agreed and committed to yet another three days without sleep.

But you were plainly exhausted. You did not want to think about the funeral. You did not want to think about your betrothal. You did not want to think of anything at all. You simply wanted to relax, wanted to feel safe and warm next to someone, so now you were sitting with Aemond in the most desolate place you could find, the both of you on Vhagar’s saddle.

“I'm afraid I'll fall off if I let go,” you explained to Aemond, when he asked why you were still holding him.

“But we are not in the air.”

“Vhagar likes to buck and fight—she could kick me off at any moment.”

“Vhagar is very calm right now. And she likes you. She feels at ease around you.”

“I suppose that's true.” You closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of him. “I'm fond of riding her too.”

Despite his questions, Aemond did not protest to your touch. He merely hummed, after which a long silence passed. Larks kept calling out, their songs a beautiful trill in your ears. The day was windy; the trees whispered loudly in the sky. To anyone a distance away, the noise of the forest would surely mask your voices—as long as you kept them low.

“I'm betrothed to someone now,” you said quietly. It was not quite upset, but your voice sounded oddly fragile.

“Hm.” Aemond did not sound bothered; instead, he seemed pensive. “To whom?”

“The Tyrells. The bastard they just legitimised.” You opened your eyes, staring at the rustling trees. The scenery of the Reach would be similar, you found yourself thinking, for it was close by—too close for your liking.

“The Tyrells,” Aemond repeated thoughtfully. “The Hightowers are their bannermen. Otto Hightower wishes to trade you for the guaranteed support of his liege, and at the same time he will ensure that your inheritance will not fall into Rhaenyra's hands. It seems my grandsire has done exactly what you predicted.”

“As I said,” you replied bitterly, “his daughter raised me. I know how your family thinks.”

“As do I.” You felt him shift; he may have been looking back at you. “Do you know anything about Ser Arthur?”

“Nothing other than that he’s fought in the Dornish Marches. He displayed great feats during battle—I heard many tales in the Throne Room during their petition. Ser Criston looked strangely at him the whole time, though.” Your brow furrowed. “I wonder why.”

“They may have served together, or else he may have some kind of reputation within the Marches,” Aemond mused. “I will ask Ser Criston later.”

“Do tell me what he says. I would like to know the character of my future husband.” Your arms tightened around Aemond. The day was not particularly cold, but you found yourself clinging to him. “I need all the knowledge I can of the Tyrells before I leave. Surely Highgarden cannot be worse than the Red Keep, but I want no surprises.”

“You have already resigned yourself to being taken away.” You felt Aemond touch your hand; you nearly jumped before realising he was only adjusting his chains. “I told you that I would handle the matter of your betrothal.”

“What can you do?” you asked miserably. “The Queen has already agreed, and who knows what kind of marriage your grandsire will force me into if I offend the Tyrells by outright rejecting them. I would not put it past the Hand to tie me up and send me away in the middle of the night, at this point.” You pressed your forehead into Aemond’s back, sighing. “Will you take me to Braavos so I may escape the mummery of the Red Keep? If we leave on Vhagar now, we may be there by the morrow.”

Vhagar beneath you rumbled, as if in complaint. “Ah,” you said, “your old lady seems unwilling to carry us. I suppose I'm done for.”

Aemond laid a hand on your wrist, perhaps searching for another chain. You did not push it away. “You need not offend the Tyrells,” he said. “When the time comes, simply play along as needed. You will not be held accountable for whatever may come.”

“Will you be held accountable? The guilt would eat me alive, if you were.”

He hummed. “If I were, it would not affect my standing greatly. You know I would not make such a misstep.”

“I suppose.” You allowed yourself to feel, for just one moment, reassured. Aemond was one of those few players in court who felt both reliable and safe, or at least not openly malicious. Perhaps to others, but not you. It was not unlikely that he could solve this all.

The breeze changed. You realised that your excuses to cling onto him had dwindled. “I suppose we should dismount now,” you said mournfully. “Come—let’s enjoy the woods, as we said we would.”

“I don't feel much like looking at trees today,” Aemond said. “Would you like to fly along the bay instead? The whole length of the shore.”

You lifted your head to give him an incredulous look. “That will take at least an hour in flight.”

“Then I suppose you will need to hold me for an hour. I do hope that won’t be a bother.”

It took you a beat to realise what he'd just offered, but once you did, you squeezed him tightly.

“As long as there is no complaint from Vhagar,” you said. “I know the lady likes her rest.”

Vhagar clicked beneath you, more agreeable now to your request. “She will do what I want,” Aemond reassured you. “Dragons are influenced by the desires of their riders.”

“So you want to nap and lounge all day like an elderly woman?”

You could hear the amusement in his voice when he replied, “Not terribly, though it is an option for us today if you wish.”

How lovely that would be, you thought. If you could lie with Aemond in the grass, shielded from the sun by Vhagar, and spend the afternoon slumbering. To ignore the funeral you needed to plan, the grief you had been procrastinating, the bridegroom you needed to meet.

Unfortunately, Aemond was not such a lout that he would waste the day like that, and you had your own responsibilities. You could not run for long from the death of your parents, from the ramifications of this inheritance mess. It was better to face it all promptly, matching the cold efficiency that the Hightowers operated with. That was how you had survived all these years, after all: matching the Hightowers.

But at the very least, you could allow yourself one more hour of delay.

“Napping would be nice,” you admitted, “but I'd rather spend the time in flight.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Vhagar’s wings began to beat, ancient but mighty. The trees swayed and rattled from the gust of her flight. The chains around your waist shook with the force of the great beast, but they held steadfast—binding you to Aemond, their hold inescapable.

X. DEATH, UPRIGHT

“Dracarys.”

A brilliant fire roared to life, consuming a boat drifting peacefully by the shore. Emerald flames erupted from the wood, devouring shimmering Qartheen jewels and priceless Myrish silks—all the belongings of your father.

Your father’s dragon had died in his youth. In her absence, it was Wildfyre who was chosen to set the pyre aflame in this sham of a funeral. The fire was the colour of alchemical wildfire, though given your dragon’s middling age of ninety-and-three, they of course burned much hotter. Despite being grown and having lived through both war and death, though, Wildfyre still behaved like a child: screeching and roaring and squawking miserably as the pyre burned, as if crying in your stead.

Your own face was bone-dry. You only stared dully at the pile of burning valuables, which were meant to be a substitute for your father’s body.

Technically, all of the objects in the pyre belonged to the Crown, but in a fit of spite you had publicly petitioned to the Hand to have them burned in the funeral. In a throne room where various nobles and smallfolk spectated—most of whom were already sympathetic to you, after you had to argue for your own inheritance just two days before—Otto Hightower had no choice but to grant your request, lest he look like a monster. You were glad to see all the treasures burning to ash in front of him, all that wealth forever out of his reach.

The Hand and the Queen had not appreciated this insult; neither of them offered their condolences during the ceremony, and likely only came out of obligation. Your closest kin offered no real words of consolation either. Aegon was so grossly uncomfortable during the affair that he could not make eye contact with you; Helaena only gave you a mournful and disconcerting stare, as if she were grieving you instead of your father.

Aemond, though very dear to you, was equally clumsy with handling you in your grief. He stood by your side and asked if you were well, to which you only gave him a long, dead-eyed stare. You had just spent three days without sleep to prepare for your petition during which his grandsire wrung you out; then you spent another two days without sleep to prepare for a funeral at which you thought no one would grieve.

Of course you were not well.

None of Alicent Hightower’s children had ever experienced loss; that much was clear. It was different with your other cousins, however; Luke, Jace, Baela, and Rhaena neatly offered their sincere condolences. I'm so sorry, they all said, before taking your hands and squeezing. I am always here if you need company. Say the word and I will come by.

You absolutely would not take them up on the offer, but you did appreciate it.

Surprisingly, though, you were not entirely alone in your mourning. King Viserys had asked to delay the funeral until he was well enough to attend, and he now stood in the front, watching solemnly. Beside him was Prince Daemon, who for once seemed subdued and reflective. You were not sure what to make of Rhaenyra’s face, which seemed appropriately mournful, but potentially inauthentic. She had actually known your father as a child, though they were not close, and she never involved herself with you when you were a child except for when Jace wanted to play with you.

You supposed it was Prince Daemon and King Viserys who had the greatest right to grief, perhaps even more than you. You had known your father for ten years; they had known him for nearly thirty. Daemon sought you out shortly after the service, speaking in Pentoshi Valyrian.

“Your father was the only person who brought us news of our aunt in Volantis,” he said. “He always saw that she fared well—did he ever tell you that?”

“No,” you replied honestly, and with great surprise. “He never mentioned her.”

“It was how he knew your mother,” Daemon said. “The Lysene pillowhouse that Saera once worked in—your mother was a courtesan there. She introduced them to one another.”

You were stunned by the news. Saera Targaryen had been exiled and King Jaehaerys had forbidden the rest of the family from ever speaking with her again. To think that your father had not only sought her out anyway, but had found your mother through her, was shocking.

“I did not think my father would break his uncle’s decree,” you said.

“Defiance was in your father’s spirit. I do believe you inherited it.”

“Thank you,” you said. You were deeply confused—this was probably the fifth time in your life you'd ever spoken to the Rogue Prince, for he scared you when you were a child, and he himself did not care much for toddlers. You did not think he could be so kind. “Perhaps defiance is in our blood. My father always spoke highly of your exploits, and he respected Princess Saera as well.”

The corner of Daemon’s mouth lifted in something that could not really be called a smile, but was probably meant to be a sign of approval. “Those born of fire and blood have a tendency to be untameable. Your father and I were not just kin—we were kindred. If you wish for the company of like-minded people”—Daemon glanced at the Hightowers and their children—“rather than those who disapprove of us… do seek me out.”

King Viserys, with his missing eye hidden by a patch, offered fewer words, but more heartfelt: “I have always tried to care for you in my cousin’s stead,” he said. “Nothing about that will change in his death.”

You bowed. “Thank you, my King.”

He laid a hand, shaking and emaciated but warm, on your shoulder.

“I regret that I am no longer well enough to spend time with you in your hour of grief, but I know that my children and grandchildren will keep your loneliness at bay.”

He did not mention Queen Alicent, nor did you. “I will be grateful for their company in my mourning,” was all you said.

Truthfully, though, anyone’s company would likely make you scream. You did not feel like coddling anyone as they struggled over what they should say to you after you lost a man that none of them had known. All you wanted to do was sneak back to either your rock by the sea or the dung pit to cry in absolute solitude, but now that Aegon and Aemond knew both of your misery spots, that was not an option.

Your expression was grim as you left the funeral site, and you prayed that no one would disturb you in your self-pity—but to your displeasure, Jace had been thoughtful enough to wait for you.

“I was worried about you,” he said, so gently that you wanted to throw up.

“You need not be,” you replied stiffly. “I did all my grieving for my father while I was working through those ledgers.”

Jacaerys had helped you sort through the books when you were crying too hard to read clearly, so you knew he was being genuine when he replied, “I know. But…”

“But?”

“It's just,” he started, and you could hear the hesitation in his voice, “is there to be a service for your mother?”

You stared dumbly. He sounded earnest when he explained, “I would like to attend, if there is one planned.”

“No,” you replied, and your voice sounded oddly strangled, and your throat hurt terribly. “No, there is not one planned. No one asked me to make arrangements for one, so I did not.”

“Would you rather that there wasn't one?”

“I had not thought about it—I did not think there was anyone who would like to come,” you admitted, which made you feel both horrible and sorry for yourself, and suddenly you were turning around to wipe away at your eyes. Oh, how you longed to be in the dung pit right now.

“Why would you even want to come?” you asked, sniffling. “You did not know her.”

“I would want to come for you,” Jacaerys said simply, and the sob that came out of you was so ugly that you felt embarrassed. Not once did you cry like this while reading through all the Iron Bank ledgers, but for some reason, the thought of your mother hurt your heart so much that you did not know how else to release the pain but with the most guttural sobs possible.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. You noticed then that you had crouched down to cry into your knees, and Jace had lowered himself to sit with you.

“When Ser Harwin died,” he said quietly, “Luke and I were not allowed to attend his funeral.”

“Oh,” you said, lip wobbling. You did not know where he was going with this.

“We still wanted to say goodbye, though, so instead we went to the Kingswood and buried the training swords he gave us when we were little. We did it alone.”

“O-oh.” More tears welled up as you realised what he was about to ask.

“I know you have not been allowed a proper funeral for your mother—but is there anything you would want to do, to say goodbye?”

You could not manage a yes, so you instead let out a whimpering sob.

“Meet me at the hour of the wolf tonight, at the bottom floor of the Kitchen Keep,” you said once you were coherent again, and Jacaerys nodded.

XI. DEATH, REVERSED

After Prince Velarion cast your mother out of the Red Keep, the septas, in their unending grace, offered you a kind of cruel consolation: Your mother was always going to be cast out anyway, they told you. She was merely a whore, seducing your father with temptation rather than marrying him out of love. He was always going to free himself from her spell and find the Seven again. This was inevitable.

They also told you, You were not a child born of love. You were born of sin and temptation. Your mother was bound to leave you as well, for her feelings for you were disingenuous; how can a whore love an accident of her sins? But now—her influence is gone, and you can find the love of the Seven instead.

And when Alicent Hightower said, Stop crying, sweetling, the septas are speaking the truth—this is all for the better, you realised that you would always hate her and her Faith.

Maybe you could have found the Seven if it were not for her words, but she ruined her gods for you with that one sentence. You burned your copy of the Seven-Pointed Star; you kicked and screamed as the septas dragged you to the High Septon’s service; you called Alicent a monster when she struck you for your misbehaviour. So horrific was her treatment of you that even Aegon—who had often been on the receiving end of her strikes himself—felt sorry for you.

Not that he actually helped you, of course. Only Aemond spent any time with you though it all, sitting next to you in the dragon pit as you cried.

You did not believe any of it, of course. You were not a child born of sin, for your mother and father loved each other. Your father did so much for your mother—told her he loved her in her mother tongue, grew persimmon trees in the courtyard to keep her homesickness at bay, lit nightfires for her so she could pray to R’hllor. Your father loved her so much that he took her to Lys and decided to stay, even if it meant leaving you.

There was no way he didn't love her. There was no way they didn't love you.

There was no way, and this was what you told yourself every time you heard those whispers: She merely seduced him. She merely used him. He did not truly love her. How could a prince truly love a whore?

And her daughter—that girl is a child of sin. How could they have loved her?

You had become so skilled at ignoring it all, and nearly delighted in being irreverent of it. But despite all of your efforts to laugh at the gossipmongers and the septas, several years of whispers now echoed in your ear as you made your way to the Kitchen Keep. They nicked at your heart, and you wished your mother and father were here to dispel them. But your father was a pile of bones somewhere on Bloodstone, and your mother was lost to the sea.

Your heart was so heavy with these thoughts that you did not say anything to Jace and Luke when they met you at the Keep. You merely dumped two piles of firewood and kindling in their arms and beckoned them to follow you. You led them up a long flight of stairs, carrying a bundle of beautiful silks, until you had all reached the top of some decrepit tower.

The winds were calm tonight, a cool breeze rather than a violent gust. It made it easier to light up the old fire pit—you struggled only a little before you remembered how.

“My mother and father used to come here at night,” you finally explained, your voice tired. “It is a practice at Red Temples in Essos to burn nightfires like this. They are meant to allow R’hllor to protect us from the dark. But there are no such temples in King’s Landing, so my father would do this instead to comfort my mother.”

Jacaerys and Lucerys both listened quietly as they sat next to you, faces lit up by the crackling heat. Luke was not very close with you—you had always felt too awkward befriending him, after the incident with Aemond’s eye—but he had wanted to come to help you honour your mother, so sorry he was for your grief.

He seemed genuinely interested when he asked, “Does it bring you comfort too?”

“It reminds me of my mother,” you said, and the two brothers nodded in understanding.

“And those silks you're carrying?” Jace asked.

“Things of my mother’s that we found in my father’s room.” You looked at them balefully as you took a piece out of the bundle, revealing a golden scarf with Lysene embroidery. “I think—I think I should burn them. I don't have anything else of hers.”

The two of them nodded. You fed the silk to the nightfire, watched as it ate through the gold thread. Your heart clenched as it burned to ash; you had so many times imagined that your mother was wearing this scarf as she walked by the harbours of Lys, holding your father’s hand.

“I always thought,” you said quietly, “that my father took my mother to Lys and loved her too much to come back.”

The both of them stayed silent. Waited.

“But”—your brow twinged—“I do not know what to think anymore. People always said my mother was a whore, you know? That my father married her out of pure lust and would eventually leave her. I always thought they were wrong, because he stayed in Lys and gave up his position here, all because he loved her too much to leave her. But now I don't know what to think.”

You did not know if he truly loved her. If the sword and the silks and even you were really evidence of his love, and not simply evidence that he was doting on his pretty concubine. If the ceremony in the Great Sept of Baelor was truly proof of their devotion, or if it was the impulsive decision of an infatuated man. For your father was supposed to be in Lys, loving your mother too much to return, spending the rest of his days with her in the Essosi sun—but instead he was a pile of bones, and she was lost forever.

You felt a familiar wetness on your face, a burn in your eyes that had nothing to do with smoke.

“But if he had stayed,” Luke asked quietly, hesitantly, “doesn't that mean he would have abandoned you?”

“That would have been fine,” you replied truthfully. “And I thought—I thought they'd visit someday, and I would get to see them again then. At the very least they'd love me enough for that.”

At the very least, you would for one last time be held by people who loved you.

You bit your trembling lip. Now that you'd said it all out loud, you were uncertain if you made sense. “Is it strange that I'm questioning it all now? That for nearly twenty years I believed steadfastly in their love, but now that they are gone, I do not know what to think?”

Neither of them said anything. Luke was looking down; Jace was staring into the flames.

“I wish I could ask them,” you whispered, and this seemed to strike Jace.

“I do not think it strange to question it.” Jacaerys did not look at you, but you knew he was not lying. “I have thought about it many times—about the relationship between my mother and Ser Harwin. I always thought they loved each other and that they loved us, when I was little—but now I'm not so sure. And I cannot ask him, no matter how much I wish for it.”

You gave him a long look, and you were strangely hopeful—as if the knowledge that Ser Harwin loved the three of them would somehow mean that your father loved you and your mother too.

“I do not think,” Jacaerys finally confessed, “that my mother loved Ser Harwin.”

Your heart was wrenched with pain.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Why?”

“She did not cry after he died.” Jace sounded odd, his voice terse but brittle. “She did not cry and she told us that we shouldn't cry either. Like he meant nothing to us. I think now that he was a distraction for her, or a plaything. If the court whispers are true, then it is not the first time she would have done such a thing.”

“That can't be true,” you protested, perhaps too desperately. Rhaenyra had to have loved him. She risked her station just to bear his children—just like how your father lost his to have you.

But Jace seemed disconsolate. “Why not?” He gave you a wry look. “Bastards are supposed to be born of lies and temptation, not love—at least according to the Faith. If we are indeed the bastards of Ser Harwin and my mother, then we are proof that lies and temptation are all that existed between them.”

You thought of all the septas and their prayers and Alicent Hightower screaming at you to behave. Bastards are not so different from the daughters of whores, you mused. They see us all as products of sin.

“Fuck the Faith,” you hissed, and Jace seemed startled, as if not expecting the edge to your voice, but you did not falter. “I do not believe a person as kind as you could have been born of anything other than love.”

Jace’s eyes widened a little, but then his face settled into a kind of smile. Small, but gentle nevertheless.

“Then I do not think that you could have been born of anything else either.”

The corner of your mouth lifted. You turned back to the fire, eyes still hot, but a little less watery. Your fingers gripped the red-and-gold silk remaining in your hands—your mother’s wedding veil—and you meant to feed it to the nightfire, but you did not. You did not want to let it go.

You did not want to let her go.

“I’ve always thought that,” you confessed, “my mother loved me enough to someday come back to King’s Landing. She promised me, you know. She said she would.”

Jace gave you a soft look. “I'm sure she meant it.”

You wiped your eyes again. “Why do you think so?”

“Just a feeling.” He went quiet for a little, hesitating. But eventually he shared, “Ser Harwin said he would come back someday. He died, of course, but”—Jace looked down—“I believe he was telling the truth. He loved us, I think.”

You nodded, and the squeeze around your heart finally eased. It was entirely illogical, but you somehow knew this was true: Ser Harwin loved his children; that meant that your parents must have loved you too. It only made sense. Your father had wanted to come back for you after one hundred days. Your mother wanted to return after your grandsire died. She loved you so much that she would cross the seas for you again.

She must have crossed the seas again.

Your fingers gripped the veil even harder. Your eyes felt heavy, five days without proper sleep wearing them down. You fought to keep them open.

“You're tired,” Jace said. “You should go back to your room and rest.”

“No,” you said, but your eyelids were fluttering shut anyway, and you felt yourself start to sway. “No—the fire is supposed to burn all night. Until the dawn breaks and the light of R’hllor returns to us.”

“Will that bring you comfort, if it burns until daybreak?” he asked. You began to lie down—curling up on the stone floor.

You answered with your eyes closed: “It will remind me of my mother.”

You entered a strange dream after that, or perhaps a memory. You were sitting around the nightfire with your parents, a child once more. You were shivering and crying, for the wind was cold, and the night was dark and full of terrors. But your father had you lie down, your head in his lap, and he covered you with his cloak as your mother ran her fingers through your hair, and they held you. They loved you. You knew they loved you, and they loved each other too. Your father went to Lys and loved your mother so much that he never came back. Your mother loved you so much that she crossed the Narrow Sea once more just to see you.

And you would, for one last time, be held by someone who loved you.

(When you woke up in your bed the next morning, you were covered by a cloak that smelled of nightfire and dreams.)

END PART III

notes: FUN FACT when i was a teenager i was extremely obsessed over sansan and the cloak = marriage metaphor had a formative influence on me and that has definitely come thru in this fic lol. anyway - thank you for reading!!! i would greatly appreciate it if you reblogged & drop a line if you enjoyed this chapter! <3

[slutforfictionalwomen]

Gotta learn the consequences

Kinktober day 4

Natasha Romanoff x Fem Reader

Main kinks: Pain kink, breeding kink, daddy kink

Word count: 1,2K

Summary: Natasha is convinced that Reader broke a rule, which has its consequences.

Warnings: Smut, cum filled strap, daddy kink, pet names, manipulative Natasha, breeding kink, spanking, pain kink.

(Please tell me if I missed anything)

POV Reader

The mall is loud as I compare two bracelets, so I can ask Natasha to get me one. I don't have my own card after all, Natasha makes the money so it belongs to her. I depend on her money, so I belong to her as well. I choose the bracelet with red stones that has a black cat jewel on it and turn to ask Natasha, but she's nowhere in my view.

I anxiously pace around the store, bracelet in hand. I look for Natasha everywhere, but when I don't find her I decide that she has probably just gone to the toilet or in a fitting room. I wait patiently, but she doesn't come.

After about five minutes of aimlessly pacing around the store, waiting for Natasha to come get me, I see the red-haired woman walking up to me with a quick step. I happily walk up to her, but then I see the expression on her face. She's furious.

"You know you're supposed to stay close to me at the mall! I almost lost you! What, do you want me to put you on a leash next time?" She grabs me by the collar of my shirt, tugging me with her, aiming for the exit.

"I'm sorry, Natty. I didn't mean to. One minute, you were next to me, the other you were gone." I catch up to her fast pace, now walking next to her instead of behind.

Natasha doesn't look at me. She just keeps walking toward the car park. "You still broke the rules, now you're going to face the consequences."

~

"Natasha, please!" I whine when she half throws me onto the couch. I know I have been bad in her narrrative, but I really didn't intend to.

"You know why this needs to happen, baby. And you also know what to call me in this situation, that just earned you an extra five." She unties my shoes and carefully takes them off, still taking on a nurturing role. Next to be taken off are my black, wide jeans (which she picked out for me a week ago).

"I'm sorry, daddy." I wait until Natasha sits down and pats her lap. When she does, I lie down with my butt up facing her.

"Good girl, now count." Her flat hand strikes my ass cheek, and I yelp out.

"One," I whine. It's soon followed by another smack. "Two," there is a shiver in my voice.

~

"Seventeen!" I cry out. Tears are streaming down my face. Natasha has heavily picked up the strength in her strikes, making me struggle to keep still on her lap.

"You're such a good pet. Are you going to be obedient from now on? Am I teaching you a lesson?" Natasha strikes another time.

"Eightteen! Yes, daddy, I'll be better." The words leave my mouth in sobs. I wish she understood that I really didn't intend to leave her side, I actually didn't notice her wandering off.

The last two are done soon. Now her hands are rubbing my bottom with lotion, the aftercare she always uses. At first, it stung. I know it does, it always does, but it still makes me jump every time. After the first few rubs, I relax into her touch, like always. My eyes flutter shut, my head resting itself on the couch.

I groan when after a few minutes of massaging, her fingers venture down to my soaked pussy. "Oh baby, you're all wet and sticky. I think that means I'm gonna have to take care of you." Natasha's fingers start to rub my clit up and down firmly, knowing my body well enough to know that's only teasing me. I whimper and buck my hips once.

"Mhm! Please, daddy." I know what game she's playing, and I'm playing right into it. I sigh when the firm rubs turn into soft cirlcles.

"Please what, pretty girl?" She chuckles softly, keeping up the pattern on my bundle of nerves.

I squirm in frustration. "Please make me cum!" Suddenly, Natasha stops. I cry out, I'm way too needy to deal with this. Natasha stands up, lifting me up with her arms. She puts me back on the couch in the same position as mere seconds ago, but now without herself.

"When I come back, I want to have you all naked with that pretty red ass up." That's the last thing she says before walking away.

~

When Natasha comes back, I am indeed in the position she asked from me. She gets behind me on the couch, leaning over me to kiss my back.

"Good girl. Now, I will make you cum. But you will get loads of mine, and you will take it. You're gonna take it, and carry my baby, like the good little slut you are." I don't think I have ever heard her voice this dark before. I get a bit nervous, even though I know she can't get me pregnant. It also turns me on.

"You can take it without stretching, right?" I don't even have time to answer before she thrusts into me, making me yelp out. Her hips go at a quick pace, meeting mine. At this point, it's fast, but not hard.

"Are you gonna take it like a good girl? Are you gonna take my cum? Let me impregnate you?" Her hand ventures down to my breasts, her other hand on my hips. When she starts playing with my nipple, it makes me whimper softly. A shock of arousal travels down to my belly.

Suddenly, I'm being flipped around. She barely even pulls out of me and immediately starts pounding again. "We couldn't have the cum leaking out of your pussy, couldn't we?" Natasha forces one of my legs up, my thigh to my belly. Her hand starts to play with my clit, which has me bucking up to meet her thrusts.

I glance down to see the fake cock sliding in and out of me, a soft moan escapes my mouth. I feel my orgasm building.

"Oh, you like seeing that, little slut? I'll sure take a mental note of that." Natasha starts thrusting harder into me.

"Daddy, I'm gonna cum!" I cry out when it's almost too late.

"Cum for me." I hear the grin in her voice,she has something planned.

When I cum hard, a liquid shoots into me. It came so unexpectedly that it makes me scream. I buck my hips, but Natasha pushes them down, squeezing more artificial cum into my pussy.

When she pulls out, she immediately covers my pussy with her hand. "We can't have any of my cum running out, can we?"

~

Half an hour later, I'm in the bath. Natasha is rubbing soap all over my body, making sure that I get entirely clean. Of course, I love the way Natasha fucks me. The way she makes me scream. But I think I love the way she takes care of me even more.

[dollfacefantasy]

Rookiepillz: Here We Go Again

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: almost a year after the rookiepillz incident, you and your now-boyfriend play some video games together. he's got a special strategy to help you win.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief cockwarming, daddy kink, rookiepillz

word count: 1.8k

a/n: finally. rookiepillz has come back to tumblr. the most anticipated come back of the century in my book. i just needed something silly as a break from school. we'll be back to regularly scheduled programming momentarily. part 1 is here.

“ANOTHER GOJO!” you yell at your tv, flinging your controller to the other side of your couch. You feign a growl and look up at your boyfriend who’s lap you were laid up on. “Another fucking Gojo killed me. Can you believe this? It’s like a curse or something.”

He chuckles right next to your ear and kisses your temple. “You’ll get the win soon. You placed third that time, that’s not bad,” he tells you as you ready up again.

He was one to talk considering he planned and acted out a whole revenge scheme on you when he placed second. But hey, look at the two of you now. Snuggling on the couch, you wearing one of his shirts, playing video games in his lap while he gives you little smooches and whispers sweet nothings to you.

Sure, he used to be your stepdad, but he’s your man now. Sure, he dated your mom just to get back at you for beating him in a Fortnite match, but he also gave you the best dick of your life. And plus, he was pretty sweet when he wasn’t being a total asshole, so who are you to complain?

His arms squeeze around your waist, and he nuzzles the back of your neck, inhaling your scent as you beat on some innocent player in the lobby for having the default skin. He smiled as he watched your eyes light up with glee. He took in every word you said about how dropping at the pool house was the best strategy. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Yeah, he had fucked your mom as part of a long revenge plot over losing a victory royale. Yeah, he did humiliate you by spanking you and then revealing said revenge plot in the middle of fucking. But it’s only cause he knew you’d be his girl in the end. He was just having some fun with his sweetheart, right?

He half-watches you running around the map, giggling when you drive a car off a cliff or start doing the weeknd emote. A smile breaks across his face whenever you kill someone because you lightly tap his forearm and go “Look! Did you see that? I gottem.” And then he’d whisper to you, “mhm, that’s my girl” before planting another kiss on your cheekbone.

But what really got him going wasn’t the precious moments of joy or the sweet expressions of tension when you started losing health. No. What really fired him up was your rage. What could he say? It reminded him of nearly a year ago when he’d pulled you over his knee, the fire that had burned in your eyes. A day he’d never forget. 

All he had to do was be patient for your match to start winding down. Once that notification came up that said there were only 25 people left, that red monster inside you would start rearing its head. The “motherfucker’s” and “god damn it’s” would start flying, and in no time at all, you’d be wearing that adorable pouty expression.

Like right now. He watched your character explode into a pile of loot. You slammed the controller down on your laps and crossed your arms, sinking back into his embrace. “That’s such bullshit. At least it wasn’t Gojo again,” you grumble.

Fuck, it got him hard.

“I think I know your problem, baby,” he says. 

You look at him with a raised eyebrow. The one piece of certain leverage you had over your boyfriend was that you were a better Fortnite player. Whenever he gave you unsolicited advice on your playing, you made sure to bring up the fact that you had beaten him before.

“You’re getting so frustrated, y’know. I think you gotta calm down a bit. Let yourself relax so you can think and focus better. And I think I have a way you can do that,” he says.

“And what would that be?” you ask, tone growing softer as you start to catch on.

“How about you relax on daddy’s cock? I know you can only think straight once you’ve been filled up,” he purrs. His hands smooth up your stomach to your tits, coasting over your nipples that were already starting to harden out of instinct. Because if there was one guaranteed piece of leverage he had on you, it was that special word that you’d seemed so averse to just a few months ago.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you answer. It felt shameful that he could get a rush of arousal from you with just a simple word said in a particular tone.

You stand up, still working the controller as another match starts up. He tugs down your shorts for you, grinning like the madman he was at your lack of panties.

“Look at you all prepared,” he coos and kisses your hip, “You knew you’d be getting a treat from daddy today, hm?”

“Lucky guess,” you respond as he guides you back down. Your knees rest on either side of his thighs. He lines himself with your entrance and pulls you down until he’s bottomed out. You whimper and bite your lip, locking your eyes on the tv to focus.

For the beginning, he really does just let you sit there, nice and full. And maybe he was sort of right. You feel pretty calm so far. Everything is less stressful when, in the back of your mind, you’re noticing the way he twitches within you or the small grunts he lets out when you tighten around him.

You were so warm and tight. Felt just as good as the first time, and fortunately for you, there was no bombshell plot twist waiting around the corner. His fingers rub little circles on the outside of your thigh.

“What do you think? Is it helping, babydoll?” he asks.

“Mhm, thank you, daddy. Fits just right,” you say.

He chuckles at the cute way you say it. You work on sniping some people, he tests out rolling his hips. You sharply inhale but don’t protest. So he does it again. His cock slides through the warm embrace of your walls, kissing your favorite spots deep inside. You still seemed focused enough, so using his hands to hold you in position, he begins thrusting upwards.

Your breaths become longer and shakier, but you will yourself to maintain focus. The number of players was dwindling fast. He was bouncing you on his cock which normally left you empty-headed in seconds. But you needed this victory royale. You really were his girl.

He lets out a groan, leaning back against the couch cushions with his head tilted back. It wasn’t like he needed the win this time. He could let go. And so he did. He pistons his cock up into you faster by the moment.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Daddy there’s only two other people,” you whine in a plea for mercy.

“Almost there, baby,” he grunts. You honestly didn’t know if he was referring to your game or how close he was to cumming.

You don’t have time to think about that though because the circle is closing. You grit your teeth and grip the controller with all the focus you have left.

“Daddy, c’mon, I could win,” you whimper.

“I know, princess. You got this, pretty girl,” he mumbles while his eyes flutter. His abdomen twitches as he feels himself gearing up for release. “Tell you what. If you win this one, daddy’ll make sure you get a special reward later on.”

Now it is absolutely on. You can’t lose this. That’d be even more humiliating than the original rookiepillz incident. You’re dashing around the map as your boyfriend pumps in and out of you. It’s a difficult task, managing to hold off your release and try to win.

But soon enough you spot your targets. At the same time, it seems that Leon is reaching his. “Oh fuck, baby. So fuckin’ good. Daddy’s gonna fill you up just how you like,” he whimpers from behind you.

He bounces you, and you know your own peak is imminent. But you see the other players, and in an absolute miracle, you down one and then the other. The tv flashes gold with your victory as your body seizes with the white hot pleasure of release. Simultaneously, he unloads inside you, firing rope after rope into your tight cunt.

He fucks into you a few more times before actually coming back down to reality. You’re coming down too, melting back against his chest. He’s stroking your face when his eyes catch on the tv.

“Holy shit, you actually won?” he asks. His tone gives away that he’s actually impressed. and that’s your ultimate victory royale.

“Mhm, all for you,” you tease and lazily kiss his cheek.

“God, baby. Making me feel like the luckiest man alive right now,” he replies and reciprocates your small gesture of affection.

The two of you cuddle for a bit longer. You’re finished with the game, having finally gotten the win you wanted. And like always, he was such a sweetheart after, giving you kisses and praise, holding you close, even cleaning you up once he got up. Unfortunately, he had to go into work today, so it wasn’t long until he had to leave. He makes sure you’re content before he says goodbye with a kiss to your forehead.

Later that night though, you were alone at your place just as Leon was at his. You get a text. His contact lights up your lockscreen with the message “Get on Fortnite?”

You smile, hopping on your couch and turning on your console. You text back a “yeah hehe :)” He facetimes you, and you beam when you see his face, something you would have never thought possible when you met him. While you wait for everything to turn on and connect, you ask him about his day and how he’s feeling. He answers softly, heart melting at your interest.

To your surprise, when the game finally loads up, you have a gift. From rookiepillz himself.

“Leon…” you say excitedly.

“What?” he asks, playing dumb at first, “Just open it.”

So you do. You burst into laughter as Gojo appears on your screen next. “You’re so funny. I love you,” you giggle. It slips out so casually, he’s not even sure you registered what you’d let slip. He lets it go for now. He would tease you about it later. Right now, he was just so enamored with you.

As you prattled on about wanting to be the skin with the blindfold on and how he should get one for himself so you could match, he realized something. He’d lose every Fortnite match for the rest of his life if it meant he got you. His own personal victory royale.

[da-shrimping-station]

Devildom having traffic not only on the ground but also in the skies is interesting af.

A good chunk of the population have wings (let's say it's a 50/50 split between winged and tailed demons) so surely it's a norm that you see demons flying around doin their own business.

You seen those crowded streets where pedestrians bunch together while crossing the road? That but with winged demons, flying at different heights and speeds trying to get to their destination.

Imagine MC going outside and being careful of not only foot traffic but also air traffic cuz some demons don't bother warning others that they're landing or passing by. They'd hear a woosh and needing to duck cuz some idiot flew too low and nearly clipped them with a wing or two.

There would also be exclusive no-fly zones around certain places. Also needing to check the weather if it's a good day for flying (i bet the weather and climate in Devildom can get unpredictable at times) or if it's better to walk or commute instead because air traffic is so stupid today and you can't be late for an appointment.

Imagine you chose to commute home for today cuz your wings are tired but the vehicle broke down and goddammit I wanna go home asap i guess i have to fly.

One of the reasons Lucifer agreed to Mammon getting a car cuz there's 3 of them who can't fly.

Mammon and Satan arguing about which route to take for faster travelling while Levi plays in the back seat with Belphie leaning against him and napping. Meanwhile up above, Lucifer, Asmo, and Beel keep pace with them.

Sometimes Asmo sits in the back cuz he can't afford to ruin his hair from all the flying. Sometimes Belphie shimmies out the window [[(while the car is going really fckin fast mind you) (Mammon driving at a reasonable speed? Hell nah his car was built for speed and he will go fast)]] so he can hold out a snack for Beel to snatch. Levi makes sure Belphie doesn't fall off using his arms and tail. Sometimes they'd do rock paper scissors on who gets to ride shotgun this time (may or may not include threats, blackmail, or bodily harm)

Lucifer just hopes they get to their destination on time and in one piece.

On another note, once MC gets the hang of flying with magic (I'd imagine they'll use a broom but come on why not imbue a skateboard with magic and use that to fly instead), they'd try a stab at flying and experiencing the air traffic (in all its fascinating and frustrating glory).

Alternatively, MC in the car but the brothers being little shits is becoming unbearable so they ask Mammon to stop and get out to fly with the others instead.

I fckin live for Devildom being some sort of an urban fantasy setting.

[willsimpforanyone]

HIHIHI!!! I'M SOSO HAPPY YOURE BACK :3 May I request a Leo x reader smut where he gets home from work frustrated n eats the reader out 'til they're overstimulated? THIS IS SO WEIRD IM SORRY 😣ANYWAY I LOVE YOU, ITS OKAY IF YOU DONT DO THIS ASK, M JUST REALLY HAPPY YOU'RE BACK !!!!! (can I be 💀anon, if that's open? :3)

of course you can be skull anon (i'm on my laptop so i can't use emojis lol) also sweetheart this is definitely not weird this is an excellent request lmao lets gooooo

minors dni, includes leo being a little mean and eating the reader out until they cry, one singular spank, reader has a pussy but everything else is gender neutral and of course, all characters are over 18

---------------------------------

If I think back, really I could have predicted this from the moment I woke up.

Leo was gone by the time I opened my eyes, a note on the bedside table alongside a flower folded from a paperclip. The note was a mess of errors, his dyslexia playing up is always a sign of stress.

The second sign would be the wildly out-of-character short text responses I recieved, queries about his day being met with monosyllabic answers. There was nothing I could do, so I'd sat down at my laptop to work from home for the day, a little worried about him but figuring he was a big boy, he'd survive a hard day.

The third and most obvious sign that today did not go well was the jangling of the keys in the lock, followed by rapid-fire Spanish swearing. I'd laughed, saving my work and abandoning my laptop on my desk to go save Leo from the door or vice versa, whatever the case may have been.

Bright smile on my face, I'd opened the door and hardly gotten the first syllable of 'what did the door do to you?' out my mouth before I was promptly cut off by his lips on mine. Nothing gentle, nothing patient, just frustration and irritation and a need for something, anything, to go right.

Which led to my current position. My thighs shake around his head as I hold myself over his face, his fingers digging in firmly to my flesh as he pulls me back down. "One more."

A pathetic, almost-sob lurches from my throat as his tongue laps harshly at my pussy. My fingers clench at the headboard, holding on for dear life as Leo sucks and licks and tongue-fucks me into nearing my third orgasm of the evening.

"I c-can't," I wail, gasping and moaning as he laughs darkly against my pussy. He lets go of my thigh only briefly to land a firm smack on my ass.

"You can, and you will," he growls, voice low and leaving no room for questioning his command. His lips close around my clit and suck, looking up at me through half-lidded, dark, fierce eyes as I choke on a scream. Giving up on the headboard, I fist my hands in Leo's curly hair, whole body trembling as I come against his mouth for the third time. He laps it up greedily, burying his tongue as deep as he can to coax every drop of my release from me.

My body almost gives up on me, tipping to the side as my jelly legs fail to continue to hold me up. Still riding high and almost drunk on pleasure, I hardly notice when Leo catches me smoothly, flipping us around so he's above me. His lower face shines, swollen, slick lips parted as he pants with a filthy grin.

"You think you've got another one in you?"

He doesn't give me a chance to respond, promptly wriggling down the bed to stuff his face back between my legs, moaning against my oversensitive pussy as he gets another taste. My limp, exhausted body responds to his encouragement, every nerve on fire as he swirls his tongue around my folds.

"T-Too much," I whimper, useless hands half-heartedly fisting the sheets at my sides. "Can't- Leo, fuck, please, gonna fuckin' break me-"

"One more," he whispers against me, looking up from between my thighs and reaching his hands to lace his fingers with mine. "Give me one more, babe, then we're done, I promise."

I whine in protest on behalf of my tired body, but I nod. Leo grins and dives back down, nose nudging my swollen clit as he presses softer, languid open-mouthed kisses against my cunt. It's so much, pleasure feeling like a wrecking ball as my heart pounds against my ribs, and tears spring hot to my eyes.

It takes barely a few minutes for Leo to draw one last orgasm from me, my whole being exhausted and milked dry as I grind shakily against his tongue. His fingers squeeze mine tightly, grounding and reassuring as he drinks down my release, sighing happily as he makes me come for the fourth time.

With one final kiss, soft and sweet, between my legs, Leo crawls up the bed to press his lips to my forehead. "Thank you, oh, you did so good for me, I'm so proud of you, honey..."

I cling to him weakly, sniffling slightly as my body quivers underneath him, but a small smile tugs at my lips as he litters kisses all over my face. His praise is constant, his earlier frustration vanished as he wraps me up in his arms and gently wipes the tears from my cheeks.

"Shh, I know, it was a lot, huh?" he coos, nuzzling his nose into my cheek. "Thank you so much, I needed that, needed to feel my baby falling apart for me... let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

In a little bit, I'll get him to talk; ask him how his day was, why he was so upset earlier. For now, I'm dazed and exhausted but happy, more than content to stay cuddled up in Leo's arms, whispered promises of a homecooked meal settling warm in my chest.

-------------------------

a bit of a shorter one but i very much hope you enjoyed!

[elliespassagerprincess]

pls make reader and milf!abby have a baby together 😭😭😭

Baby - part 1/3 (Milf!Abby x reader)

This is going to be a 3 part series! Part 2 will be released soon:)

Milf abby: Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

baby series: part 1 part 2 part 3

masterlist

Authors note: i'm back fr, i finally finished with exams and I'm here to spam with fics again

☆ Milf Abby who was happy with the life the two of you were already living but something was missing.

☆Milf Abby who always thought you were good with kids

☆ Milf Abby who never really thought about having another kid until she married you.

☆ Milf Abby who thinks about it a little too much, if she has to be honest

☆ Milf Abby who never brought up the conversation of having another baby even though you were hinting at having another kid.

"Abby isn’t this cute" you said with a pout as you handed her a onesie you bought for Mel's baby shower.

"Abby look" you pointed at Aubrey playing with one of your collogues newborn baby: "she’d be such a good big sister"

☆ Milf Abby who would only nod or smile at whatever you had to say involving babies because she was terrified.

☆ Milf Abby who was asked about when the two of you were gonna have a baby.

"So..." Nora started

"yeah?" the blonde looked at her with a raised eyebrow

"when are you and your girl gonna have a baby?"

suddenly Abby's body went cold, she could hear her heart beating out of her chest and she silently stared at Nora with wide eyes.

"We um-"

"Abby having another baby?"

They heard a voice talk from behind them. Both of the girls heads snapped into the direction of the voice and there stood Mel, still heavily pregnant.

"When you have a kid you should be able to play with them, and to run around- don’t you think you passed that stage already? Don’t you have back pain or something?"

"Mel" Nora said sternly.

"no Nora she has to hear the truth" Mel replied.

Abby met the eyes of the brunette and Mel gave her a sympathetic smile: "by the time your baby is ten you'd almost be sixty, you'd be her grandma Abby"

☆ Milf Abby who agreed with Mel.

☆ Milf Abby who avoided you for a few days because she felt like she was keeping you back in life.

"Can you shut the fuck up" she said with a frustrated sigh.

You looked at her with a raised eyebrow. You knew there was something wrong due to her distant behavior recently. You thought she was stressed, tired maybe.

“Abby I just asked if you wanted something to eat”

Abby looked at you with a blank facial expression, before she looked down to the floor, brining her head into her hands.

You walked towards her putting your hand on her shoulder “talk to me abs”

you felt her muscles tense underneath your touch “c’mon Abby you can tell me anything”

she finally looked up from her hands, and she made brief eye contact with you before she looked away once again

“I-“

“spit it out”

“I don’t think we should have a baby”

“what?”

“listen baby” she started, and she gently took your hands into hers as she saw your eyes fill with tears

“I did some thinking, and I don’t think we should have a baby because I’m happy just with you and Aubrey. Don’t you think another baby will complicate our life?”

You stared at her in shock, how could she not tell you about this earlier?

“Abby you knew. You fucking knew I wanted to have kids, and you said you wanted the same. Now you want to change your mind?”

“Can I not change my mind?”

“You have every right to, but you know how I felt about having kids. You know that I've always wanted to be a mom"

She knew that. She knew all of this.

“aren’t you already a mom to Aubrey? Are you saying my daughter isn't good enough?”

“I did not fucking say that and you know that”

“but you meant it”

“fuck you” was all you said as you got up and walked towards the room the two of you shared.

She doesn’t know why she said that.

God Abby fucking knows what she said was wrong. It's not that she doesn’t want to have kids, its just she knew Mel had a point. She would be in her sixties by the time your baby would be done with high school.

Maybe she was too old after all.

☆ Milf Abby who had to listen to you sob throughout the night.

☆ Milf Abby who tried talking to you the next morning.

Abby let out a groan as she heard Aubrey giggle. She brought her hands up to her eyes as she opened them.

The light has always been bright in the living, but jesus she didn’t know they were this fucking bright.

Abby winched as she sat up from the couch, her limbs felt like they were burning. Her eyes fell on you and Aubrey. The two of you were eating and smiling, and as she took in the scene and she knew it was fucked up of her to say what she said yesterday.

Abby got up, still feeling stiff but she made her way towards the two people who she loved the most.

Aubrey gave her a bug smile and muttered a quick "good morning mommy" before she ran to her room. She smiled at her daughters before she focused her attention towards you.

You didn't even look at her.

She felt sick to her stomach.

“I left some eggs for you” was all you said before you walked out the kitchen.

Abby really fucked up.

☆ Milf Abby who tried getting your attention all week but you ignored her.

☆ Milf Abby who tried talking to you but all you replied with was “I don’t want to talk”

☆ Milf Abby who finally had enough and she decided that she should tell you what actually happened.

☆ Milf Abby who showed up to your classroom once again.

The room was empty and you stood with your back facing away from the door. Abby quietly walked towards you.

“hi”

she watched as your body jerked “jesus Abby I told you that you should start knocking” you said out of breath.

"Sorry" she mumbled

"can we talk?" she watched you facial expression turn cold.

“sure”

“thank you”

The room was filled a awkward silence, it was tense and it felt suffocating.

“talk Abby, I have things to do”

“I'm sorry”

“is sorry all you can fucking say?”

Abby wanted to bang her head against a wall.

“I want to have a baby with you”

“aw you changed your mind? What happened? Did I force you Abby? Are you sure you want this Abby? Oh wait! I don’t think I want to be a mom anymore, since you said that I m practically going to replace Aubrey. Oops let me-"

"it was Mel"

"what did Mel do?"

And the truth came out. Abby told you everything she said, how I made her feel.

You gave her a sympathetic smile before you spoke again: "You need to stop letting people tell you you're too old Abby. You keep losing opportunities, you keep giving yup your dreams, as soon as someone says something. You need to learn that you should stop listing to what others have to say about your age"

“I know but its hard” Abby muttered.

You got up and you walked towards her and you pulled her into a tight up “I know, but we’ll work though it. I’ll help you with whatever and if you don’t want to have a baby its ok-"

"no no I want to have a baby. I want to have one with you"

a smile spread onto your face.

"can we have a baby?" Abby asked.

"if you start working on your self confidence and you stop listing to what bitches have to say about you I will then we can have a baby"

"yes ma'am, i'll do whatever you say"

"one more thing Abby"

"yeah?"

"Don't ever talk to me in that way again. What you said really hurt my feelings, and i understand you were hurting too but it didn't give you the right to talk to me in that way. I love Aubrey more than anything so don't say that again"

"I'm so sorry baby i really am, i there anything i can do to make it up to you?"

"You can start by getting me chocolate milk"

☆ Milf Abby who made it up to you by apologizing over a million times, and by doing every single thing you said.

☆ Milf Abby who immediately started looking for doctors and baby names.

☆ Milf Abby who blocked Mel because fuck her and her fucking opinions.

☆ Milf Abby who did started working on her self confidence and she immediately felt better about everything.

☆ Milf Abby who was excited to have a baby with you.

<3

My pookies (the taglist): @lia-winther @hellorai

[enzstr]

Only You || K. Bakugo

Pairing: Bakugo x Reader

synopsis: starz26708 and Dino.tnt609, two students who first met in an online chatroom. A friendship had flourished between them. With the strong need to meet each other, 6aku.tnt609 slowly gains curiosity regarding the other's identity, which sparked the desire to meet her within him. What could possibly go wrong?

💭: btw, this is inspired from the Chad Michael Murray and Hilary Duff movie A Cinderella's Story!!

words: 1.8k

Chapter 1: Morning and Night.

Dino.tnt609: “I need to know who you are?”

Dino.tnt609: “I can’t take my mind off you.”

Dino.tnt609: “Please tell me who you are?”

starz26708: “Soon, I promise.”

Reader’s POV:

It all started with a chatroom, where two people have the same interest, same mindset, basically the same person but opposite genders. That’s when our friendship started. I learnt to know everything about him but his name and how he looks, and honestly that never bothered me. I was really ecstatic to text with a person who I don’t really know, yet at the same time I knew everything about him. 

Both of us would text each other for hours without stopping, and everytime we did, I always had a smile plastered to my face. Those words he used were what caught my attention. The way he uses words was exceptionally poetic to me and I never want him to stop. Many times I have doubted that he’s real and could be just some dumb person fooling around, however my gut didn’t think so. 

starz26708: “We’ve been texting for hours and it’s getting so late!”

Dino.tnt609: “And we can still keep going, no?”

I laughed at his reply to my message and typed out my last reply before heading to bed.

starz26708: “Very funny. I need to head to sleep now.”

starz26708: “Goodnight, Dino.”

After I sent that text, my body went limp into my bed and slept soundly with the desire to meet this “Dino” guy.

On the following day, the morning sun bathed the world in a brilliant golden hue, its gentle touch bringing a sense of peace and clarity, accompanied by the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves, the only sounds in the peaceful summer morning.

As the engine’s soft whir filled the air, the sun’s rays streamed through the glass window. The radio played a familiar tune in the car, and me and my best friend, Cece, chatted excitedly about the new hit song that was gaining traction in newspaper articles, laughter breaking the silence as the car drove towards the school.

As I was about to park your car into the perfect spot in the near-empty parking lot, another vehicle suddenly cut into the space just before me, causing me to slam on the brakes in surprise. Frustration washed over me and I let out a frustrated sigh, realising I would have to find another spot now.

“Damn, why didn’t they see we were about to park there? I’m about to throw hands man, I swear to god!”

“They’re not bad! ‘M pretty sure they never saw us and it’s fine, I’ll find a new parking spot!” I tried to reassure my best friend who was sitting in the passenger seat with a scowl on her face. 

At that moment, my eyes narrowed in annoyance as the man I strongly disliked emerged from his vehicle, Bakugo Katsuki. I couldn't help but scoff at his audacity as he slammed the car door shut. His presence instantly annoyed me, and my gaze lingered on him with a mixture of annoyance and disdain as he casually strolled towards the building with his friends. Why do I dislike him? My dislike for him began to build from the moment I met him. His cocky attitude and arrogant demeanour immediately rubbed me the wrong way, and his tendency to constantly boast about himself only got me even more frustrated. He often looked down on others and had a habit of interrupting conversations, which only added to my growing dislike of him.

Our gazes met, but instead of the usual welcoming eye contact, a wave of tension filled the air. The way our eyes locked in a stern and serious manner reflected the dislike and annoyance we felt towards each other. His friend group that included Denki, Mina, Kirishima and Sero looked towards my face then at his, as if we’re having a staring competition. 

His friends pulled him away and bowed in an apologetic manner as Cece did the same. Soon after they were gone, I regained my consciousness and drove to an empty parking lot without anyone disturbing me, until Cece had a confused look all over her face. We both hurriedly ran into the school to prevent being late, and gladly we weren’t. The school hallways were filled with shouts and loud chattering of students, and students rushing in all places to reach their classes on time. The hallways were packed with people, the cramped space making it harder to find your classes. The air was filled with the sound of voices and footsteps, as students chattered excitedly or hurried along to their classrooms. Unfortunately that was where we both had to separate and head to our own classes. Of course you find Bakugo in the same class as you are in this year, again. Every year bad luck would always be with you when it comes to matters like this, but you tried not to show any reaction and handled it professionally.

Bakugo’s POV:

My attention wavered between the teacher's lecture and the thoughts swirling in my mind. I couldn't help but think about the girl I’ve always been texting, someone I had only known through a computer screen, and I don’t even know who her identity is. Our conversations replayed in my head, and I longed to know more about her in person. My gaze occasionally darted to my phone, checking for any new messages, but the lack of communication only seemed to strengthen my growing feelings for her.

Hell, it is strange that I feel like this towards someone whom I’ve never met face to face, but with her, it’s like I can be myself. Not that grumpy and serious demeanour, but my authentic self. Despite our connection being online, I found a sense of comfort with her. I found myself opening up to her, sharing my true thoughts and feelings without the fear of judgement or rejection. Something about connecting with her through the computer screen allowed me to be my authentic self, and I valued the genuine connection we had built despite the distance between us.

The sudden loud ring of the school bell startled me, causing my head to jolt up as the realization that school had ended hit me. The classroom erupted with the sounds of shuffling desks and bags being packed, signalling freedom that came with the end of the school day.

With a subtle sense of anticipation, I instinctively grabbed my phone from my pocket and checked for any new messages or notifications. My fingers swiped across the screen as I opened my messaging app, eager to see if she had reached out to me in the time I had been in class.

Dino.tnt609: “Where have you been? We haven’t talked in ages.”

Barely five minutes had passed when my phone vibrated, signalling a new message notification. I quickly checked the screen and saw that she had responded, a wave of anticipation and excitement washing over me as I read her reply.

starz26708: Gee you missed me that much?

starz26708: I just finished school. 

Dino.tnt609: I  can’t stop thinking about you.

Dino.tnt609: What’s on your mind right now?

starz26708: You first.

Dino.tnt609: Well I’m thinking that Mr. Aizawa would 100% be a caterpillar.

I couldn't help but turn my head and look around, noticing the sea of students in the hallway, all engrossed in their own little worlds as they tapped away at their phones, engaging in conversations or scrolling through social media. The sound of keyboards clicking and the occasional laugh or gasp filled the air, she could be anywhere.

starz26708: LOL

starz26708: I can actually see that!

Dino.tnt609: Oh, I want to hear your laugh.

Dino.tnt609: When can we finally meet?

starz26708: Soon!

I was walking down the hallway, reading through the last text she sent to me on my phone and completely engrossed in my screen, when I suddenly felt a hard bump. Looking up, I found myself face to face with her, the girl I had a strained relationship with, y/n. Our eyes met, and almost instinctively, my expression twisted into a scowl, mirroring the mutual dislike we held for each other. I couldn't help but feel frustrated that we kept running into each other in this annoying and seemingly endless way.

“Watch where you’re going.” I could hear the groan in her tone after she replied, seemingly rolling her eyes at me too.

“Your fault for not looking.”

After our brief and tense exchange, I felt a sense of irritation and frustration wash over me, and I know she did too. We both groaned in annoyance and hurried past each other, eager to put some distance between us and forget about the unpleasant interaction we just had.

Third person’s POV:

Y/n was in a busy computer room, surrounded by a sea of students working on their respective screens. Despite the crowded space, she began typing messages to her online friend, Kat.tnt609,  trying to maintain a casual air while sitting amongst the other students. 

starz26708: Ever feel like you don’t belong?

Dino.tnt609: Absolutely.

Dino.tnt609: I can be surrounded by a sea of people and still feel all alone.

Dino.tnt609: Then I think of you.

Her face immediately lit up as she read the text, a slow and genuine smile spreading across her features, transforming her expression from one of neutrality to one of pleasant surprise and happiness.

starz26708: Hey Dino, do you think we’ve ever met?

Dino.tnt609: I don’t know.

Dino.tnt609: Our school has over 660 students.

She was busy typing a message to him on the school computer, completely unaware that the person on the other side of the screen was someone sitting in the very same room with her. Little did she know, the person she was communicating with was actually the opposite of what she had envisioned, right there under her nose, engaging in a secret yet intriguing exchange of words.

What started as an innocent text conversation between the two rapidly turned into a marathon chat session, with each message leading to another, until the clock hit 2 and they finally realized just how much time had passed in their conversation.

starz26708: It’s 2:00 a.m.

starz26708: We’ve been at this for 4 hours

Dino.tnt609: Hm, then I think we just broke our record.

starz26708: We should head to sleep. 

starz26708: Sweet dreams.

Dino.tnt609: Wait.

Dino.tnt609: My heart swells with admiration I can hardly keep. 

Dino.tnt609: For in your peaceful, soft expression,

Dino.tnt609: I see the best of what life has to offer, and no contradiction.

Dino.tnt609: For when you sleep, you are at your most beautiful,

Dino.tnt609: Like a precious gem, shining in the soft light of the night.

starz26708: New verse? Impressive.

starz26708: I like it.

Dino.tnt609: Please meet me at the school’s party.

Dino.tnt609: I’ll be waiting for you at 11:00 in the middle of the dance floor.

Dino.tnt609: Sweet dreams.

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