#like more than just the side to side shuffle i always did

[anything-pov]

reader is COLD

that's all i got

Enjoy :)

The Famous Sweatshirt 🥶

Emily sat behind her desk, flipping through case updates with her usual sharp focus, one leg tucked under the other, reading glasses perched low on her nose.

She glance up absently, just a habitual scan of the BAU bullpen, when she caught a movement out the corner of her eye. The newest addition to the BAU, Agent Y/N Y/L/N, sitting stiffly at her desk.

Head down, posture tight, and most notably... shivering.

Emily frowned. Y/N was still relatively new, five weeks in, sharp like her, well-versed in profiling and always meticulous in her reports. But she was quiet. Painfully quiet.

The kind of agent who always showed up on time, worked through lunch and never joined the team for drinks or dinner. A mystery in her own right.

And Emily, against her better judgement, had noticed her a little more than she probably should have. Y/N's thin button up did little to combat the spring chill that lingered in the BAU air conditioning.

Emily's gaze dropped to the bottom drawer of her desk. Without hesitation, she reached down, tugged it open and pulled out her spare FBI sweatshirt. Dark navy crew neck that was soft with age.

She stood, straightening the sleeves. With casual ease masking her fluttering nerves, the Chief made her way down the steps toward the desks in the bullpen.

Y/N looked up halfway through a sentence in her report, blinking in surprise at the sight of her Chief standing there. "Agent Y/L/N..." Emily said softly, offering her sweatshirt, "You looked cold."

Y/N's cheeks coloured immediately, "Oh... I.. uh, thank you, ma'am. I didn't realise I was-" Emily held her hand up gently, "It's alright," Emily smiled, gently pushing the sweater closer. "It's clean. I keep a spare."

Y/N accepted it with a smile, holding the fabric like it was something sacred, "this is really kind of you.. thank you." Emily nodded, lingering for a second longer than necessary, then, her tone gentled just a bit.

"Have you eaten today?"

Y/N blinked again, "Um... no, ma'am. I'm behind on the daily updates... and..." Y/N shuffled papers against her desk. "Emily," the Chief corrected with a warmer smile.

"Come on, it's sunny out, you've earned at least ten minutes." Y/N hesitated, Emily tilted her head, lowering her voice so it was just between them.

"Coffee. On me. We'll sit outside. You don't have to talk if you don't want to." A pause, then, slowly, the young agent nodded. "...okay."

Emily's chest did something traitorous and warm. She gestured toward the bullpen side doors. "Grab your badge. I'll meet you by the elevators."

As Y/N slid Emily's sweatshirt on, sleeves a little long over her wrists, Emily turned to head back upstairs, smiling quietly to herself. The coffee might just be ten minutes in the sun.

But to her, it already felt like the start of something worth being patient for.

[kissesofluv]

The Quiet Flame

a/n: a very much self indulgent selfship short fic, my idea of how our love started :3 (aiken lore)

Past — Jujutsu High

You’d always known Nanami was different. While others your age at Jujutsu High grumbled about training, cursed technique theory, or Gojo’s spontaneous chaos, not cheerful like Haibara, completely opposite even.. Nanami moved with an unshakable calm. Reserved. Precise. He wasn’t cold—just... careful. He wasn't even from a sorcerer family... Still he managed everything very well.

You first started working together in the first year, at a mission in Aomori. A grade 2 curse. He took the lead, but made sure to check in with you before every decision.

“Stay behind me,” he said quietly. “Your cursed technique is more ranged. I’ll take the first blow.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered. “You could just say you care” you mumbled.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “I don’t joke about life-or-death situations.”

You didn’t know it then, but that was Nanami’s version of I care too much.

From then on, small things began to add up. He waited for you after training. Carried an extra bottle of water. Spoke your name softer than he did anyone else’s. It was like watching snow melt slowly—nothing dramatic, just a quiet shift into warmth.

You found yourself lingering after missions, walking beside him back to your dorms, heart thudding when your fingers brushed. He never pulled away.

It took months, but one late autumn evening, under a sky bruised with twilight, you both stayed behind in the training yard. You’d just helped him patch a shallow cut on his arm.

He watched your hands, then looked up at you. “You make things feel... less heavy.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly. “Nanami—”

“I like you.” The words were blunt, rushed, as if he’d rehearsed them a hundred times but still couldn’t quite believe he said them. “I’ve liked you for a long time. I just didn’t want to lose focus. Or put you in danger. Or—”

You leaned forward and kissed him—just a soft press of lips, anchoring him to the moment.

“You overthink,” you whispered.

He let out a breathy laugh. “And you don’t think enough.”

You smiled. “Guess we balance each other.”

Present Day - The married life <3

The scent of coffee greeted you before you opened your eyes.

You shuffled into the kitchen, still in your robe, finding Nanami already dressed, as he poured your mug exactly the way you liked it.

“You were mumbling about cursed spirits in your sleep again,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

You smirked, taking the mug and wrapping an arm around his waist. “You still love me, though.”

“I married you,” he said dryly, kissing your temple. “That was my first mistake.”

You swatted him lightly and he caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

He softened—like he always did with you. “You were the best decision I’ve ever made.”

The years hadn’t dulled the feeling. If anything, every morning together added to it. There were still tough days, still late-night missions and haunted expressions. But you’d face them the same way you always had—side by side.

Slow love, steady hands, and a quiet flame that never went out.

[silksandcravats]

No Sleeping Alone - Dean x Reader HC

headcanon on boyfriend!dean who does NOT condone sleeping apart from you.

After years of lonely trips and no true closeness, Dean finally had you. And he refuses to spend any more nights alone, at least, not when you’re under the same roof.

No matter what.

Lovers quarrels are inevitable. Dean had always been a hothead, his anger boiled fast, and his sharp words shot out even faster.

Going into the whole thing, you knew your relationship would require strong patience on your end.

But you’re only human, so sometimes you’d snap, and call him out on his shit.

The fight grew to a peak, and to his credit, Dean was the one who stepped away first. Biting his tongue and exiting the room before he said something he really couldn’t take back.

You both keep your distance the rest of the day, opting to cool off in private.

The bunker was vast enough for you to comfortably avoid each other. Even through dinner, you both had found your own quiet moment to sneak in and out of the kitchen in record time.

You don’t know where to go as the day winds down, so you end up back in your old room. It was only a few doors further down the hallway, and you’d occupied it for quite a while.

Only it felt unfamiliar now. The very same room that was once your personal sanctuary now seemed cold and empty.

And damn it have queen mattresses always been this big?

It was just too much empty space for one person.

Still, it felt like the right thing to do, you both needed space to cool off. And the bedroom you now shared had been Dean’s first, so of course you should be the one to go.

This was the most logical place to spend the night.

It all made perfect sense, but you were still feeling sad and lonely as you curled up under the covers.

You pressed your eyes shut, trying to force sleep to come to you. Surely if you just held them shut long enough you’d drift off.

But you didn’t.

You wiggled around the ample empty space of the mattress, unsure what to do with yourself. So uncomfortable with the lack of a second, larger, warmer body, with grabby hands and little regard for how much space he took up.

You tapped out first most nights, you had no problem keeping late hours, but you needed your eight hours. Dean, on the other hand could go on four, even less sometimes. (No matter how many times you tried to convince him he needed more.)

So it took a while for Dean to realize what you’d done. But realize he did.

Eventually the door to your old room creaked open, and you didn’t flinch, you didn’t even have to turn to know who was there.

“There you are,” he sighed with relief.

Realistically, you’d always been somewhere in the bunker, where would you ever go? But in his panic, that logic hadn’t held.

“Why the hell are you in here?”

He’s irritated, but not like before. He’s not irritated at you, he’s irritated at the absense of you.

“I think we both need some space,” you sighed, back still to him.

“No.” He dismissed firmly.

“No?” You questioned back.

“We’re not fucking doing this,” he announced, decidedly gripping you and tossing you over his shoulder.

You yelped, wriggling in his grasp until a firm swat to your backside stilled your squirming.

“Damn it, Dean! Did you forget we’re fighting?” you grunted, his shoulder digging harshly into your stomach.

“Well then we’ll work it out now, or tomorrow, I don’t really care but you’re sleeping with me.”

He deposited you on the side of the bed further from the door, your side.

You shuffled under the covers, propping your pillow so it was just so. You were trying to busy yourself with anything other than watching him strip down to his boxers and crawl in beside you.

Even in the early days, before anything was official, sharing a bed with Dean had always meant cuddles. Back to his front, chest to chest, you laying atop him.

You’d even managed to spoon him a few times when he was very very tired. The position was awkward, and your arms would ache the next morning, but for all that he did you felt he deserved to be held sometimes.

Now, for the first time, you were trying to keep space between you. It felt appropriate. It wasn’t as if you could erase the events of the day just because it was bedtime.

(Dean disagreed.)

“I’m too tired for this. C’mere,” He grunted.

He moved your unwilling limbs like a ragdoll, forcing you where he wanted you.

First, the hand around your waist tugged you, middle first against his body. His other arm around your back brought your chest completely flush to his, while a thick, muscled leg around yours brought the rest of you in. He had effectively trapped you against him.

“You go right here,” he hummed decidedly, tucking you in beneath the blanket.

“Dean-“ you protested weakly, not even convincing yourself.

“Where you belong,” his voice was low, content, and final.

As you laid in his arms your mood shifted, time had a way of making old anger feel pointless. You sank into his hold without even meaning to.

However mad you’d felt earlier couldn’t compare to the peace you felt now. The utter relief of being him his arms superseded any other feeling.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” you whispered after some time had passed.

You didn’t know if he was still awake, if he’d heard you until he answered.

“M’always gonna come get ya.” His tired voice croaked, chest rumbling against you. “You’re not going anyway.”

“Don’t want to go anywhere,” you agreed sleepily, wiggling closer against him.

“Good.”

[arc852]

Going Back and Moving On

Summary: Skizz is fourteen when he decides to try and get some closure.

Word Count: 4291

AO3 Link

It's another blast from the past, though this time Imp and Skizz are a little bit older! I hope you guys enjoy!

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 Skizz was fourteen when he finally felt brave enough to go back into the walls.

 It was on a random day, a school day, Skizz was reminded as he woke up and saw Impulse stuffing his bag with homework before moving to gather some clothes to get changed with. Skizz yawned and turned away, allowing himself a few extra minutes of shut eye before Impulse came over to ‘wake’ him up.

 Skizz listened to the shifting and shuffling of Impulse getting ready as he burrowed himself more into his own blankets. He was currently on Impulse’s nightstand in a small blanket that Impulse had wrapped around many times to make a sort of nest for Skizz to sleep in. Skizz always went back and forth between this spot and under the bed when it came to sleeping. Sometimes, he would even sleep on Impulse, it always depended.

 But he had been on the nightstand last night, so it was a lot easier for Impulse to come over and nudge at him gently with a finger. “Come on Skizz, I know you aren’t actually sleeping.” Impulse said and Skizz groaned. After four years, it was hard to hide anything from Impulse anymore. Even something as simple as pretending to still be asleep.

 Skizz huffed and turned himself over, glaring up at Impulse as Impulse simply returned the look with a smile. “Unless you want to make me late for school, you better start getting ready.” Impulse said, his arms were crossed but his tone was light.

 Skizz groaned but finally sat up, raising his arms up in order to stretch them. Impulse watched him fondly, a look that Skizz was far too used to at this point. “Actually,” Skizz started, looking off to the side. “I think I’m gonna stay here today, if that’s alright with you.” Skizz said with a simple shrug, although his heart was beating a bit faster than normal. It had nothing to do with Impulse, however, but of Skizz’s well thought out plans for the day once Impulse actually left.

 Impulse blinked, confused. “Oh-I mean, yeah of course.” Impulse said, his confusion slowly turning into a smile. It wasn’t like this was the first time Skizz hadn’t gone with him to school. It just hadn’t really happened in a while. “Did you need me to set anything out for you?” Impulse asked as he reached over and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

 Skizz thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. There wasn’t really anything Impulse could give to him for what he needed to do. “Nah, I’m okay.” Skizz said and Impulse nodded.

 “If you’re sure. I’ll see you after school then. Make sure to hide if you hear mom coming up though.” Impulse added on at the end, a bit of worry seeping through his tone.

 Skizz rolled his eyes affectionately. “I know, I know.” Even after so many years of knowing each other and keeping Skizz hidden, Impulse still couldn’t help but be worried about Skizz being found out. Skizz was thankful he was so careful but at the same time, if Impulse’s parents, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t found out about him by this point in time, then they probably never would. “Now get going or you’ll be late.” Skizz said with a slight laugh. Impulse chuckled and waved goodbye before leaving his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving Skizz alone.

 Skizz took a few deep breaths, his smile slipping as soon as he knew Impulse was gone. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and letting the tiredness he still felt take over him for a moment. It would be so easy for him to fall back asleep. To forget about his plan and simply get a few more hours of rest.

 But Skizz needed to do this.

 With a sigh, Skizz opened his eyes again and threw off the blanket in order for him to stand up fully. He stretched a bit more before reaching for his borrowing bag and hook. His borrowing bag was the only thing he still had from his previous life in the walls. And the hook had been given to him by Impulse a little after they had first met. It allowed Skizz some small sense of independence, being able to get around on his own. Not that Skizz didn’t like being carried everywhere by Impulse, but the option was nice to have.

 He used his hook to get down from the nightstand and then slowly made his way over toward Impulse’s desk. Sure, he could have used the entrance underneath the bed, it was far closer after all. But Skizz needed the extra time to really think about what he was doing. Of course by taking the long way he risked bailing all together but Skizz was confident he could go through with it.

 His grip on his bag strap tightened as he got closer. It had been so long since he had last been in the walls. The last time being right after he had met Impulse. Seeing the wreckage his dad had left…he hadn’t gone back since. And really, there had been no reason for him to go back. He had Impulse now, a real home where he was taken care of and had someone who actually cared about him. Why would he ever even need to go back?

 …Skizz had been thinking about that question a lot lately.

 Too much, some might say, especially since it had been four years since everything had happened. A good four years. The best four years of Skizz’s short life. So with such a good life now, why did his mind start to wander back into the walls? Why couldn’t he just let it go?

 He thought about talking to Impulse about this, but Skizz knew this was something he had to figure out on his own. And he kind of had. Skizz had figured that the only way to stop thinking about the walls was to…go back in them. Maybe closure was what he needed. Because really, leaving how he did, with everything like that, had been far from a satisfying ending.

 Skizz let out a yelp as he suddenly ran into the wall, so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t been paying attention to how close he was getting. He backed up a few steps and rubbed at his face, thankful Impulse hadn’t been around to see that.

 He looked at the wall in front of him, his heart beating loud in his ears. His knuckles were turning white with how tight he was holding onto the strap of his bag and his breathing was picking up a bit more. Everything in him was screaming to turn back around and leave it. 

 But he had to do this.

 Before he could hesitate anymore, he pushed against the wall’s secret entrance and slipped inside. The walls were dark. Far darker than he remembered them being. He rubbed at his eyes and they slowly started to adjust, but it wasn’t anywhere close to adjusting to how it used to be. All these years out of the walls must have changed his eyes.

 He shook his head and pushed oneward, one hand against the walls to ground himself more than anything. He didn’t need to see much anyway, he supposed. He knew where to go, even after all this time. His body moved on instinct, turning left and then right, and left again. He was close now. 

 And then there it was. The hand made door that led into his old home, something his dad had made years before he had been born. He placed his hand on it and then took it off just as quickly. His mouth was dry and he already felt tears prick the corners of his eyes despite the fact he wasn’t even inside yet. He took another deep breath and placed his hand back on the door, pushing it open before he could decide otherwise.

 A small part of him almost expected to see his father standing there, waiting for him. But of course, Skizz was met with an empty home. Skizz stayed in the doorway for a long moment, simply staring inside. He could see the main room from where he was and it was exactly as he had left it. Things were toppled over and broken or otherwise completely destroyed. The only difference being the thick layer of dust that had accumulated over the years.

 Skizz took a step inside. And then another. And another. And soon he found himself in the center of it all. His eyes scanned over everything and he couldn’t help but remember the feeling from before. When he had seen the wreckage for the first time. He let out a shaky breath and continued further into the home. His bedroom door was open, just as he had left it. He could already see what had been ingrained in his mind since that day. His old hook and string still layed on the floor, bent and cut.

 He reached toward his side and absentmindedly grazed the hook that hung at his hip.

 He supposed that was as best of a place as any to start. He all but fell to his knees, wincing as he was reminded of how he had done so before, and carefully started to pick up the mess. He gathered all 18 pieces of his old string and his bent hook before standing and moving back into the main room. 

 There was still a small plastic bag in the area they had used to eat and store food and so Skizz threw the broken pieces of his old life into it.

 He didn’t expect to feel all that different. But…he did feel a bit lighter. Throwing it away felt so final. And when he closed his eyes, the room in his mind no longer held the broken hook and string either. Skizz smiled to himself, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

 He turned back toward the rest of the place. It was time to put this all to rest.

 Skizz proceeded to spend the next several hours cleaning. He threw things that were too broken away, but if they didn’t seem too bad Skizz made an effort to try and fix it with some materials he had found lying around. He didn’t always succeed but on a few things, he managed to get it looking okay and placed it back where it had gone before. He dusted everywhere, using an old feather he found to push the dust out. And as Skizz cleaned and fixed things, it became less stuffy inside, bit by bit.

 Skizz wiped some sweat off his forehead as he managed to finish both the main room and his room. Of course, things weren’t exactly the same as before. He had to throw a lot of stuff away after all. And he couldn’t exactly fix the dent in the wall. His dad had gone especially crazy inside his room. But it was as neat as it could be and that’s all that really mattered.

 He didn’t live here anymore anyway, so the lack of personality was just fine by Skizz.

 He left his room, throwing one last thing away and noticing the bag was starting to get too full. Thankfully, he only had one last room left to clean out. Unfortunately, that room happened to be his dad’s.

 He glanced over in the direction of the closed door. Even back then, Skizz hadn’t looked in the room. He had been too distracted by how everything else looked to even think about going in there. Whatever was behind that door was a mystery to Skizz, one that scared him more than he was willing to admit.

 But he was so close to getting this done. So close to that closure he sought after. He could do this one last room.

 He pushed it open and what he saw behind the door…didn’t surprise him.

 Most everything was just completely gone. There were a few things tossed around here and there, a few broken pieces but mostly the room itself was empty.

 Skizz let out a small sigh. His dad must have taken most of his things with him when he left. Honestly, this was the best case scenario for Skizz. It meant he didn’t have to look at anything new that would remind him of his dad. He grabbed the feather and started cleaning the room, dusting the floor and throwing what little was inside away.

 Coming back into the room, he made his way toward one of the only pieces of furniture left inside, a wooden handmade dresser that his dad had made around the same time he had made all of their doors. What was weird about the dresser though, was that it seemed to be the only thing in the entire place that had remained untouched. It wasn’t broken and the door was firmly shut. Skizz reached for the handle and pulled it open.

 At first glance, Skizz thought the dresser was completely empty. But looking closer, pushed into the very corner of the dresser, was a bag.

 Skizz was confused. Surely his dad would have taken his borrowing bag with him. But as he pulled it out, he realized it looked nothing like how his dad’s had.

 Skizz’s breath hitched and he almost desperately turned it over, looking frantically at the precise stitching. And then he saw it. His eyes widened and he carefully grazed his thumb over the name that was stitched into the side of the bag. Small enough to not draw attention but noticeable, like the person who left it was too proud of her work to leave it without.

 This was his mom’s bag.

 Why would his dad not take it though? Surely his dad would have wanted to keep this, to remember her by…Although, his father seemed pretty adamant on not wanting anymore reminders of his wife. It was his whole reasoning for abandoning him after all.

 Either way, whether his dad left the bag on purpose or accident, it didn’t really matter. What did matter was that he had it now.

 Skizz carefully slipped off his own bag, noticing how his mom’s was bigger. He set his bag on the floor and put his mom’s bag over his shoulder instead. Again, the bulk of it was bigger and it would take some getting used to, but it felt…right. He knelt down on the floor and opened his bag and then his mom’s, getting ready to transfer everything over. But he paused when he opened his mom’s bag and saw a folded up piece of paper inside.

 It was otherwise empty but Skizz couldn’t stop his hand from shaking as he reached for it. He turned it over and his heart just about leaped out of his chest when he saw his own name on the front of it.

 Slowly, he turned the paper back around and started unfolding it. There were paragraphs of words on the paper, all in the same style as the stitched name on his mom’s bag. Swallowing the forming lump in his throat, his eyes started to scan the page.

 Skizz,

 I’m not doing well. 

 I know that’s no way to start a letter, especially to my own baby, but the truth is the further I get into this pregnancy the weaker I feel. I can barely even get out of bed anymore and I sleep more often than not. 

 I fear I will not live to see you, my sweet baby. 

 It took me a while to process that, if I’m being honest. That I won’t get to see you, or hold you, or watch you grow up. I cried for a good few hours straight once I realized. But…I think I’m okay now. I still wish it wasn’t the case, of course, but if it means you get to live then I would happily give my life for yours.

 …Your father doesn’t know how bad it really is. Or maybe he does and he’s trying to ignore it. Either way he’s running around worried sick over me and you. I’m sure at this point you are well aware of how your father can be when he’s so worried. I can only imagine what he’ll be like when you get sick for the first time. I’m sure you were pampered to the moon and back.

 Skizz paused there, a few tears pooling in his eyes as he processed everything he read in that first chunk. So his mom knew she probably wouldn’t make it. But she had come to terms with it, at least as far as she said in the note. And his father…

 Skizz shook his head and continued reading.

 I decided to write this little note to you, because I want you to know my words at least once. To read with your own eyes how much I love you.

 Okay, Skizz was actively crying now. He did his best to keep the paper away from his falling tears and wiped at his eyes enough to continue reading.

 I’m sure you know this by now but in borrower culture, I would have made you your own bag before you were born and given it to you once you reached the age to go borrowing. I did start one in the very beginning, when I first realized I was pregnant with you, but I’m much too weak now to finish it. So instead, I want to give you my borrowing bag. It’ll be something that can connect the both of us together, even when I’m gone. And that thought alone makes me so happy. I plan on putting this note in my bag for you as well, so that you can read it when you’re old enough to understand.

 I’m not telling your father about the note. Only because he’d probably make me rewrite the whole thing simply because I keep referring to you as Skizz. Your father is so sure you’re going to be a girl. But I know better. I know you. Even if I’ll never get to meet you properly, I know you are my precious little boy and I know that your name is Skizz.

 I’m sorry I can’t be there for you. But I know you are in good hands. Your father assures me everyday that he will spoil you no matter who you turn out to be. I hope he spoils you enough for the both of us. It’s hard, leaving this all to him, but I trust that he’ll keep you safe.

 I love you, Skizz. And though I am not able to be there with you, I hope you can still know how true that is.

 Be good and be you.

 Love,

Mom

 Skizz reread the letter at least another three times before he lowered it. He stared at the bag, tears still in his eyes though he was no longer actively crying. He just felt…sad. Sad for what could have been.

 He wished his dad could’ve been the person his mom had known.

 Unfortunately, he had changed drastically after her death. Something she couldn’t have predicted. But she had wanted the best life possible for him and Skizz’s heart ached for someone he never even knew.

 He couldn’t help but wonder if his mom would be happy with his life as it was now. He was happy, Impulse was the best thing to ever happen to him. But what would his mom think?

 He obviously couldn’t know for sure, but he decided to think that she would also be happy. Happy that he got away from his father who had changed and was living a life where he was actually cared for. At the very least, from her note, she seemed the type of person to feel that way. 

 He carefully folded up the letter again and placed it into one of the many pockets of his mom’s bag for safe keeping. He then proceeded to transfer all of his things over to his new bag and once his old one was empty, he put it in the dresser. The same spot his mom’s bag had been in. There was really no use in taking it with him, after all. It was old and falling apart anyway.

 With his new bag slung over his shoulder, Skizz left his father’s old room, closing the door shut behind him. There was nothing left for him in there. And as he looked to the rest of his old home, he realized there was nothing left for him anywhere. He was happy to see it cleaned and put back together, it certainly did wonders for his want of closure. But now that it was all said and done, there was nothing left for him.

 He gripped tightly on his bag strap before releasing it and letting his hand hang at his side. He went to the front door and glanced back one last time before leaving, making sure he closed the door behind him. His hand stayed on the handle for a bit too long but Skizz couldn’t find it in himself to care. He let out a breath and released his grip on the knob before turning and walking away.

 His new bag was bigger by his side but it felt good, like his borrowing bag finally fit him now. It hit his side gently as he walked along the paths in the walls, back to where he had come in from, back to Impulse’s room. 

 As he stepped back out into the light and made his way past the desk, it was then that there was a sudden knock on the door. Three knocks with a beat of silence in between them, the signal they had long since come up with so Skizz would know it was Impulse coming in and not anyone else.

 There was another beat of nothing before Impulse opened the door and walked in. Skizz watched as Impulse’s eyes first went to the nightstand but before Impulse spent any longer looking for him, Skizz cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled up in his direction. “Impulse! I’m down here!” Skizz said along with a small wave and watched as Impulse’s eyes snapped right to him.

 Impulse smiled and set his backpack at the foot of his bed before coming over and reaching down toward Skizz, scooping him up into his hand with ease. Skizz didn’t even flinch, far used to being picked up. “Hey, how was…” Impulse started to ask as he stood back up but paused when he seemed to notice something. A thumb carefully came forward and rubbed at his arm before coming away and angling itself so Impulse could see the pad of it. Impulse frowned. “Why are you so dusty?”

 Skizz blinked and looked down at himself, not realizing he was covered in dust. It made sense though, of course. He had just spent the last few hours cleaning within the walls. Before Skizz could answer though, because it wasn’t like he was trying to hide it, Impulse’s other hand came up and gently lifted Skizz’s new bag to get a better look at it. Impulse’s eyes were furrowed with confusion. “And wait…this isn’t your bag.”

 A small part of Skizz wanted to rip the bag away from Impulse’s fingers but the majority knew that Impulse was nothing if not gentle and there was really no reason for Skizz to worry about his mom’s bag. “It…is now.” 

 Impulse let the bag slip from his fingers and it fell gently back to Skizz’s side as he waited for Skizz to explain. Skizz sighed and let his hands wander back to the strap of said bag. “I might have gone back into the walls.” Skizz admitted, not quite meeting Impulse’s eyes.

 “Wait, what?” He asked, shock and confusion thick in his tone.

 Skizz just nodded. “I wanted closure. I wanted…I needed to settle my mind. So I went back and cleaned everything up.” Skizz looked back down at his bag, running a hand over it. “I found this tucked away. It…it was my mom’s.”

 “Your mom?” Impulse’s voice was soft when he spoke because he knew more than anyone what this meant. Skizz had shared so much with Impulse about his past, his dad, and the little he knew about his mom. So the fact that he had found something from her, well, Impulse was aware of just how big of a deal that was.

 “Yeah, she left me a note and everything…she knew she was passing away and she wanted me to have her old bag.” Skizz thought about taking the note out and reading it out loud for Impulse but he didn’t think he would be able to get the words out right now. Not out loud and not without crying.

 “Oh Skizz…” Impulse trailed off.

 “I’m okay.” Skizz said and surprisingly, he wasn’t completely lying. “Cleaning my old home…and finding my mom’s old bag…it helped. It helped a lot.”

 Impulse searched his eyes and let out a small sigh before a small smile overtook his features. “Well, I’m glad for that then.” He gently prodded the bag. “It does suit you.” 

 Skizz felt like he was going to cry. He wiped at his eyes to stop any tears from actually falling. “Yeah.” He said, leaning back against Impulse’s fingers, and keeping his hand on the bag, his own fingers grazing over the stitching of his mom’s name. “I think so too.”

[weaverpop]

Disapproval— A Jing and Lady Yin origin and Family reunion

Tw VERY angst heavy, directions of blood, pregnancy, and going into labor

“I cannot believe you—“

“—of all the reckless, impulsive decisions that you have made in the past, this by FAR takes the mooncake! Sneaking around with a princess?! And a celestial one at that!”

Jing winced at his father’s yelling, shuffling from where he was kneeling at the table while his father paced back and forth in rage. The fabric of his simple blue training Hanfu suddenly felt very constricting.

“Papa,” Jing murmured quietly, “papa, please-“

“And!” The older man barreled on, speaking over Jing’s protests, “I find out that you are wanting to elope with that- that judgemental spoiled princess!”

Jing immediately tried to defend himself and his choices. “She’s not spoiled or judgemental! Yin has been nothing but kind to me and the others!” His jaw trembled, fists clenching at the front fabric of his clothes. Seeing this, his father sighed softly.

“Sweet baby” The redheads voice came out soft, almost pleading. “My son, she is a celestial. They do not care for the lives of mortals. You are too young, you do not understand yet.”

Jing glared at his father, his own voice ticking up a volume. “I understand perfectly well!” Jing wilted when his father’s gaze turned hard, but he kept going. “Yin is different, Papa.” He pleaded, “she’s not like Zāng or Nèicún. I actually like her, and she likes me.”

“It’s only a fleeting thing,” Jing’s father stated sternly, “she’ll leave at the next pretty tail she sees, just like all the others. I know you think she’s different bit she isn’t. You will be marrying Zāng or Nèicún and that’s final.”

Jing closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and lifted his head to meet his father’s fierce gaze. The older man’s angry eyes tried to pierce through Jing’s defenses, but the young swordsman had already made up his mind. He wouldn’t budge. Not this time.

“I don’t care if she’s a celestial. She’s given up everything to be with me, and I’m willing do the same.”

The moment the words left Jing’s mouth, the older man stood and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Leave!” He demanded, pointing at the door, “Leave this house! And only come back when you have left that wrench!”

Jing stood with all the grace of a soldier, before turning his back to his father and strides out the door. Heat pricked at his eyes, but he stubbornly held back.

That night, while staying in a small inn the young couple could barely afford, Li Jing swore to himself that he would never sit at his father’s dinner table again.

The first few years were hard. But Jing’s grandfather was more than willing to help them out while Jing got his feet under him. The young swords man worked tirelessly, day in and day out, perfecting his craft and gaining the attention of many. Soon, he married Yin in a beautiful ceremony, Jing’s grandfather officiating.

Even after the passing of his grandfather, Jing continued on strong, determined to give Yin everything they needed.

Jing sent a single letter to his parents when, a year later, Jinzha was born. He waited several weeks, and silently cried in Yins arms when they never responded. He did this again when Muzha was born, hoping and praying they’d answer. That maybe they’d finally see past Yins celestial heritage. But nothing. Jing eventually gave up on any sort of relationship with them, resigned to never see them again.

When Nezha was born, he didn’t bother to send them a letter. What was the point?

Then after some the time after he’d moved to the celestial realm, Jing realized his parents were likely dead. He was immortal now, and while he’d always known he’d outlive them, it stung to realize he’d never be able to reconcile.

Life without Yin was hard. So hard. His father’s words echoed in his head every day, along side a certain emperors. But Jing wouldn’t let it stop him.

When Jing met, fell for, and was inevitably broke up with Azure, he wondered what his parents would say then. If they would condemn Azure too, this time for being a demon.

By the time of the heavenly pillars collapse, Jing had nearly forgotten his parents. He reconciled with Nezha, reconnected with Azure, had the cubs, and is nearly ready to give birth again at 8 months pregnant. It’d been so long, that when he went to the store, the last people he’d expected to see were his parents.

Yet there they, it rather he, stood, front and center of Magapolis mega-pharmacy. The very man who’d turned his back in Jing for falling in love. The man who Jing had finally moved passed.

Li Shānyáng was a towering man, even more so than Jing himself had ever gotten. His fiery orange-red hair was as long as it used to be, even with the streaks of grey. He was older now, more stress lines, but he walked with his back strait like he always did.

He’s seen Jing too, and looked just as startled. He reached out a single hand, to calm out to him.

“Jing?” Shānyáng whispered, almost hopeful, “Jing? Is that you?

Jing stood frozen. He couldn’t make a single sound. It was as if his vocal cords turned to cement. How was this possible?

Shānyáng slowly approached, but the moment he got within range of Jing, the pregnant man stepped away almost on instinct. He frowned and stayed where he was, but he still looked at Jing with those sad, hopeful eyes.

“How.” Jing finally managed. “How are you here?”

“Well,” Murmured Shānyáng, “demons do live long lives.”

Jing’s heart nearly stopped. A wave of dizziness swept over him,

“I’m sorry,” Shānyáng said, “I always meant to tell you.”

Alive

A demon.

His father was alive and a demon. Any further words the man- demon - may have said were drowned out my the harsh beating of Jing’s heart as it all clicked. The hate for the celetials, his father’s unnatural red-orange hair. The way others seemed weary of him all Jing’s life.

Jing ran. He didn’t think, didn’t look, just ran. He could hear his father calling out behind him, desperate and pleading. But Jing used what little energy he had to just teleport back to the celestial realm. Back home.

Everyone startled when Jing burst in, and Azure jumped to his feet in alarm at Jing’s tear stained face. But before he could comfort him, ask what was wrong, Jing shoved him away and rushed to their bedroom.

There was a large commotion, and Jing’s vision started to spin. He gasped for air, clutching the dresser, before dry heaving a few times. In his panic, he could barley hear Azures voice. “Jing! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” but Jing couldn’t respond.

A sob ripped itself from his throat, turning midway into an enraged shriek. The pregnant celestial (celestial-demon? Celestial-human-demon hybrid? What was he?) grabbed a small plant and hurled it across the room. Shouts of panic echoed in the house, and this time Azures voice rose above it.

“Jing! What has gotten into you!?”

“He lied to me!!!” Shrieked Jing, whipping his head around to face his lover. Nezha and the others crowded the doorway, out of range, as Azure was the only one brave enough to enter. The lion only looked more confused and concerned at those words, and gently reached out to the distressed preggo.

“Who lied dear?” The former-rebel murmured, trying for gentleness. Jing didn’t care, instead hurling another plant.

“My father,” Jing hissed, and he could see the other Nezha’s heads jerk up. “He’s alive! He’s alive and a fucking demon and never told me! He let me think he was dead!”

Azure was stunned, and quickly ducked out of the way of the third plant. “Dear,” he pleaded, “I don’t understand-“

“He hated her! He hated her because she was a celestial and I never even questioned it! He lied he lied he lied—!”

(Crash!)

“Jing!” Hollared Azure, who instinctively shelled the others from the flying shards. Jing let out an inhumane scream, slamming his other fist into the glass as hard as he could.

A loud pop was heard,and everything froze. Jing let out a ragged breath, and looked down at the ground. Blood and glass littered the floor, but now so did water. It took a moment to realize what happend, but as Jing came out of his rage he relized why his pants were now soaked.

Between his meltdown and the shock of going into labor, Jing collapsed. Azure barely managed to catch his mate before he hit the ground, and they made haste to rush Jing to the hospital for a labor two months early.

@autism-autobot @peachponygirl @quitealotofsodapop

[siristaci]

.

[angstyentropy]

Jason was taking on most of Dick's workload while he was recovering. His gang could mostly run itself and Bruce promised to patrol Crime Alley for him. Dick didn't want him donning the Nightwing suit so he didn't even have to pretend to be an acrobat. So Jason didn't understand, why was he absolutely drained?

Jason: I thought when people said Bludhaven was as bad as Gotham they were making a joke!

Tim: Gotham has more rogues?

Jason: The rogues aren't the problem! There's just so much crime, it's almost as bad as Crime Alley all around the city!

Tim: Really?

Jason: I didn't even have time to solve half of the cases Dick works on.

Damian: So you admit Richard works harder than you?

Jason: Yes, damn it! He has a whole city as bad as Gotham to patrol and he still has time to visit us and help around Gotham!

---

Wally: Oh, I was expecting to see Nightwing.

Jason: Well you have me

Wally: I was going to ask Wing for help on a case I'm working on.

Jason: Do you always go to him for help on cases?

Wally: He's the first person I go to if I can't solve it myself, the others tend to aswell.

Jason: ...You have got to be kidding me.

---

Damian: Todd, I request you take me to the museum.

Jason: Can't someone else take you?

Damian: Drake is busy, Richard is recovering and the others aren't here.

Jason: Isn't Bruce upstairs right now?

Damian: I do not wish for Father to take me.

Jason: ...Fair, okay get ready.

---

Jason: Why is Bruce like that?

Tim, glancing at Bruce who's eye is twitching: He gets like that sometimes, usually Dick deals with it.

Jason: Okay...

---

Bruce: Hood, Joker has been sighted.

Jason: No

Bruce: What do you mean?

Jason: I'm not going.

Bruce: It's the Joker?

Jason: Currently I'm more concerned about getting sleep then punching him in the face.

Bruce: wh-

Jason, disconnecting the call: I don't have the energy to deal with you right now.

---

Jason: Why is everyone so... Negative?

Cass: Dick isn't breaking up fights or cheering anyone up.

Jason: Should've known *groans*

---

Haley: Woof! Woof!

Jason: At least one good thing came out of this experience.

Jason: Awww look at you!

---

Damian, who had a bad nightmare: Todd?

Jason, sleepy: It's.. 2am what do you want.

Damian, shuffling his feet.: Usually I would bother Richard but...

Jason, lifting the blacket: Just c'mere brat... did Dick ever tell you you're not a bother?

Damian, relaxing: He says so a lot.

---

Jason, hung over the side of the couch, exhausted: I don't think I'll be able to patrol for a week after this.

Tim: Are you okay?

Jason: What do you think?

---

Steph: Dick! Buy me a shake!

Steph:

Steph: oh yeah.. Jason!

Jason: NO!

---

Dick: Alfie said I'm ready for patrol again!

Jason: Oh thank god.

Dick: Thanks for taking care of 'Haven for me.

Jason, walking away: You're welcome, just never make me do that again.

Dick: Okay?

Jason, from far away: The Titans broke the front door, by the way!

Dick: Again?

[hsnlv]

sulky sulky! | l.hs

pairing: bf!heeseung x gn!reader

synopsis: dating heeseung comes with many discoveries—like how his pouty lips aren’t just an occasional thing… they’re a constant. at first, you thought he was always upset with you. turns out, he just looks like that.

warnings: flufffffffffff!!!!!, pouty hee :((

wc: 1.03k

here’s my masterlist!

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!🎀

the day you started dating heeseung, everything felt like a whirlwind. chaotic, loud, confusing—mostly because you discovered something about him you never quite noticed before: his lips. no, really. his naturally pouty lips.

when you first got together, you genuinely thought you had messed up. badly. he just kept sitting there with that pout and a weirdly sad expression, and you immediately spiraled.

“are you okay? wait—are you mad? did i say something weird? oh my god, did i breathe too loud? i can leave, i swear—”

heeseung, confused beyond belief, just blinked. “babe… what?”

“you’re pouting.”

“yeah?” he tilted his head. “i always do that.”

and that’s when it hit you—he’s just like that. heeseung’s default face is pouty. he pouts when he scrolls through his phone. he pouts when he games. he pouts when he’s just existing. you swore he could be eating soup and still manage to pout.

you didn’t think much of it when you walked through the door and saw heeseung curled up on the couch with a pout on his face.

because, well… he’s always pouting.

you gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, said a cheerful “i’m home~” and skipped off to change, humming to yourself like nothing was wrong. and sure, you were a little late—okay, a lot late—but you figured he’d get over it once you brought out snacks and his favorite blanket.

but heeseung? oh, he was suffering.

you missed the way he dramatically turned his head away from your kiss like a betrayed prince. the way he silently stared at the front door after you disappeared down the hall, lower lip trembling in what he was certain was the most tragic expression in existence.

by the time you came back with snacks and the tv remote, he was already in full sulk mode. you flopped down on the couch beside him and turned on your show—meanwhile, he was sitting there with his arms crossed and his pout upgraded to maximum capacity.

and you? absolutely none the wiser.

he cleared his throat.

you nodded along to your show.

he shuffled loudly.

you crunched on chips.

he flopped over, body sprawled dramatically across the couch like he was Juliet waiting for Romeo.

you adjusted the volume.

he reached over and stole a chip.

you gave him the side-eye, then another chip like he was a toddler.

so he tried again.

first, he “accidentally” knocked over your water bottle. you just picked it up and kept watching.

then, he wiggled his socked foot under your leg. you moved a little to give him space.

he even fake-coughed a few times, each one more dramatic than the last.

finally, he reached his limit. with the strength of a thousand unfulfilled cuddle wishes, he stood up, stomped to the other end of the couch, and flopped down beside you with a soft little thud.

and still? no response.

he leaned his head on your shoulder.

nothing.

he poked your thigh with one finger.

still nothing.

he shifted closer—so close his nose was almost touching your cheek—and then, in the softest, grumbliest little voice, he mumbled:

“didn’t you forget something?”

you blinked, half-distracted. “uh… what?”

he looked up at you through his lashes like the saddest, poutiest baby in the whole world. “me.”

you giggled, thinking he was messing around. “what do you mean?”

he scooted even closer, nearly climbing into your lap at this point, voice turning all soft and sniffly. “you said you’d be home by eight… and we were gonna cuddle and watch cartoons and you were gonna play with my hair, remember? you promised…”

you turned to him, wide-eyed and suddenly so guilty. “oh no. baby, i completely forgot—”

“you did forget,” he sniffled, dramatically wiping at his perfectly dry eyes. “i waited. i made the couch all warm. i even picked an episode where the dog doesn’t die this time. i was gonna let you braid my hair like you always say you want to, and now i’m cold and emotionally neglected.”

you laughed softly, pulling him into your arms without hesitation. he wasted no time wrapping himself around you like a velcro koala, cheek smushed against your chest, arms hugging you like his life depended on it.

“you’re such a baby,” you whispered into his hair.

“i’m your baby,” he grumbled proudly.

“you’re so dramatic.”

“because i love you the most, obviously.”

©️ all rights reserved | hsnlv | 2025

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

This piece contains 18+ content Based on this lovely request pairing joel miller x female reader summary when the winds of change scatter the buds of a new, forbidden love, they bloom anew after the end of the world [wc 8k] contains pre & post-outbreak world, dbf age-gap relationship, fluff, smut, mentions of death, angst, hopeful ending

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

“I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside me there'll always be the person I am tonight.”

—F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night

Jakarta, Indonesia. An aerial view of a sea of skyscrapers shining in the night. Joel blinks drowsily as he spams the channel button several numbers ahead. If he lingered a second longer, he would’ve seen the overseas news coverage shift to a bustling hospital ward. 

A black and white Western plays now; two cowboys fire their weapons in a quick draw. Gunfire from surrounding spectators ensues in a crisp, rapid spray. Sarah pads down the stairs just as a wounded man tumbles backwards over a second-story balcony. 

“Dad?” she murmurs. 

Joel mutes the movie at her tone. “Everything okay? What’s up?” 

She nervously plays with one of her springy curls. “I forgot I had a project due tomorrow,” she says. Joel blinks a few times as if he misheard her. “For Ms. Johnson’s science class. We have to make a 3D plant cell model.” 

That prompts him to sit up from his reclined position, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Sarah Noelle.” 

“The substitute teacher forgot to remind us yesterday,” she reasons. 

“C’mere.” She shuffles closer with big, doe eyes. “I ask if you’ve got homework every day after school, and what did you tell me earlier this evening? Bet you knew about this a week ago.” When her face falls even more,  Joel resists his knee-jerk reaction to backtrack and comfort her. 

“You gotta stay on top of stuff like this, bug,” he says. “Today it’s a project, but tomorrow it’s rent or a write-up for your job. Can’t hold off on stuff till the last minute.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

His knees pop as he pushes to his feet. “Don’t gotta apologize,” he says lightly. “We got supplies here?”  

“Just stuff like crayons and markers,” she says. 

Joel’s chest deflates with a heavy sigh, and Sarah bites her lip as he runs a hand through his hair. There’s more annoyance in his eyes than frustration, but she can understand that. It’s a quarter past nine, and it’s been a long day. 

He grabs his phone and hands it to her. After years of owning a BlackBerry, he’d finally switched to an iPhone. 

“See what places are open.” She nods gratefully. “And I ain’t mad at ya, alright? We all forget things sometimes.” 

Sarah watches as he heads upstairs to change out of his pajama pants. As soon as he disappears, she taps into the message app. 

Joel (9:17 PM) Are you awake? 

You (9:19 PM) Sarah? 

Joel (9:19 PM) Yeah it’s me! I forgot I had a project due!!! You know about plant cells right?

You (9:20 PM) Loaded question. I know enough, lol. 

Joel (9:21 PM) Can you come help?? We’re about to go out for supplies

The night air is warm. Sarah trails Joel to the truck but doesn’t get in after rounding to her side. He watches her through the window as he starts the engine. She’s staring next door to Cal’s house, and he doesn’t know why until you slip out the front door, ready for an adventure. 

It’s September now, and they’d attended your graduation back in May. 

You’d moved back in with your dad a week ago. The two of you had butt heads in the time leading up to your college departure, and you didn’t see a lot of each other during those four years. You were finally starting to come back around. So much of his strictness and rigidity was born out of love, even if that truth got muddled along the way. 

Not only was the move a means of saving money and rekindling your relationship, but Austin had way more opportunities than the college town you left. 

Joel’s eyes fall on you as you slide into the passenger seat, all nonchalance and ease. A pleasant, floral scent drifts his way when you bend forward to set your purse on the floor. 

“Long time no see, stranger,” you say. 

“Guess somebody got phoned as backup,” Joel says as he pulls out of the driveway, one arm resting on the center console.

“Can’t blame a girl for employing all her resources.” You peek back at Sarah and share a smile. 

Joel huffs an amused sound. “Cal asleep yet?” 

“He’s hanging on by a thread,” you say. “Told him I was going out to smoke pot at the lake like old times.” 

Sarah snorts at that, and Joel meets her gaze in the rearview with an unimpressed look. 

“Dad, I’m twelve, not two.” 

“Y'all are gonna make me go gray.”

“What are you, forty-five, forty-six?" you ask. "I’m pretty sure that’s already starting to happen.” You reach over to playfully twirl a strand of hair at the nape of his neck. 

His shoulders square as he fights a shiver. Sarah is none the wiser as her laughter carries from the backseat. 

•••

Broad-shouldered in the dim light of the kitchen, Joel stands at the sink, washing dried glue from his hands as he hums a low tune. The gentle rush of the water prevents him from hearing you as you tiptoe up behind him. Sarah went to bed fifteen minutes ago when the two of you insisted you’d handle cleanup. All things considered, the cell model turned out decent for such a late notice. 

Joel jerks when you poke a finger into his side. You’re fixed with an exasperated glare as you withdraw your touch with an innocent smile. Then, foolishly, he redirects his gaze back to the sink. You promptly deliver a poke to his other side that makes him curl in on himself. 

“Would you quit that?” he asks, voice tight with the threat of a laugh. 

“No.” 

Even then, he smiles as he dries his hands. You rest your forearms on the island and watch. When his eyes find yours, there’s a weight to your gaze. Joel doesn’t fight against the flutter in his gut. It’d been a couple of years since he had. 

“Thanks for comin’ over for her,” he says. 

“You know I’ve always gotta pull through for my little bestie.” 

Joel chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck, eyes roving over you. “Never got to properly ask how you’ve been settling in,” he says. “Got stuck talkin’ about chloroplasts and ribosomes all night.” 

“And the endoplasmic reticulum,” you quip.

“Can’t forget the good ole ER.”

The two of you share a hushed laugh. The crinkles around Joel’s eyes expand your chest with a warmth that no longer feels so wrong. 

“I’m good, though,” you say. “Even though I have no idea what the hell I’m doing half the time.” The air shifts as you sigh. 

“I don’t think any of us do,” Joel hums. 

“It’ll get better,” he assures. “Wish I could tell you when, but one day you’ll look around and realize you’ve got a better grasp on things.” He thinks for a moment. “On who you are and who you wanna be.” 

The gruff honesty of Joel’s words makes it easy to believe him. 

After a few quiet beats, he twists an arm behind himself to scratch a tricky spot on his back. Unfortunately, his inflexibility hinders him. 

Wordless, you step up alongside him and raise your hand to rake your fingernails just beneath his shoulder blades. He immediately relaxes with a grateful exhale. Your touch remains after the itch dissipates, shifting into steady passes of your palm along his back. Joel can’t find it in himself to break the still intimacy of the moment. When he does, the sense of loss is immediate.

“Appreciate it.” Joel clears his throat. “It’s gettin’ pretty late.” 

Outside, there’s a quiet symphony of insects. A few moths fly around Joel’s porch light. The wood creaks under your footsteps as you head towards the stairs. Joel stops at the top, while you step down. He expects you to continue to your house, but you turn around to peer up at him with those knowning eyes of yours. 

“Go on,” he encourages, tapping your chin with a gentle knuckle. 

Your lashes flutter. 

“Go.” His voice comes out thicker. 

“Alright, alright.” The smallest smile curls at your lips. “I’m going, Mr. Miller.” 

•••

Every once in a while, a night came along that reminded him that sleeplessness was never too far away. Never did he suspect it’d be because of Cal’s kid. Autopilot gets him through his morning routine, and, before long, he stands in a sunlight kitchen. 

The coffee machine whirs as it fills his mug, the rich, nutty smell slowly permeating the air. 

Sarah trudges over to snake her arms around his waist. He smiles when she nuzzles her face into his shirt with a sleepy groan, breathing him in. 

Joel blows into the mug and takes a small sip. She holds out a hand for it next. 

“S’hot,” he warns, but passes it over. A baby sip is enough to make her face scrunch in distaste. “Still no bueno?” 

She shakes her head. He chuckles and squeezes her. “Uncle Tommy should be here soon. We’ll grab you a bite to eat on the way.” 

Sarah makes a satisfied sound, steals his phone from his front pocket, and stalks away. 

Joel (7:23 AM) It was really good seeing you last night 

You (8:19 AM) Likewise <3

You hadn’t bothered asking if it was Sarah. Deep down, you knew it was, but you would’ve welcomed those words from Joel all the same, if not more. 

He’s the one who ends up reading your reply. 

•••

Come late Monday afternoon, the Miller brothers finish setting the last fence panel as fluffy white clouds roll in to shield Austin from the full brunt of the sun. 

Back at home, Joel showers and eats leftovers. When he hits the living room again, he steps on a dainty hoop earring that he realizes is his ticket back to you. 

A helicopter flies overhead as you get out of your car. The teenage boys playing basketball in the cul-de-sac gawk up towards the sky with exaggerated wonder. A presence wades into your periphery once you reach your trunk. 

Joel stops a few yards away, still standing in the plush grass between your lots. 

“I got it.” He gestures to the grocery bags and waits for your permission.  

You step aside. “Thanks.” 

Cal hasn’t made it home from the office yet, but inside, Joel moves as if his friend is bound to round the corner at any moment. After setting all the grocery bags on the island, he fishes into his pocket.

“Think I have something of yours.” He presents the earring in the palm of his large hand. “Look familiar?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Yes, oh my gosh.” You take it from him without hesitation. “Dude.” Joel's eyes soften as you gush. “Thank you so much.” 

“‘Course.” He rubs his palms against his jeans and takes an easy look around. It’s quiet. 

“How was work?” Your tone is genuine. 

“Good. We, uh, had a fence job,” Joel starts with a shrug. “You know that new housing development on the other side of the lake?” He points in the general direction, and you nod. “A couple just moved in. Real nice lot.” 

He gets a shy look about him for expounding, but you only smile as you unbag the groceries. “I think I’d tap out after getting the first couple pickets into the ground,” you admit. 

“S’just patience and practice.” 

“Imagine someone like me building a fence.” You motion a sorry hand down your body. 

He takes you in. Perhaps, more earnestly than he should. You’re wearing a tennis skirt and a baby tee. Your skin looks soft. The air shifts. 

As you grab a can of tomato paste to take to the pantry, you let your backside brush against Joel’s crotch with more pressure than necessary. He instinctively hovers a hand at your waist but takes a respectful step back as his cheeks warm.  

After you put everything away, you study him. “I appreciate everything you said the other night about things getting better,” you say. “Sarah’s lucky to have you.”

Joel tucks his head down as if the compliment will fly over him and stick to something else. But it hits him square in the chest, seeps into his ribcage, and forces him to feel it. No matter how many houses or fences he raised, sidewalks or driveways he framed, Sarah would always be the best thing to come out of his efforts.  

“I started pushing my dad away around that age,” you say. “It means something that she still thinks the world of you.” 

You move to stand in front of Joel. He doesn’t back away. Not even when you pluck an invisible piece of lint off his shirt, then smooth a hand down his sturdy chest. The alarm bells are distant in your head, but chime louder in his.  

Joel knows he should be the one to walk away, but reasons that there’s no harm in your crush. Before long, you’d find your footing in the world, and your focus would be swept elsewhere. The attention was nice as long as he didn’t bite back. You’d been biting since twenty. 

This time around is different, however. 

You take a chance and raise a hand to his scruffy cheek. “I think quite highly of you myself,” you murmur. 

Joel doesn't push you away when you lean in to capture his lips. 

His eyes flutter closed as he dares to reciprocate. Everything about him is impossibly gentle, from the way his large hands settle on your waist to the fragile way he kisses as if you’ll fall apart. A silent war rages within him all the while. The brush of his scruff is prickly, but his lips are softer than you imagined. He tastes like spearmint gum.

You startle away from him as another helicopter passes in the sky. The picture frames rattle. You lean in with the intent to continue kissing Joel, but he recedes up the shore instead of running towards the sea. 

There’s a reluctant finality to the way he pushes you away by the hip and runs a hand over his mouth. It’s as if he’s attempting to rid himself of the feeling of your lips, except it doesn’t go away. Neither does the cloud of want clear from his vision. 

“I should go.” His tone doesn’t match his words, but he steps forward to leave nonetheless. 

You’re right there to block his way. There’s enough space to weave around you, but he pretends you’re keeping him here when he’s never in his life been pinned down by anyone or anything. 

“Go where?” you challenge lightly. “Is Sarah home?” 

Joel considers lying, but you’ve only ever drawn the truth out of him. “At a friend’s.” 

“Then what’s the rush?” Your eyes don’t leave his. “Quit denying yourself for once in your life.” 

Joel’s throat works. “This ain’t right.” 

“It’s not wrong.” 

Right and wrong. Good and evil. And now you’ve proposed a middle ground that, coming from you, sounds like a lovely place to be.

You slip a hand beneath the hem of Joel’s shirt, grazing your fingernails down the pudge of his belly. It’s a maddening, lighthearted gesture. 

“The middle’s not so bad,” you insist. “We can make it good.”

•••

Joel loses his mind at some point between his front door and his bedroom. With the way you touch him, and tease him, and smile into too-short kisses, he never stood a chance. He’s heard all the jokes about what it takes to keep up with a pretty young thing, but now he’s living it himself. You’re both naked and wanting in his bed.

He’d had the upper hand for a short while, nestling between your thighs until you came undone around his thick, skillful fingers. 

A lovely flush colors his neck and upper chest as he prepares to rip a square foil package. Before he can make a clean tear, you reach out to take it from him. 

“May I?” Your smile is sweet. 

Joel admires your French manicure as you pull the condom out, taking your precious time. His stomach flips when you meet his gaze again because the upturn of your lips now flirts with mischief. Impatience flickers in his chest as his want only grows. 

“Ain’t got all evening,” he says, voice thick. 

 “I know you don’t.” The tip of your index finger finds the pearly bead along his slit, spreading it in a slow circle that makes his stomach quiver. “Practically about to fall apart on me right now,” you lilt. 

Joel’s exasperation rises as a weak huff of laughter. He knows there’s nothing clever or provocative he can say to inspire a sense of haste within you. So he settles on the truth since it’s the only stripped, shaky thing left alongside his desire.

“I'm achin', sweetheart.” 

The raw quality of his voice harkens mercy from somewhere amid your fun. The stars over Austin align in time with your careful roll of the condom down the veiny strain of his need. Joel trembles through it, jaw tightening when you seal the deal by reaching down between his legs to massage the delicate, hanging weight of him. 

Without warning, Joel pushes you backwards, and your head meets the pillows as he crowds over you. It’s as if invisible chains have been broken. He braces one hand near your face to the flustered sound of your giggles while he gingerly grips himself with the other. A dark thatch of curls rests at his base. Your legs fall open wider for him with ease. 

Your breath hitches when he bumps his tip against your swollen bud, then glides down to catch at your waiting entrance. There’s no further hesitation or preamble. Joel’s eyes meet yours in silent acknowledgement that your relationship will never be the same. 

There’s no mourning, only your joint sighs as he eases into your warmth. It’s a slow, snug push that leaves you no choice but to be aware of every solid inch of him, every vein and ridge. The initial stretch makes way for the dizzying relief of fullness. Joel burrows until he’s encompassed so wholly that he can’t go any further, exhaling your name. 

Your face scrunches as he begins to pull back out in a careful drag. Your hands grip his shoulders as your legs hook around him.

“Joel.” It’s an awed, desperate sound. 

"I gotcha," he soothes. "Easy does it."

A whimper escapes you as he finds a deep, measured rhythm. He’s reaching a tender place within you that shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. Your mouth opens like you have something to say, but nothing comes out. 

“Lost all your words?” He has the nerve to ask as if his voice doesn’t sound punched-out. “Had so much to—Christ—so much to say a minute ago.” 

The rugged weight of him, paired with his body heat and the skilled thrusts of his hips, continues to render you speechless for the first time in a long time. All you know at this moment is him. It’s lovely and terrifying all the same. 

Joel slows, realizing you need it. “Breathe for me, baby girl.”

He leans down to kiss your neck, scruff brushing your skin. His lips are soft enough to make you shiver and clench around him. 

“S’just me,” he assures into your ear, voice like velvet. 

Joel had seen you grow into the person you are today. Not only that, but he had done so without treating you like your maturity and intelligence stagnated at some point in the past when you were merely the younger girl next door. 

“Just you,” you whimper in confirmation. 

“Feel so good, you know that?” He gently thumbs over one of your pebbled nipples. 

You arch, face hot. “Think so.” 

He chuckles. 

When you meet his eyes and see how dark and gone they are, you can’t help but laugh too, breathless. Joel places a steady hand on your hip to ground himself as you clench. 

He exhales as his forehead touches yours. “Gonna make me come with all that giggling,” he whispers against your lips, then nuzzles your cheek. “Already teased me to goddamn pieces.” 

“Maybe I want you to come.” Boldness settles beneath your skin as the pleasant knot in your stomach grows tighter. “You’re so big… can feel you everywhere.” 

You miss the mark for Joel’s mouth and land a clumsy kiss on his chin. You lower a shaky hand from his shoulders and allow your middle finger to find your swollen bud. The firm, slippery circles make warmth pool between your thighs. 

“Gonna try something, alright?” he coos in his low timbre. All you can do is nod earnestly.  

One by one, Joel guides your legs over his shoulders so your calves frame his neck. You gasp as he sinks even deeper than before. 

“That the spot, sweetheart?” 

Soon, you can’t hold out any longer. 

The rope snaps, and your walls flutter around him in unrhythmic pulses as your lips part. The rest of the world disappears, only to crash back in at Joel’s final pointed thrust. A guttural sound escapes him as he lets go. You watch the way his eyebrows furrow and his arms flex. The way his stomach clenches with each wave that rips through him.  

It feels like you’re floating somewhere where real-life struggles and confusions can’t reach you. Here, everything makes sense. Everything is good down to the bone. And the best part is, you’re not alone; you’re drifting through this perfect place with Joel. 

As September winds closer to its end, it wouldn't be the last time. 

•••

One of Joel’s hands rests on Sarah’s shoulder while the other holds his phone to his ear. He can barely make out Tommy’s next sentence as a military plane flies overhead in the evening sky. The driveway shakes to the sound of the engine and the sirens wailing in the distance. Joel lets go of her in favor of plugging his opposite ear.

“You should’ve called me, Tommy... now you’ve got her out there in this crap… I didn’t say you weren’t capable of protecting her… Yeah, I know where it is. We’re on our way.”

As Joel hangs up, all he can think is, so much for a happy birthday—Tommy got arrested, you bailed him out, and it’s the beginning of the end. 

He redirects his attention to Sarah. “It’s gonna be okay, bug. Gonna meet ‘em at the old commuter lot just before you get downtown.”

 She nods even though her heart is beating in her ears. 

“There are a lot of scared people out there right now. Might see some things. Gonna need to be brave for me, okay?” 

“Okay,” she says, voice wavering. “Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Lightning fast.”

She jogs back into the house. Joel climbs into his truck, keeping a hopeful eye out for your dad. He doesn’t get the chance to call him again because his Mustang screeches to a stop in front of the driveway. 

Cal sees red as he walks towards Joel’s door, dressed in his work suit and Oxfords. 

“My daughter, man? Fucking Grace?”

That’s what he wanted to name you. The joke became that raising you took a lot of grace on his part, especially after your mom walked out of your lives. Joel knew the story. 

“Get the hell out of this goddamn truck and talk to me like a man.” 

Cal flings the door open, and Joel’s face is hot with embarrassment, guilt, and frustration. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry right now, Cal,” he asserts as he slides out. “Something’s going on.” 

“I’m sitting in traffic, when ding—a lovey ass text makes me double take. Then I get a, ‘Sorry, wrong person’ like it’s no big fucking deal.” Cal shakes his head. “You. It was meant for you.”

“Cal, listen—”

“I trusted you all these years. Let you into my home.” 

He shoves Joel. Hard. Joel takes it. 

“You sick fuck.” 

Joel’s shoulders sink as he holds his hands up. “Cal, please…” He racks his brain for a quick explanation, but nothing comes.  

That’s when the door to the Adlers' house swings open, and Mrs. Adler comes staggering out. Her gait is strikingly abnormal, oddly stable in a jerky, disoriented way. Her head twitches as she catalogs the sounds around her, face more gaunt than Joel has ever seen it.

“The hell are you looking at?” Cal barks, pinning Joel to the truck.  

At the outburst, Mrs. Adler starts towards them in a clumsy shuffle. 

“Bigger fucking fish, Cal,” Joel grouses. “Turn your thick skull around.” Joel finally manages to shove him off, and he stumbles with enough force to fall. 

Mrs. Adler speeds up at the prospect of an easy target, but before she can lunge for Cal, Joel grabs a brick from the stack near the garage and hurls it at her head. The impact disorients her enough for Cal to scramble to his feet with a string of expletives. Joel grabs the sledgehammer from the bed of his truck and delivers a fatal blow to the woman’s head.  

“Is that Mrs. Adler?” Cal says in horror. “Is the rest of the family okay? Shit, we gotta check.” 

“It ain’t worth it, Cal—” 

But Cal doesn’t listen. He marches straight into the house. 

Further down the street, a fire hydrant shoots water like a geyser as a car crashes into it. Joel reluctantly trails after him until he hears Cal’s pained screams erupt from the inside. A sound loud enough to make his blood run cold. 

Sarah hurries back out of the house carrying a photo album she didn’t have before. She stops at the sight of Mrs. Adler’s crumbled frame. Cal’s Mustang registers, then the screams. 

“Get in the truck, Sarah,” Joel urges. “Right now, bug, get in the truck.”

The tone of his voice spurs her into action. Joel slides behind the wheel with ringing ears. His hands shake as he starts the engine and banks to the right to avoid Cal’s Mustang as he drives off the bump of the curb. 

“Were those Cal’s screams?” Sarah asks, frozen in the passenger seat. Joel remains quiet, eyes glued to the road. “Why aren’t you answering me? Dad?” 

Joel’s phone rings, displaying your name. His hands still haven’t stopped trembling as he raises the device to his ear. 

“Joel? Hey,” you say, light but focused. “Tommy and I are almost at the commuter lot.” Joel hums in acknowledgement, scared his voice will betray him. “My dad says he’s swinging by the house first, but knows to meet us there.”  

“Sarah and I are en route.” 

He can feel his daughter’s gaze boring into him when he hangs up. 

“You didn’t tell her?” 

“That’s not the kind of conversation you have over the phone,” Joel justifies, his voice thick but measured. “‘Specially at a time like this.”  

Sarah catches the tear that slips down her cheek. 

Cal’s life isn’t the only one lost that day. 

Joel and Sarah never reach the commuter lot, but you and Tommy do. 

From then on, the world is never the same. 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 

Maroon, gold, indigo. Pale streaks of colored light span in thin bands over the empty pews of the chapel as the sun shines through the mosaic windows. On the stage, a short way behind the pulpit, stands an empty wooden cross. 

Your gaze remains on your arms, where they rest crossed over your stomach. The few tears that once streamed down your cheeks have dried in stiff trails. You hadn’t bothered swiping them away. 

You hadn’t prayed either. 

Coming here usually meant something akin to that: sitting in silence with your eyes closed as the room’s serenity washed over your unspoken words. You weren’t expecting any kind of miracle. Waking up in Jackson, Wyoming every day already was one. 

A long, quiet squeak rises from behind you, followed by the rattle of a closing door. You don’t look over your shoulder as footsteps pad in, but you grow intrigued when they freeze. Upon turning around, a young girl with a ponytail stands at the back of the sanctuary, staring at you with wide eyes. 

“Sorry,” she says, mindful of her volume. “I didn’t think anybody was in here.” 

You shake your head and face forward again. Her footsteps retreat, then she changes her mind. You listen to the swish of her pants as she grows closer and closer. Soon, the pew creaks as she sits beside you. It’s quiet for a while. 

“Does he listen?” she murmurs, eyes on the cross. Her voice carries a hopeful hint of wonder beneath the quiet default of disbelief. 

“I like to think so.” 

She relaxes back into the seat, puffy coat rustling. 

“I’m Ellie.”

•••

Spring nears before long.

A cheerful bark of laughter emits from your right, while Tommy’s gaze bores into you from the left. You can sense him even as you stare into what’s left of your blackberry moonshine. 

In contrast to how you feel, the Tipsy Bison is alive with an early evening crowd. The bartender bounces around to those seated alongside you, fulfilling refills and carting away empty glasses. You don’t look at Tommy until he knocks his knee against yours. His eyes look painfully like Joel’s under the dim glow of the string lights. 

“Can’t run from him forever,” he says.

You rest your elbow on the counter and pinch the bridge of your nose because you know he’s right. 

When Joel arrived with Ellie a few months ago, the three of you sat in Tommy’s living room to catch up. An hour that went on to become the most harrowing of your lives. 

It’s where you learned that you had two more stones to add to the cairn of remembrance in your mind; one for your father, another for Sarah. 

You built walls around yourself after Outbreak Day. Not letting anything or anyone become significant enough to settle beneath your skin. Never again would you relive the feeling of leaving everything you loved behind: the city, your friends, your father. 

Joel.  

He was the source of so much to you when you needed it the most. Wisdom, comfort, affection, and validation wrapped in a package with the kindest eyes. 

Those last few weeks of summer with him constitute the last of your old-world memories. You were bitter that you couldn’t press rewind. Bitter that Joel had been taken from you—that he’d broken his promise that everything would be alright. 

In the haze of your naivety, you had built him up in your mind as ever-dependable. When the world laughed at your appointment, dethroning that idea of him felt like destroying a part of yourself. 

That evening at Tommy’s, Joel met your gaze and uttered a hoarse apology for everything he never said. 

Outbreak day had been an impossible situation that forced everyone to make impossible decisions. Except you refused to believe he’d made the right ones.  

If he were a religion, your words were a renunciation of the faith:

“Damn your sorrys,” you said. “Do you know how many years I’ve spent holding out hope that my dad was still alive?” Joel tucked his head down. “Hell, that you and Sarah were still alive, Joel.” 

“Was gonna tell you at the lot.” His voice was a murmur of pain and regret. 

“But you never made it to the lot, did you?” Both brothers stilled at that. “And I’ve been walking around for years with a hope I now know was false.

“At least you had closure for your losses. At least they were real to you, and not some perpetual fucking maybe weighing you down every day of your life.” Tears had begun to stream down your cheeks. 

Joel hadn’t flinched at a single word. He sat there like a stone, eyes broken. Tommy had to encourage you outside for some fresh air.  

“He’s hurting too,” he said as he stood on the porch with you. 

The Tipsy Bison fades back in around you as Tommy speaks up again. 

“You know that knot in your chest you walk around with every day?” Tommy questions. Your jaw ticks. “It ain’t gonna go away till you learn how to forgive.” 

Aside from the revelation of Joel having known about your father’s death, the knowledge of Sarah’s death was another part of that night at Tommy’s that haunts you. 

They never made it to the commuter lot because she had ended up dying in her father’s arms. By the time Joel did arrive, late and alone, all cellular networks had stopped functioning. Clouds of smoke rose from various fires. Chaos reigned as king. 

By then, Tommy had already made the executive decision to leave without them, assuming the worst.  

•••

The night of the spring fling, Joel stays in. He’d brought a tray from his workroom into the living room to whittle the finishing touches of the small horse figure he’d started a few days ago. He looks up when three knocks sound at the door. 

The one person he’s not expecting to see is you. 

“Hi,” you murmur. 

His eyes are simultaneously unreadable and full of emotion behind his glasses.

“Hey.” 

“Is it okay if we talk?” 

Joel opens the door wider, and you take it as permission to step inside. Though his arm twitches, he doesn’t help you out of your jean jacket when you begin to shrug it off. But he does hang it on the rack for you. 

“I was just sittin’ right in here…” he trails off and reclaims his spot on the couch. You follow, but opt for the accent chair. 

Joel doesn’t know why he suddenly feels embarrassed—if that’s the right word to assign to the feeling. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of himself as he sits in his pajamas, with likely disheveled hair. It’s so quiet he can hear the refrigerator’s hum from the kitchen, the sound your clothes make as you shift.   

You don’t know how to talk to him anymore. It’d once been so easy. A bit thrilling, even. He’d always listen and react in that distinct way of his, always ready to dish out a quip or a sarcastic remark when you got too big for your britches. 

He’s not that man anymore. More of his hair has gone silver, and his face has aged slightly. His gaze carries a new intensity, like he’s alert and aware of everything.  

“Is that a horse?” 

It takes Joel a few seconds to realize you’re talking to him. He hums in confirmation. 

“Nice,” you say honestly. 

You hate yourself for dancing around the elephant in the room. But he’s right there with you, both of you clinging onto the same lifesaver in the middle of the sea. 

“You can have it.” He shifts like he’s about to hand it to you, but you walk over to join him on the couch instead. 

“How long did it take?” 

“‘Bout six hours.” 

As he turns it over in his hands and points out specific details, tears well in your eyes at the thoughtful cadence of his voice, the occasional way he pushes his glasses up his nose with an index finger. 

By the time he stops talking and sets the horse on the coffee table in front of you, you’re crying. Joel noticed your tell-tale sniffles long before, but there’s a sympathetic flutter in his ribs as you actually begin to wipe your tears. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” you murmur, voice cracking. 

The weak question breaks through Joel’s internal debate to leave your side to get you a tissue. 

You’d been avoiding him, but he wasn’t avoiding you. Not exactly.

Ellie doesn’t know all the details about you and Joel’s past, but you’ve crossed paths consistently since meeting her at the chapel. Almost every time you were together for a game night, movie night, or crafts at the community center, she mentioned that Joel either asked about you or said hello. Every time, it broke your heart even more. 

What brought you to his door tonight is a quiet act of service that made it impossible to stay away. Word had gotten around about the broken fence gate in the front of your house. Joel took it upon himself to fix it while you were working a shift at the stables. On his off day, in the cold, no less. 

You’d been treating him like he was invisible for months. 

“I care about you,” he finally says, swallowing. 

“I’ve been horrible to you.” 

Joel doesn’t agree or disagree, just lifts a weak shoulder as if to acknowledge that things have simply been the way they’ve been. 

Your entire face burns with shame. “I don’t know how to say sorry, but that’s all I’ve been.” 

Your mind spins as you attempt to find a more eloquent way to express that, but a deep stillness overtakes you as Joel pulls you into his embrace. 

It’s not neat or composed. You sink into him, face tucked into his chest, mere inches away from where his heart beats behind his ribs. Damp splotches of tears darken his gray shirt. You’ve missed his scent, the safety of his arms.

Maybe you’d stayed away because you couldn’t bear to lose it all again. 

Time escapes both of you, and you let it. 

You finally straighten up, and Joel brings a gentle hand to your face to wipe the remnants of your tears. The urge to lean into his warm, calloused palm overcomes you. Your eyes are heavy as you turn your head to pucker your lips against it in a featherlight kiss. 

Then you take his hand in both of yours, pressing more kisses to his fingers and turning his hand over to pay his scarred knuckles the same mind. Joel’s entire arm tingles from the attention. You scoot yourself even closer to his side. 

He leans back into the cushions, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes slipping closed. It’s almost like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

That’s when your touch disappears. 

You study his brow bone, his nose, the relaxed pout of his mouth. 

Joel opens his eyes, accepting that this moment of affection may’ve reached its end. But he’s grateful it happened at all. He hadn’t been touched so tenderly since five years ago in Austin with you. 

The two of you hold each other's gaze as a deafening silence stretches between you. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. 

The couch dips as you carefully move to straddle him. His weathered hands tentatively grip your waist as you settle on his lap. You’re beautiful in the lamplight. Beautiful all the time. History knows he’s terrible at denying you.  

Joel straightens from his reclined position and speaks what you both desperately want to say. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

It was a dangerous thing to want something in this world. To crave, to long. But tonight you do because you have each other to satiate the thrum. 

You carefully pull his glasses off his face and set them aside. He blinks to reacclimate his eyes. 

“Can you still see me?” you murmur. 

“I see you, baby girl.” 

You lean in to kiss his nose, then his lips. 

Your joint breaths are uneven when you pull away from the kiss that nearly took them away. You stay close, nose to nose, quietly alive with the proximity. 

Your tongue pokes out again to gently trace his lower lip as if it’s enough to truly get another taste. You move to kiss the corner of his mouth, then trail an eager line of kisses to his jaw. His fingers dig into your waist when you lower your head to mouth beneath his ear.

As soon as he shivers, a small sound catching in his throat, you draw back. Not just away from his neck, but you ease yourself all the way down to the rug, where you spread his legs and kneel between them. You palm his bulge through his pajama pants one gentle time before your fingers curl into the waistband. 

“You don’t gotta—”

“Please? I want to.” 

After shucking his pants and boxers to the floor, you waste no time kissing up his fuzzy inner thighs. You don’t stop when you reach his arousal, gripping him at the base to kiss up the veined underside until reaching the flushed mushroom head. Joel’s legs quiver and fall open wider when you take him into your mouth. 

There’s no teasing, no delay. You look up at Joel through your lashes, where the almost pained scrunch of his eyebrows tells you you’re making it good for him. 

So much so, tension coils low in his gut, and his sac draws up in warning. He encourages you back up to his lap with a hand to your cheek. 

Upon standing, you step out of your jeans and panties while holding his heavy-lidded gaze. When you settle back onto his thighs, you pull your shirt over your head, and he gently cups one of your breasts. Your soft hum prompts him to dip his head to kiss your nipple gingerly, then suckle it into his mouth. He’s painfully reverent and gentle. 

As he lifts his head to switch to the other, you duck in to kiss him, nice and slow. When your fingertips find the hem of his shirt, he gently grasps your wrists. A thin string of saliva slinks between your mouths as you pull away. 

“Everything okay?” you breathe, gaze searching. 

“S’just... I got some scars.” He’s unsure if he says it so you’re not caught off guard, or because a small, self-conscious part of him has arisen.

You bring a hand to his cheek and brush your thumb over his scruff. “That’s okay.”  

“Alright.” 

Once he’s bare, your fingers map over the healed cuts and small divots scattered across the skin of his torso, each with its own story. It’s not as bad as you expected, just enough to give him a more rugged edge. He’s hairier now, across his chest and leading down from his navel to the wiry curls at his base. 

You reach between your bodies and give Joel a few easy strokes before rising onto your knees and guiding him to your entrance. You run his thick head through your folds to collect the pooled wetness. Joel reaches down to make sure you’re ready for him and twitches in your grasp when his fingers easily slip around. 

You’re so slick, gentle pressure alone is enough to breach your entrance. You shudder when he circles your clit in a few focused passes before settling his hands back on your waist. 

Joel’s touch remains steady as you ease down onto him. He watches himself disappear in your warmth. When you’re filled all the way, you sigh at the overwhelming stretch. 

Your hips circle a few practiced times as you get acclimated to welcoming him, anyone, after so long. As the delicious dull ache makes way for pleasure, you raise back up and sink back down. Joel's hands knead your backside and smooth up to your shoulder blades as you set a pace. 

He sits there and relishes what you give him, occasionally shifting or raising his hips to complement you. 

“Not gonna last,” he breathes against your lips. “You feel too good. Been so long.” 

“Me neither,” you exhale, reaching down to rub circles over yourself. 

Under your body and the intoxicating roll of your hips, it isn’t long before Joel feels a strong, hot tug low in his gut. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, gripping your hips to slow them. “M’close, lift up.”  

“It’s okay.” 

You brush a kiss along his cheek and circle one of his nipples with the pad of your finger. Panic licks within him even as he helplessly shudders.

“Mmmh—sweetheart.”  

“I promise it’s okay,” you whisper. “I know my body. Always track my cycle.” 

“You sure?” Joel’s brows pinch when you clench involuntarily.  

“Positive.” You move his hands to rest further up your waist, then grip his shoulders as you fall back into a rhythm. 

Pleasure swells between you so intensely that there is no more holding back. 

Joel’s warm, muscular thighs tremble, then flex beneath you as he cants his hips upwards, a throaty sound escaping him. His stomach tightens as he empties himself into you with an awed utterance of your name. 

The way he pulses inside of you makes you let go, walls fluttering around him as pleasure radiates from your core down into the apex of your thighs. You rest your dewy forehead against his as you ride out the aftershocks that render you spent. 

The sense of fondness and relief that washes over you is so great that you have to run your hands down Joel’s broad chest to make sure he’s real. His palm splays in the center of your back, keeping you near.

He’s got you now. 

And you could begin again. 

•••

Behind the chapel, Joel sits on a wooden bench alone. A breeze blows through as he gazes at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. It’s quiet for an afternoon in Jackson, but he has no complaints. Some days were like that, slow-moving all around, as if a spell of stillness had chosen to settle. 

As he waits, he turns over a tan rock in his hand, the edges so smooth it almost looks fake. 

With the weather warming, he could get away without a jacket today. The forest green flannel he wears complements his dark wash jeans. He’d also combed his hair back with a natural gel.

Before he left the house, Ellie had eyed him knowingly.

"Who's the lucky lady?" she teased.

"Take a wild guess," he said. "I'll be back in a few hours."

Joel doesn’t look over his shoulder when grass crunches beneath the footsteps behind him. A smile tugs at his lips when they pause, then grow slower and lighter. 

The world goes dark as two soft hands cover his eyes from behind, smelling faintly of lemon balm. You lower your lips to his ear as if you’re about to say something, but end up laughing, light and flustered. Joel can’t help but chuckle. 

A feigned sigh of frustration leaves you as you give up, rounding the bench to sit beside him instead. Joel looks over at you, soft crinkles beside his sparkling eyes. 

“It’s not funny,” you say lightly. “I was gonna try to pull the whole ‘guess who’ thing, but then I panicked and realized it’d be extremely obvious.” 

 “Woulda played along,” Joel says easily.  

You know he would’ve. Levity was seeping in between the cracks more and more every day. It was nice to give in to a sense of play again. 

“You’re early,” you say, letting your knee touch his. “It’s not even noon.”

He reads the face of his watch. “So are you.” 

Your eyes drift to the rock he’s holding. “You found such a pretty one.” 

Upon pulling yours from your tote bag, it’s smaller with more rigid edges. But it’s a nice rock, nonetheless. 

“Ready?”

“Your turn to pick the spot,” you say.

He’s had enough time to think about it. You follow him a few yards into the overgrown grass. Grunting softly, he leans down to place his rock on top of the lone tree stump standing there. You balance your smaller one on top of his. For Sarah, for Cal. Stepping back a couple of paces makes them seem so small. 

A moment of silence arises. You reach for his hand, a small gesture led by your pinkie. He takes your hand like every other fourth Thursday of the month at various locations around the commune. 

The previous month’s cairns seldom remain standing where you leave them, but you never mind. It’s no more about permanence than it is about showing up. Remembering. Setting aside time for one another’s shared grief.

“Not gonna lie,” you start softly. 

Joel looks over at you, ready to listen. 

“The lunch menu’s not too shabby today.”

An amused puff of air leaves his nose. “S’that right?” 

As you return to the bench to sit together a while longer, the wind blows, a refreshing whisper reminding you that you’re still here. 

-

Thanks so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

JOEL MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

[fastandcarlos]

Bump Cuddles : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: watching you pregnant is a dream for max, especially with your bump there on offer for him to always snuggle up to

His eyes landed on you as soon as you walked into your bedroom, Max’s smile turned up as he watched you close the door behind you, knowing that was you for the night. You placed your phone down before perching on the edge of the bed, slowly rolling onto your back and stretching out. 

As you reached up, the material of your pyjama shirt lifted up, revealing your babu bump. “Look at you,” Max chuckled, instinctively moving towards you and placing his hand on your exposed skin. 

“This thing is lethal these days,” you chuckled, relaxing under the pressure of the warmth of Max’s hand. “I could do some serious damage if I wanted to with this thing.” 

“Tell me about it,” Max chuckled, all too familiar with being on the receiving end of you barging him forgetting how much space you now needed to get around. “Just think, there’s only a few more weeks to go until you won’t have this anymore.” 

“I can’t wait,” you laughed as Max turned his frame around so that his head was resting just beside your bump too. “The bump might look nice, but it’s the most impractical thing in the world.” 

With your bump growing day by day, you were finding it harder and harder to manage. Max was struggling to sit back and watch you, knowing that there was very little that he could do to help you. He did as much as he could, more than enough as far as you were concerned, but he still felt as if he could do more. 

“This is the stage that I’ve looked forward to the most,” Max admitted, brushing his hand over the surface of your bump, pushing your shirt up. “It’s so cuddly and the size of it too, no matter what you’re doing, or wearing, it just looks incredible.” 

As your bump became more prominent, Max’s excitement grew. He was glued to your side whenever he was around you, his hands couldn’t get enough of feeling your bump and the little movements of your son who was wriggling around inside. 

“Do you need anything?” Max asked you, realising that you were settling for the night. “Can I get you anything to make you more comfortable?” 

Your head shook in reply to Max. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt properly comfortable, but you were settled at least for now. Max was used to you being pretty restless, happy to do whatever he needed to do to help you whenever you needed to shuffle. 

“Let me know if you change your mind,” he added, reminding you once again that he was there for you, offering you a sympathetic smile as your eyes met his. 

Your hand came down, brushing through Max’s hair as he made himself comfortable to lay down beside your bump for a little while. “I think he must know that you’re home as he’s been kicking around a lot more than usual today.” 

“Has he?” Max excitedly asked, quickly moving his hand around wondering whether he could feel one for himself, having missed the feeling of your baby’s kicks during his weekend away racing in Qatar. 

You could only chuckle at the excitement on Max’s face, searching and searching for that sweet spot. He made no secret of the fact that feeling your son’s kicks was his favourite part of your pregnancy, every single time excited him as if it was the very first time he’d felt it.  

“What are you going to cuddle when the baby arrives?” You teased. 

“I might actually have to cuddle you again, not your bump.” 

When you first fell pregnant your bump baffled Max, he couldn’t believe how you had a little human growing inside. Now though, he couldn’t imagine the last few months without it, cuddling up to it had become a habit for Max without him even realising he was nearing it most of the time. 

“Sometimes I feel as if I’ve forgotten what you look like without your bump,” he laughed, continuing to move his hand around in search of a sign. 

You nodded in agreement with Max, having forgotten what your feet looked like having been unable to see them for quite a few weeks. “I think my body will be glad when what’s growing in the bump is on the outside, not the inside causing me any pain.” 

“Are you in pain now?” Max nervously asked, immediately panicking. His doubtful eyes looked at you as your head shook, but trusted you all the same. 

Max had always done a good job of taking care of you, but your pregnancy had introduced you to a whole new world with max. Protective was an understatement to describe how he treated you from the moment he found out you were pregnant. 

“I’m scared you know,” Max suddenly whispered, “our son will be tiny, I’m scared when I cuddle him out of your bump I’ll squash him or something.” 

You couldn't help but laugh as Max spoke, “you’ve had plenty of experience holding babies and you’ve managed not to squash any of them.” 

“But they weren’t mine,” he added, “I’ll give them an extra cuddle knowing that he’s mine.” 

Your hand continued to brush through his hair, “trust me, if you look like you’re going to crush our son then I’ll be sure to let you know.” 

The way his mind worked fascinated you, especially as Max seemed to overthink everything. He wanted every little thing to be perfect and would stop at nothing to make sure that it was. Every possible scenario had been considered by Max, even those that seemed completely out of the ordinary. 

“I think once the baby is here you’ll forget about me,” you joked, “you’ll only want to cuddle our son rather than cuddle up to me.” 

Max’s eyes were wide as he tilted them up to look at you. “There’s no way that I’ll ever forget about you, with these broad shoulders I’ll be able to hold the two of you without any problems at all.” 

“You know I’m only messing with you,” you replied, surprised by how serious Max was as he responded to you. 

“I’ll cuddle you more than ever once the baby is here,” Max assured you, moving his hand from your bump to rest against the top of yours. “I’ll cuddle you forever in appreciation for all that you’re about to put your body through in order to make our family complete.” 

As the two of you fell silent, you quickly grabbed Max’s hand placing it against your bump. Luckily for him, you got it there just in time as your son kicked out exactly where the palm of Max’s hand rested. 

“There he is,” Max chuckled, snuggling in closer to your bump, savouring the feeling of your baby letting you know that he was there. 

“That’s the hardest he’s kicked all day,” you breathed, taking a deep breath through the discomfort. “Obviously he’s very happy to have his daddy home too.” 

Max’s eyes studied you closely, “only a couple more weeks and you’ll be able to rest in peace again sweetheart, without all these interruptions.” 

“Are you forgetting the fact that we’ll have a screaming baby instead who will happily keep us up all night long Max?” 

“Let’s just forget about that for now,” he sniggered. 

Your head nodded in agreement, “I don’t know about you, but I’d quite like to make the most of these last few weeks with our bump.” 

“Me too,” Max smirked, “I’ve not got long left to cuddle this bump of yours, and I’m determined to make the most of it.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[shrimpybbq]

a missed moment

synopsis: Rafe misses the moment Charlie takes his first steps and is harsh on himself as always.

Charlie was the light of Rafe’s life: anything his son did made him so proud. Every little smile, giggle or ‘dada’ made Rafe grin so widely someone would think he had been possessed. But he wasn’t possessed, instead just so incredibly proud to have his sweet little boy happy and healthy and growing. The love he felt for his son wasn’t something Rafe had ever pictured or believed in, not considering his own father, but now that he had felt it, he never wished to let it go. Rafe did his best to be there for all his son’s milestones, even taking embarrassing photos for when he was older, but it was the one he missed that sent him into a spiral.

Rafe had been spending the day out in Guadeloupe, doing his best to sort out the shit for his dad and spending hours feeling his stress levels rising to a boiling point. All he wanted was to rest in his bed, relax and spend time with his family, and yet he was walking around the island talking about dividends and shares. He wasn’t pleased. Rafe walked through the front door, feeling the tension seep from his body, ready to lie down, only to see his son standing upright, little Charlie’s chunky arms clinging to the side of their couch.

Rafe’s eyes bulged as he watched Charlie turn to him, a large smile overtaking his identical features, the boy letting go of the couch as he took small steps towards his father.

Fuck. He was walking. Walking. He hadn’t been able to do that yesterday.

His girlfriend sat near Charlie, her soft voice encouraging him to ‘keep going to dada’. She gave small claps of encouragement as he moved closer, cheering him on.

Rafe felt his heart squeeze tightly in his chest as his son began to reach his small, chubby arms out to his father, and he could only pick him up, encapsulating the small boy within his own larger arms.

"Good job, buddy," was all Rafe managed to utter, his mind racing at the new development. He turned to his girlfriend, asking quietly "When did he start walking?".

"He started trying yesterday, but this morning he tried to follow you out of the house," his girlfriend responded softly. It was clear to see how Rafe was feeling, him not even bothering to hide the sadness spreading across his features. Rafe had been trying to get Charlie to walk for weeks as his little body grew stronger, but to no avail. And now, he had missed it.

"I should've been here..." Rafe mumbled lowly, "not fucking around doing this shit for my dad." Charlie began to play with the collar on his father's shirt, not sensing the sullen mood of his father. His mother shuffled over towards him, softly stroking his hair as he rested his head against his father's chest. Rafe looked down at his girlfriend before averting his eyes - he felt like she could always see right through him.

"Hey - don't do that. You were doing that to make sure we're going to be safe and looked after. You said that yourself, so don't feel bad about this, ok? This is just one milestone in his life, and he is going to have so many more. You were there when he stood for the first time, and when he said his first word," his girlfriend reassured, her arms now wrapping around Rafe's waist. He let himself embrace her, Charlie joining the hug too.

"I-I know, but what if he remembers this shit and he hat-," Rafe began, only to be quickly cut off.

"Rafe, he's one. He's not going to remember any of this. All he knows is that his parent's love him more than anything, ok?"

Rafe remained tense for a moment longer, before a heaving exhale left his chest. With that, he resolved to let his worries go - his girlfriend was right. He knew his mind was confounding his worries, for he only wanted his son to know he loved him. Rafe never wanted Charlie to question his love for him. Caught up in his thoughts, Rafe didn't notice his girlfriend pulling away from him, her voice redirecting his attention suddenly.

"I need to get his dinner ready. Can you stay with him?"

The blonde nodded, receiving a quick peck on the lips in acknowledgement, before his attention turned to Charlie - his expression brightening as he looked down at his son. "We're gonna practice walking again, aren't we buddy?" he proclaimed, walking them over to the rug again. Rafe watched as his girlfriend laughed as she left the room, her disembodied voice telling them to have fun. Whilst she prepared his dinner, all she could hear were the giggles of a small child and the encouraging statements leaving Rafe. He became a whole new person when he was with his son, and the cheer he let out when Charlie managed to walk towards him again only made the young mother smile to herself, her heart swelling with happiness at the small family the pair had created.

[slutzforbueckers]

you belong to somebody else

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: cheating; fingering(p + r receiving); oral(p + r receiving); scissoring; confession(???)

♡— synopsis: when paige’s girlfriend can’t do it right, her best friend is always there to pick up the slack.

♡— a/n: i skimmed through this and called it proofreading so apologies for any mistakes!! the piercing fic is coming next, promise.

♡— tags: @tenaciousglitternerd

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

paige wasn’t even sure how she ended up in front of your hotel room. she wasnt sure why she couldn’t stop showing up in front of your door. she let out a shaky breath and took a few steps back. she stopped and looked down at her phone. 12:43 am. paige ran a hand through her hair and decided to say fuck it. she took those couple steps forward and this time she brought her hand up and knocked, three quiet but sharp knocks.

she wasn't even sure if you were still up, she hadn't talked to you since the dinner earlier—the one where her girlfriend scolded her in the bathroom for looking at you more than she did her. a couple minutes of silence went by and she thought to walk away, go back to her room and crawl in bed beside her girlfriend, but then there was shuffle on the other side of the door.

paige looked up and then the door swung open. you stood there in nothing but a red laced bra and a pair of black shorts that were short enough to leave hardly anything to her imagination.

"what are you doing here?" you questioned. you were confused at first but then you noticed that look in her eyes, that look she always had when she showed up because her girlfriend didn't do it right. a smirk formed on your lips and you stepped aside, opening the door wider so she could step in.

you closed the door behind her and made sure to lock it. turning to face her, you stepped closer and ran your hands down her chest. "let me guess... bad night?"

"she's asleep." her voice was merely a whisper. her hands were still shoved into the pockets of her sweatpants. you laughed at the way she avoided your question and ran your hands down her arms and grabbed her wrist, turning her around and pulling her back towards the bed with you.

“of course she’s asleep, you’re good like that, but that’s not what i asked.” you stopped just short of the edge of the bed. you gripped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, revealing her bare chest. paige’s fingers were hooking in your waistband next, pushing them down your thighs and leaving you in nothing but a matching red set.

she pushed you back onto the bed. you moved up and laid against the pillows and propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as she climbed onto the bed and started to kiss up your body. your hips twitched as she ghosted her lips over your thigh.

“she didn’t even touch me, said she was tired and went to bed.” she mumbled against your skin, looking up at you as she kissed up your stomach. you tsked and shook your head, reaching your hand down and cupping her jaw—your thumb gently smoothed over her cheek.

“you wanna cum, paige? if that’s what you want then say it.” she nodded her head quickly, her cheeks flushing as she moved up your body.

“yes—god—yes.” she didn’t give you a chance to speak before she was kissing you—rough and desperate. you let her push you against the pillows before you flipped her over, pressing her into the mattress. paige breathed out into your mouth as you trailed your fingertips down her abs and into her sweats.

her hips twitched when your fingers made contact with her cunt, a soft moan following as you ran them through her slit and up to her clit. you circled her clit a couple times, smiling against her lips when her thighs fell apart and she whimpered.

you pulled your hand from her and started to kiss down her jaw and neck. her chest was already starting to rise and fall heavier, her head tilted back with a strained grunt when she felt your teeth graze her pulse point. you start your descent down her chest, stopping for a moment to press wet, hot kisses over her tit.

when you got to her sweats and pulled them down, along with her boxers, her thighs fell apart again almost instantly. you cursed under your breath at the sight of how wet she already was, you looked up at her with a smut grin. “this wet for little ole me?”

“shut up.” paige groaned and fell back onto the pillows, her skin flushing a deeper shade of red. you leaned in and flicked your tongue over her clit. once. then twice. paige moaned out, her fingers curling in the sheets. you placed your hands on her thighs and pinned them apart as you wrapped your lips around her clit and gently sucked.

paige’s hand flew down to tangle in your hair when you did it again, an almost too loud moan ripping from her throat. you added your fingers after a bit, slipping two fingers into her cunt with ease. her brows drew together and her lips parted as you curled your fingers perfectly, setting a easy pace that had her hips jutting up.

“shit—oh my god,” she moaned out, her voice jumping an octave. the way you moaned into her sent a shiver through her spine, her back arching and subsequently pushing her closer to your mouth. she didn’t care about the people surrounding your room, she didn’t care about how loud she was being, she didn’t care about anything when she was finally able to release all that built up frustration from tonight.

she could already feel that familiar coil in her core, that same feeling her girlfriend couldn’t make her feel—bless her heart. her thighs started to try and close around your head and her grip on your hair tightened as she tugged your closer.

“yes yes—oh my god! m’gonna cum—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop.” she threw her head back against the pillows with a moan so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if someone came knocking. you didn’t pull away to say anything, you didn’t slow down, you kept going just the same as before.

paige's hips had started to rut up, chasing that orgasm that was so close. her hand slammed down on the mattress when you curled your fingers right against that spot, a loud cry breaking from her. your own breathing had started to become labored, soft moans falling from your own lips, just from hearing her moan.

the sound of your fingers moving in and out of her sopping cunt was just as loud as her moans. it had you dripping in your panties and you hadn't even been touched yet. each drag of your fingers against her walls sent another gush of her cum flooding your fingers.

you curled your fingers one last time and she snapped, her thighs trembled under your hold as she slightly thrashed around. you fucked her through it all, keeping a steady pace until she slowly started to come down.

“damn,” paige panted as she relaxed back into the pillows, tossing her arm over her eyes. you gently pulled your fingers out and licked a broad stripe up her cunt, humming at the taste of her. paige whimpered when your tongue ran over her sensitive clit, her thighs pulling together.

you placed one last kiss to her cunt before moving up her body, you kissed up her stomach and tits before landing on her lips. paige wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pulled you closer, humming at the taste of herself on your tongue. after a few seconds she pulled away, still needing to catch her breath.

“thank you,” paige laughed breathlessly, smiling in post-orgasm bliss. you smiled right along with her and kissed the side of her head. she looked up at you, biting her lip and her hands unclasped your bra behind her back. “wanna taste you now.”

“by all means go ahead.” you rolled off of her and laid down beside her, tossing your bra in the process. paige was on you in a second, kissing your neck as her hands fondled your tits. you arched into her when her mouth latched onto your nipple, her tongue swirling and flicking around the hardened bud. paige didn’t take her time—not really—she moved down your body after a few seconds, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down.

you spread your thighs and sat up on your elbows, watching as she dove in almost immediately. her lips attaching to your clit and sucking it into her mouth. your head fell back with a small moan, her hips jerking. paige wrapped her arms around your thighs and pulled you closer to her mouth, you fell back against the pillows with a gasp.

her mouth worked at your cunt relentlessly, licking and sucking like your pussy was her lifeline. you weren’t complaining though, if anything you we’re merely encouraging her. “so good, baby. fuck—just like that.”

paige brought her fingers down and pressed her two fingers against your entrance, not yet sliding in but just teasing. when she did slide them in though, you released a shaky moan and threaded your fingers through her hair. paige looked up at you, watching every small twitch on your face like she would get quizzed afterwards.

“thought about you the whole time.” she mumbled into you, curling her fingers in time with her words. you gasped at the feeling but your heart was beating so fast you barely registered her words. you looked down at her, meeting her hungry gaze, and you couldn’t help but moan at how she looked. “she doesn’t feel like you, doesn’t taste as good as you.”

“paige—“ you whined, stomach tightening and hips jerking at her words. she always knew just what to say in the heat of the moment—no matter who it was—but with you she didn’t have to think about it, the truth came naturally.

“you’re addictive.” she flicked her tongue of your clit, moaning as she used her free hand to pull back your hood, making the stimulation more intense. her fingers kept the same pace, rough and fast—just how you liked it. “im addicted to you, y/n.”

“yes, yes—right there—oh my god—“ your back arched from the bed and your thighs quivered around her head. your orgasm hit you before you knew it. maybe it was the way she looked up at you like you hung the moon. maybe it was her fingers. or maybe it was the way she said your name. paige pulled her fingers out and replaced them with her tongue, lapping up every last drop of you, moaning in the process.

“fuck, paige.” you panted as you sunk back against the pillows. paige pulled away from you with a pussy-drunk smile on her face, the entire bottom half of her face soaked with your slick. she laid her head down on your thigh, running a hand over your hipbone and up to your tit.

“you think you got another one in you?” she asked even though she already knew the answer. you rolled your eyes and nodded your head, tugging her up so you could kiss her.

somewhere between the hot, messy clashes of teeth and tongue, you flipped her over again and slotted your leg between hers. paige’s legs fell open immediately, her hands gripping your hips as you slowly rolled your hips forward. the both of you let out a shaky moan as your clit caught hers, your slick creating a obscene sound as your cunts glided together.

paige rolled her hips up to meet yours, hissing at the added pressure. your ran your hands over her chest before wrapping your hand around her throat and kissing her. she moaned into your mouth, the vibration shooting straight through your spine as your ground your hips down harder. both of your cunts we’re soaked with a mixture each other, it was spread across your thighs.

“fuck—just like that, baby.” paige gasped when she pulled away to breathe, her eyes squeezing shut and her head tipping back. you ran your tongue along the expansion of her throat, moaning at the salty sheen of sweat coating her skin. “ride me so fucking good.” she moaned as she ran her hands over your ass, landing a harsh slap before her started to pull you into her.

“yeah? that feel good, p?” you ran your lips along the shell of her ear and your spoke, voice low and sultry. paige didn’t think it was possible to get even more turned on but hearing you speak to her like that always did the trick.

paige groaned—guttural, broken—and tilted her hips up again, her body starting to tremble with each grind. you were both so wet, so worked up, it felt like your entire body was on fire from the inside out. every bump of your clits made your breath hitch, made your thighs twitch. her abs were flexing under you, her muscles shaking as her hips rutted up faster.

“m’gonna cum—fuckfuckfuck—don’t stop, y/n. please don’t stop—“ she was babbling at this point, her words broken up by loud moans snd whines. the way she moaned your name made your head spin, moaning into the crook of her neck as you rocked harder, faster. you could feel your own orgasm building, your stomach was tightening, legs burning from the effort.

“me too, baby—fuck—cum with me, p, let me feel it.” paige only nodded, too far gone for words, her whole body trembling. her fingers dug into the plush of your ass as she held you against her, a near scream tore through her as her orgasm crashed into her. she came hard, her cunt throbbing against yours as she writhed under you, sobbing through her orgasm.

it only took a few more grinds before your own orgasm ripped through you in a blinding rush, hips stuttering and grinding as you rode it out against her. you could barely breathe, barely think—could only feel the heat between you. you collapsed onto her chest with a big huff. your heart was racing, breaths coming out in uneven pants, thighs a sticky mess.

“holy fuck.” you mumbled as you rolled off of her and pulled the sheet over your both. paige just laughed and pulled you into her arms, her hand rubbing your arm gently.

for a while neither of you spoke. you laid with each other, skin to skin, feeling the slow of each others breathing and basking in the short time together you had. you almost thought she had went to sleep but then she let out a small breath, too fast to have been asleep.

“you know, i meant it when i said you’re addictive.” paige absentmindedly traced shapes on your arm. she was staring at the ceiling with nothing on her mind but you. you shifted and laid your head on her chest, staring up at her with heart eyes. somehow she always looked perfect after sex, the perfect blush coating her skin that made her glow under the dim light from the lamp.

“really?”

“yeah. i’m like—“ she paused for a moment, trying to decide if she should say what she was thinking or just stay quiet. she looked down at you and decided she wanted to speak. “i’m hooked on you, for real. maybe even before we starting doing this.”

“why didn’t you say anything then?” you were sitting up now, crisscrossed and interest peaked. paige just shrugged and turned her gaze back to the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. the room fell quiet, the only sound being the quiet hum of the a/c. you stared at her features for a moment, your hand twitching in your lap.

“i don’t know, i was scared i guess.” paige turned to face you, propping herself up on her elbow. she reached out grabbed your hand. “i almost didn’t even want to introduce myself. you were scary for a 7th grader.”

“i was not!” you lightly shoved her shoulder, laughing because you totally were. paige just smiled and tugged at your arm, silently asking you to lay with her. so, you did. she laid her arm out for you and you gladly placed yourself in her space.

“i wouldn’t have turned you down. not back then or now.” you let out a small sigh at the thought of what you could’ve been by now. “i wish you would’ve said something.”

“me too,” paige whispered. “everyday.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” paige cursed under her breath when she saw what time it was. it was almost 5am. she wasn’t sure how she even fell asleep, one minute you were talking and the next you weren’t. she quickly rolled out of bed and used the flashlight on her phone to find pieces of her clothes. she tried to make the easy amount of noise but just as she was pulling her sweats up she heard the sheets rustle.

you had rolled onto your back and slowly blinked your eyes open. you saw her putting her clothes back on and sat up, you knew she would have to leave it was routine but still didn’t make you feel any better. “what time is it?”

“like, 5 something. i have to go before she wakes up.” she said as she straightened her shirt out. you only hummed in response and laid back down, draping your arm over your eyes. paige her bottom lip and crawled onto the bed, placing herself in your lap and moving your arm from your face.

“you don’t have to say anything. i know.” you whispered, reaching up and running your fingers through a piece of her hair that was still messy. paige knew she didn’t have to say anything but she always did anyways, not because she had to but because she wanted you to know you weren’t just her late night relief.

“i’ll figure it out, okay?” she muttered as she leaned down and pressed one last lingering kiss to your lips. “just— just give me some time.”

and with that she was gone.

[mourning-sapphire]

living dead girl | aemond targaryen

Summary: You didn’t think going to a gig would then have you on your back with the lead guitarist between your thighs and a blinking red light on the nightstand.

Pairing: Metal Guitarist!Aemond x Reader (modern au)

Warnings (not in order): roughly set in the 00s, voyeurism/filming sexual acts (with consent! but again there is explicit filming of sexual acts), smut, spitting, spanking, overstimulation, guitarists finger faster, multiple positions, use of nicknames (baby, bunny etc.), face-fucking, dry humping, a healthy dose of dacryphilia, softish? dom!aemond, sub reader, cum eating/sharing (oops), UNPROTECTED sex (don’t do this irl), edging (m), creampie, aftercare.

Word count: 30k

authors note: ive read this about a million times, if there's a mistake know i had to proof this myself, enjoy babies hehe <3

Series Masterlist

Dragon’s Gate Bar

            Bodies, bodies, bodies.

The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, so overpowering that it drowned out the usual smells of a packed crowd—sweat, stale drinks, and damp jackets. About 150 people were shoved into the sticky floored basement of an alt bar, the only one in the city; bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the walls sweating from the collective heat. All shuffling and moving for the same reason – to see some band.

“I’m not sure why you dragged me out to this,” you shouted to your friend Sara, leaned close to be heard over the noise. Your eyes flicker up to the dinky but oddly charming stage. “It’s not like I’m here for the same reason you are.”

It’s not that you didn’t enjoy alternative music, actually, you loved the rush and relief it gave you after a hard day at work or when you needed an adrenaline boost at the gym. But going to gigs? That was never really your thing. The preference for you was being sat in your bedroom, thinking with headphones on, rather than grimacing every time someone knocked into you or risking a drink getting spilt over you. You didn’t knock the culture; you just didn’t go very far out of your comfort zone often.

Sara on the other hand? Despite being your friend she was the polar opposite, she was always the more outgoing one. The one that pushed you out of your comfort zone and made sure you always had fun wherever she dragged you to. But for all intents and purposes, and in her own words, she was a groupie.

The thrill she got from following bands she loved, chasing the music, and hooking up with someone along the way was unmatched for her, honestly? You adored her for it. The stories she shared about her escapades; the tours she hauled herself on, the wild nights, the explicit encounters in seedy bathrooms, were nothing short of thrilling. In a way, you lived vicariously through her adventures.

“Girl,” She leaned in as close as you, and yelled back, “When I tell you that you’ll love this band, trust me, not only are they talented but fuck, they are hot.” She cackled, glancing around the bar before she grabbed your arm and pointed to the stage door.

“See him over there?” she said, pointing toward a medium-length, white-haired guy who looked a little worse for wear as he chatted with someone by the side of the stage; just her type. “That’s Aegon. He’s the lead singer.”

Your lips parted to respond to her before she slapped your arm, and pointed just left of the lead singer.

“And over there? That’s Daeron,” she said with a sly giggle and a raised brow. “The drummer, shy and totally your type.” Sara couldn’t help but tease, cooing at you with a dirty smirk on her red lips.

Following her gaze, you couldn’t help but purse your lips in appreciation. She wasn’t entirely wrong, Daeron did seem like your type. He wasn’t the tallest, but he was taller than the lead singer. His cropped white hair had a fluffy texture with curls on top, and his ears were kitted out with a plethora of piercings. He wore what you could only describe as a "slutty" tank top, arms on full display, paired with ripped black straight leg jeans. Everything about him screamed boy in the band. At the edge of the stage, he was lost in his rhythm, tapping his drumsticks on a practice pad with focused look.

“Are they all related or something,” You asked her, looking at Daeron intensely as the black-haired man who was speaking to Aegon wandered over to him next.

“Yes,” She nodded with a shit-eating grin, her eyes burning with some sort of desire, “There’s a guitarist too, Aemond, but he’s a bit no-nonsense with everything so you never see him until he goes on stage – their sister Helaena joins them as bass when they tour.” She added.

“So, they’re a family of musicians?” You raised your eyebrow apprehensively, giving her a strange look, “That’s a first.”

“Kinda hot,” she said, biting her lip with an amused glint in her eyes before shooting you a heated look. “Two brothers in one go? Now that’s my kind of night.” You could only shake your head at her, matching her amused expression.

“What’s their name again?” you asked, glancing at the stage’s fabric backdrop; a black flag with a red, cracked crown decorating the centre.

“Blood Princes,” she replied with a slight eye roll, grabbing your arm and tugging you toward the front of the crowd. She pushed forward with little regard for the glares thrown her way. “Bit of a silly name, but apparently, they’re descended from royalty or something,” she yelled back over her shoulder.

You let out a puff of air, grimacing at the annoyed looks Sara earned as she elbowed her way through the crowd. While the lights began to dim as the last stragglers filtered into the bar, and the noise of the crowd swelled. Determined as ever, Sara made it her life’s mission to reach the barrier at the very front.

The stage was lower than what you’d see at a big venue, leaving no doubt that this was all part of her plan. If she could get front and centre, so could her flirty attitude, and she’d make sure one of the brothers noticed. It was clear she had her sights set on turning tonight into another of her wild stories.

You followed her reluctantly, shuffling through the crowd as Sara carried forward with pure energy and eagerness. The closer you got to the front, the more you could start to feel the heat of the crowd, the mix of raw excitement snapping in the air as the yelling increased. The air felt thick with incense and the promise of something about to happen.

By the time you had shoved your way to the barrier, she was practically vibrating with excitement, her smoky eyes scanning the side of the stage for any sign of the brothers. You couldn't help but chuckle under your breath. She was a force of nature when she got this determined (or horny).

The room grew darker, and the chatter quieted, replaced by the rising tone of a guitar. The anticipation in the air felt electric, and if the atmosphere was anything to go by, then these brothers probably knew how to put on a show. You couldn’t deny you were caught up in the feeling that Sara felt, that raw charge of the night and the want to just let go and enjoy yourself.

Despite yourself, you found your heart racing, the bobbing of silver-haired men on the side and the crowd starting to chant, topped off and heightened by Sara's infectious energy.

It was like a fate when the lights cut out completely, plunging the room into darkness. The screams of the crowd collectively pierced the air, waiting for the first notes to break the silence.

“Dragon’s Gate,” A smooth timber of who you assumed was Aegon pulsed out the speaker - a deep, resonating sound that seemed to shook the air around you. The crowd erupted into cheers, and the lights flashed to life in a red hue pointing to the crown, and the sound of high hats tapping filled the air, “I want to fucking HEAR YOU.” He screamed into the mic.

The band appeared on stage in a blur of black and leather, shadows shifting as they settled into their positions. Daeron, the drummer, was the first you spotted, his hands a blur of movement as he tapped the edge of his cymbals with precision. Aegon, took centre stage, his presence magnetic as he grabbed the microphone with a casual confidence.

The sound hit you like a wave and the drums thrummed in your chest as the guitars screamed through the air. Aegon’s voice, gravelly yet melodic, cut through that chaos. The crowd surged as one, a mass of bodies moving with the rhythm, drawn together in the shared euphoria of the moment.

It was at that moment, from your spot by the side of the stage, that your gaze landed on the other brother, the one you hadn’t seen before.

Aemond.

You weren’t sure if it was the crowd or the way his eyes locked onto yours, but you were breathless as you took in the sight of him. Tall, lithe, and utterly commanding, he moved right in front of your line of vision, his presence pulling you in like a magnet.

Like his brothers, Aemond was dressed head to toe in rich black. His t-shirt clung to his body like a second skin, while a heavily decorated leather jacket hung casually over his shoulders; spotted with studs and patches that you didn’t understand. His jeans were tight and ripped, accentuating every sculpted muscle in his skinny legs, and topped off with a heavy looking buckle. His hair, much longer than both of his brothers, was straight and swayed with each nod of his head like rivers of liquid silver spilling over his shoulders.

What stood out the most was the faint red scar that ran across his eye, its presence flickering with each flash of light, yet always there. His eye seemed largely unaffected, milky white and probably not useable conventionally, but the slash only seemed to enhance his features rather than detract from them, adding a raw intensity to his face that made it all the more striking.

And his hands? God, his hands.

They were perfectly large and veined, like they’d been carved by the gods themselves, made to pluck strings. His bony fingers grasped onto the neck of his guitar and moved up and down in a way that told you that he had rough skin.

Something was captivating about him, something that drew your attention even as the chaos of the crowd swirled around you with the sounds of screams and shoves. It was like every movement he made seemed deliberate, as though he knew exactly how to command the room without a word; if the screaming of girls around your side of the stage was anything to go by. His eyes flicked toward you again as they started to pick up with the first song, it was as if the noise of the crowd faded for a split second, and it was just the two of you in that electric space.

Aemond didn’t look away, his gaze steady and piercing, and you felt an inexplicable shiver lick down your spine. It was like he wanted to eat you. You could almost hear the music beneath the pounding bass, its rhythm syncing with the beating of your heart. You were no longer just watching a show, you were completely caught in a moment with this man, completely aware of how he seemed to take up every bit of the space around you.

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk, and you couldn’t tell if it was meant for the crowd or you. But it didn’t matter.

In that brief exchange, something shifted. You couldn’t look away, and neither could he. The connection, electric and silent, buzzed between you like an unspoken dare. The music throbbed louder, the crowd's energy surging again, but now, you were focused entirely on him. Aegon's screams blending into the background.

The moment seemed to stretch beyond moral time; each second dragging on as the intensity between your gazes grew. The music swirled around you, but it felt distant now as Sara jumped beside you completely unaware.

It was fading into the background as Aemond’s presence consumed your attention, a warming feeling building in your core just from his very eyes. His eyes never left yours, and with each beat, it was as though he was drawing you in deeper, challenging you to break the gaze between you.

The crowd surged around you, people moshing and shoving with an energy you didn’t possess, but you stood still, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and raw desire for a man you didn’t know. You could see his fingers moving on the guitar, effortlessly sliding across the strings with a grace that made it hard to look away.

But it wasn’t just his playing; it was the way his whole body moved with the music, the way he seemed so at ease on the stage, yet undeniably aware of every person in the room; he was there only for himself.

Every moment passing felt like hours. And then, without breaking eye contact, he crouched to the edge of the stage and leaned in slightly, his expression darkening in a way that made your breath hitch; his fingers moving at a speed you didn’t comprehend as he rattled off some solo. The crowd roared around you at him, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

With a flushed face, you could only look him up and down as Aemond smirked again, this time broader, as if he’d won some silent game between you. You couldn’t tell if he was inviting you in or daring you to look away, but either way, you knew you were already lost in it.

You knew you were fucked.

The rest of the show passed in a blur, all with Aemond’s face etched into your mind; the unspoken tension between you two palpable and electric, intoxicating even. But it was as intense as it was intoxicating, leaving you with a building warmth deep in your core – a sensation you weren’t sure you’d ever felt from a singular person before. It wasn’t just the music or the atmosphere causing it; it was something more primal, a raw need charging between two people who hadn’t even exchanged a word.

Aemond’s gaze never wavered, and neither did yours. The connection was undeniable, like an unspoken promise of more hanging in the air. Every glance, every flick of his fingers on the guitar, seemed to deepen the pull between you. The crowd around you faded, the noise blurring into the background as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

When the final song hit and for a brief, fleeting moment, Aemond’s eyes locked with yours one last time as he handed his guitar off to one of the techs. He held your gaze with an intensity that made the air thick and heavy like something was about to snap. The moment was charged but brief as he roamed over you with his eyes before disappearing off the side of the stage, leaving you standing there, breathless, wanting more.

As the lights came up, Sara turned to you with a grin so smug it could only mean she did, in fact, see the whole thing. Her head whipped around so quickly, much to the chagrin of the man behind her who got slapped with her hair, it was a miracle she didn’t get dizzy. Before you could react, her manicured hand was clutching your arm, yanking you closer.

“Girl, what was that?” she demanded, shaking you slightly for emphasis like she couldn’t contain herself. “And don’t you dare tell me ‘nothing.’ I saw the way you were making ‘fuck me’ eyes at him.” She widened her eyes for emphasis.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, still a little breathless from the intensity of it all. Your eyes briefly glanced back at where he had just stood on stage. “We just… locked eyes, and I couldn’t look away.”

Sara squealed so loudly that a few people nearby shot her odd looks, but she didn’t care. Her face was one on of pure elated happiness,

“Are you gonna fuck him? Please tell me you are,” she asked, bouncing on the spot like a giddy child. “I mean, you picked the hardest one in the band to crack, but girl, you have to,” she said, her eyes wide and full of determination.

You gave her an incredulous look. “Sara,”

“What,” she shot back, shameless. “You know I’m right. That was electric, babe. You can’t let a moment with a man like that go to waste.”

If someone were to stare at you right now, they’d witness your mouth opening and closing like a confused fish – completely unable to tell your best friend otherwise. It was comical, and it was embarrassing because she was right. If the burning in your core didn’t speak to how much you wanted him, the fact that he ensnared your gaze without even mumbling a single word to you was something written out of a shitty book. You knew nothing about him; besides the 3 things Sara told you and the fact that visually he might be the most gorgeous men you’ve ever seen.

It wasn’t like one-night stands were completely off the table - you indulged now and then, just like anyone else. You were an adult woman with needs, after all. But sleeping with a musician? That sounded like a recipe for absolute disaster.

Charming, unpredictable, and fleeting all swirled around your head. Musicians were the people who lived in the moment, burned bright, and moved on just as quickly. A one-night stand with a regular person was one thing, a mutual, fleeting connection that was understood and beneficial, but with a musician? It felt like opening the door to a mess of complications. Your face internally grimacing at the idea of blurred boundaries, ego trips, and the lingering aftermath of knowing you were likely just another fleeting memory for them.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “It’s not like I can just walk up to him and—”

“Oh, yes, you can!” Sara interrupted, her grip on your arm tightening as she gave you a look that could burn through steel. “He was looking at you, not just glancing, babe. That was full-on-undressing-you-with-his-eyes energy.”

“Sara,” you hissed, glancing around at the dispersing crowd, it was unlikely anyone cared. “He’s probably already gone backstage or something.”

Sara could only give you a look that called you an idiot on various levels, her eyes fluttering like you’d said the stupidest thing in the world to her.

Sara snorted and crossed her arms. “They always head to the bar upstairs after the show, mingle with the crowd or whatever – it’s usually invite only or guestlist, but I know the bartender here, he’ll vouch for us.”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

She smirked, pointing toward the other side of the room, where the stairs that led up to the bar stood – two men with beards guarding it with a passive look on their face. She could only turn and grin like she’d won the lottery, her confidence practically oozing.

“Relax, babe. I’ve done this a million times. We’ll get in, no problem.” She said smugly, linking arms with you and practically dragging you to the stairs.

The two bouncers looked intimidating but uninterested, scanning the dispersing crowd like they’d rather be anywhere else. Your stomach churned with a mix of nerves and excitement.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you asked her, though you knew it was a futile question. Once Sara had a plan and sex on the brain, she was unstoppable.

“Good idea? Probably not,” she admitted with a laugh, linking her arm through yours and pulling you toward the stairs. “But a fun one? Abso-fucking-lutely.” She grinned.

You sighed but didn’t resist her as she led the way, her platform heels thudding against the sticky floor. Deep in your gut you knew this was a terrible idea, possibly even the worst idea of hers you could have gotten involved in, but there was a depraved part of your brain that was curious to see if your little staring contest would go anywhere.

When you eventually reached the base of the stairs, you were clearly not the only people itching to get up into the private afterparty, a gaggle of women surrounding the bouncers like hungry zombies.

Sara, being the champ that she was, merely elbowed her way in again, much like the gig crowd, and it was in a blink of an eye before one of the bouncers held up a hand to stop you going further.

“Private area,” he said flatly, giving both of you a once-over.

Sara didn’t miss a beat. She leaning in and flashing that bright smile she pulled when she wanted her way, a gentle purr to her tone as she dropped the name of someone, probably the bartender, like they were old friends. “He said it’s fine.”

On of the bouncers raised an eyebrow, glancing at his companion, who gave a barely perceptible nod; the lack of care on his face. “Alright. Go on up,” he said, stepping aside.

Your eyes widened as Sara tugged you up the stairs. “How do you do that?” you whispered, in awe as she dragged you up the stairs, your eyes glancing behind you to see the hordes of unhappy women at your easy entry.

She shrugged with a grin, jogging up the stairs like her life was dependant on it. “You gotta make them believe what you’re telling them by believing it yourself and somehow it works.”

The upstairs bar was smaller and far more exclusive, with low lighting, posters covering the walls from all the bands that had played there, and a tamer hum of the crowd. The air was tinged with a mix of lingering incense smoke, drinks, and something faintly metallic, it wasn’t off-putting in the slightest though.

It was quieter up here, the crowd dwindled to a select few – mostly friends, fans, and stage crew. The hum of voices was more subdued, like a white noise of just people around you with no discernible conversation being picked up; a stark contrast to the previous frenzied yelling from down the stairs.

The first thing you noticed was the band itself, scattered throughout the room like stars in their own sky. Each member was absorbed in their own little bubble of admirers around them, each with the casual confidence they exuded making them magnetic even in this more relaxed setting.

You could see Sara perk up from beside you as she dragged you to the bar; Aegon, holding court further down the bar, a lazy grin plastered on his face as he entertained a small group of women who all seemed to be fawning for his attention.

“You going to go over to him?” You ask her softly, nudging her with your elbow as you both lean on the bar, gesturing to the bartender for two ciders, “I mean, you look like you’re about to burst from excitement.” There’s was teasing tilt to your voice

“You mean am I going to fight off the 7 girls around him?” She rolled her eyes softly, fishing in her tiny bag for her compact and lipstick, “To which I’ll tell you, maybe, I’ll see how I feel – maybe I’ll go for one of the other brothers,” Her eyes flicked back to you with a smirk shining in them.

At her jest, you turned and looked for the other brothers – only to find Daeron stood near a corner booth, shyly sipping his drink while someone in a leather jacket tried to strike up a conversation; shy for a drummer.

Sara’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, her smirk only growing as she dragged her lipstick across her mouth with an exaggerated flourish. “That is,” she added casually, snapping the compact shut with a satisfying click, “unless someone has dibs.”

Her words hung in the air, pointed and playful. You glanced back at her, and the teasing sparkle in her eyes made your cheeks flush.

“Does that someone?” she asked, arching a perfectly sculpted brow, her tone light but loaded with suggestion.

She knew exactly what she was doing and she was stupidly happy about it, and even worse, she wasn’t wrong. The thought of “dibs” made your mind flash back to Aemond, his intense gaze, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hands moved as if they were an extension of his will.

Could you handle if she decided to sleep with him? You didn’t know him, so you shouldn’t care, and Sara would never do that to you anyway. But, there was a burning in your chest at the thought of someone doing it. An ugly and nauseous feeling that clawed at your oesophagus, tearing into it and leaking something putrid into your soul.

You cleared your throat, the tight feeling suddenly like hand around your airway, fumbling pathetically for a response. “I mean, I just…” You trailed off, trying to come up with something, anything, that didn’t sound like an admission.

Sara just grinned, completely unbothered by your flustered state. “You’re cute when you’re nervous, like a skittish kitten,” she said, drawing out the sounds with a knowing lilt.

She tucked her compact back into her bag and adjusted her top. “Look, all I’m saying is, if you want to make a move, now’s your chance. Guys like that? They don’t stick around long; and they certainly don’t stick around alone for long.”

She was right and you hated it, her words sinking in and hitting a nerve. The cider you had ordered was cold in your hand as you leant on the bar, glancing around for any sign him. A nervous sip being taken at the thought.

Your breath caught when you saw him.

Standing off to the darker side of the bar, well-removed from the centre of attention, Aemond seemed completely at ease yet undeniably commanding in his chosen space. His tall frame leaned casually against the wall like he didn’t really care to be there; his fingers curled around a glass of dark liquid as he chatted quietly to someone, a lady with dark hair. The faint light caught his silver strands and the sharp planes of his face, making him look almost otherworldly in such a normal place.

The woman with him laughed softly, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the crowd but you caught it; it was womanly and warm, but Aemond’s reaction to her was muted – a polite nod, and brief flicker of what you could call smile that didn’t quite reach his eye. His focus seemed elsewhere, like he was merely going through the motions of the conversation.

It wasn’t until he caught your eye, that his demeanour shifted. His posture straightened subtly, his head tilting ever so slightly as his eye locked onto yours; a nod so subtle you weren't sure if you caught it, a silent beckon to ‘come closer’. The woman beside him seemed to notice, however, her own gaze darting toward you with mild curiosity before she offered him a quick goodbye and slipped away into the crowd.

You hesitated for the briefest moment, your heart pounding in your chest, Sara was close to you watching the whole thing with a smug look on her face. The feel of her sharp elbow digging into your side snapped you out of your stare, your head whipping to look at her with wide eyes.

“Go,” she said, her voice firm but there was an air encouragement under it.

You glanced back at her, your heart racing, and then turned toward Aemond, “I don’t want to just leave you on your own.”

If she rolled her eyes any harder, they would drop right out her skull, “Alone? Babe, I’m going home with someone, and you will too – now go.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment, your heart pounding in your chest, before your feet carried you forward almost on instinct. The closer you got, the more palpable his presence became, as though he commanded the very air around him. His gaze never strayed from you the whole time you walked over; steady and unrelenting, it was like he had all the time in the world to wait for you.

It was flattering, but it was like he was enraptured by watching a small animal about to get pounced on, his eye strong to the point that you could have sworn that the lighting made it look like a void.

When you finally stopped in front of him, he was leaned back slightly against the wall, like another frame on the gallery that was posters and signatures of past gigs. He was perched there like a gargoyle, and the way you’d heard people talk about him, it wasn’t that bold of an assumption to make that he most likely loved to watch. His tall frame both relaxed and coiled, like a snake waiting to strike. The smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver of heat through you.

"You found me," he said, his voice low and rich, carrying effortlessly over the low hum of the room. “I was wondering if staring was really all you could do.”

"I was looking for you?" you replied softly, trying to match his indifferent composure.

“Unless you stare at everyone with eyes like that…” His smirk deepened, and he took a slow sip from his glass before answering. "…I’d like to think so."

The air between you felt charged, the buzz of the room fading into a distant hum. Up close, his features were even more striking. The faint scar cutting across his eye seemed to catch the dim light in a way that made it all the more mesmerising, and the intensity of his stare was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. There was an oddity about his face, not in the sense that he wasn’t gorgeous, but that he had the features of someone that you could trace with your fingers, memories every little bump, and never meet someone like that again.

“You decided to come up,” he said, his voice smooth and quiet, like a secret meant just for you, "You’re not like the usual crowd, you stand out a bit more." he said after a beat, his eye sweeping over you in a way that felt like he was picking you apart. Judging your worth.

You couldn’t tell if it was malicious or just curiosity, but you glanced down at your clothing regardless, it wasn’t anything as outlandish as what Sara wore but it still fit the vibe; a black denim shorts and tight silk top, with a thicker leather jacket tossed over it. It was appropriate for the situation, even if the tag was digging into your side and you longed to shed it like a second skin.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" You murmured softly, your eyes glancing back up at him with a raised brow.

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment, his eyes openly sweeping over you. "It is."

“Bold,” You tut softly, your eyes sweeping over his face, “Do you usually stare down women in the crowd? Or am I special?”

Aemond's lips twitched into a faint smirk, the kind that felt practiced yet somehow still genuine, like he knew what he could do to people. He didn’t answer immediately, instead letting the tension simmer in the space between you. His free hand coming up to touch your hair, brushing the strands that were hanging down softly, twirling a piece of it around his finger. It sent a shiver down your spine as your eyes flicked to watch his hand, the subtle jingle of his bracelets, before looking back at him – his eye staring at you intensely.

“Special,” he finally said, the single word carrying enough weight to make your chest seize. “If that makes you any more comfortable...” He trailed off waiting for your name.

You gave it as you swallowed hard, the hum of the room growing even more distant, like he was pulling you into his world and the two of you were caught in a bubble apart from everything else.

“Well,” you managed to choke out, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest, “I hope you have more to offer than pretty words and staring, Aemond.” You surprised yourself with the boldness of your own response, the hint of a challenge laced in your tone.

His smirk deepened, the corner of his mouth quirking in a way that was maddening, his free hand dropped back to his side, the one that was holding his half empty glass placing it off to the side as he held your stare.

He liked long silences, and you couldn’t tell if that was hot or if it was going to be infuriating. You watched him with rapt attention as he reached out to you, his fingers lightly holding the edge of your jacket as he tugged you a bit closer to him. His form towering of you as you looked up; his hair creating a curtain as he looked down.

“Oh, I assure you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, “there’s much more than words where that came from.”

All your mouth could do was part as his used the soft hold on your jacket to switch places with him, his eyes casting around the room before tilting his chin to look down at you; curtains of starlight hair moving as he crowded you back into the wall.

Aemond’s presence was overwhelming, deliberate.

The air between you building and thickening quicker than you could ever imagine, the space between charged with something unspoken but undeniable. The sharp scent of whatever he had been drinking lingered on his breath, mixing with the faint smokiness wafting off his clothing, and it made your head swim. He was delectable.

His fingers, still hooked on the edge of your jacket, tightened just enough to pull you slightly closer, enough to make your breath hitch. Aemond wasn’t just touching fabric, he was anchoring you, claiming the space between you both as his own.

“You seem at a loss for words,” Aemond murmured, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. His voice was velvet, softer than you’d imagine by just looking at him. It teasing but edged with something deeper.

You swallowed softly, his eyes watching with rapt attention as your throat bobbed, “Not lost,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you, softer than you wanted.

His eye flickered over your face, reading you, dissecting every tiny shift in expression. Then, with agonising slowness, he lifted one hand to trace the line of your jaw with his thumb, barely there in its graze, but enough to make you shiver all the same.

“I like you like this,” he admitted, voice dipping lower, dragging over your senses. “You’re like a doe.”

A sharp breath left you, chest rising and falling as he leaned in just enough that his lips nearly brushed yours, but not quite. The heat of him, the sheer intensity in the way he watched you, was enough to set every nerve in your body alight.

“Come out for a smoke with me?” He hummed softly but his words were edged with other intentions, so soft that if he wasn’t right in front of you then the words would be lost to the bar, “If you want to of course…”

“Okay.” you whispered, trying for steady, though your fingers curled against the wall behind you. “Just a smoke, right?.”

Aemond’s smirk deepened, but this time, his restraint frayed. His hand slid lower, tracing down your side before gripping your waist, firm, possessive.

“Maybe.”

And with that, he closed the last sliver of space between you, pulling your hand from behind you.

The night air did little to cool the heat still pulsing under your skin. Every nerve in your body was taut as you stood beside Aemond on the curb, waiting. The street was quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of a car, but all you could hear was the faint rush of your own breath, watching it even as it turned to white smoke in the cold air, coupled with the unsteady thrum of your pulse. You had watched him take his phone out as he tugged you outside, pulling up an app to call a car.

Sara’s face has been absolutely ecstatic as she caught your eye leaving, his body perched on the lap of someone that wasn’t her main conquest, a subtle tongue in cheek push telling you that she was hoping you’d get that and then some tonight.

Aemond exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the ember of his cigarette glowing bright before fading into the darkness. He held it loosely between his fingers, rolling it casually like he had no thoughts in his head, his other hand shoved in his coat pocket.

Despite the casual stance, there was nothing relaxed about him. His presence was deep, brimming with unspoken intent, and the weight of his gaze was heavy when it flickered to you. Sending a fresh wave of anticipation curling through your stomach.

He smirked, lips twitching around the cigarette. “You’re quiet.”

You swallowed, shifting slightly under his stare. “So are you.”

His eye glowed in the low light. “I enjoy a good silence.”

You let out a soft scoff, but there was no real bite to it. Your pulse had yet to settle from earlier, from the way he had pressed you against the wall, the way he had touched you like he knew exactly what you needed before you even did. And now, just standing next to him, you felt like you were on the edge of something again, teetering between restraint and surrender.

Aemond took another drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot with slow, deliberate movements. When he turned toward you fully, it felt like the air between you shifted, tightening like a drawn wire.

His fingers brushed under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his, his hands a sharp contrast to the freezing air. The touch was light, almost teasing, but it set you alight all the same. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, lingering for a breath before he spoke.

“You’ll come home with me,” Aemond murmured, not a question, but a quiet, guaranteed statement.

You should have said something, taken a page out of Sara’s book and teased him, made him work for it. But your breath caught when he took a step closer, closing what little space remained between you.

The cab pulled up, but neither of you moved. Not yet.

Aemond’s fingers slid down, grazing your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. He tilted his head, his lips hovering just above yours, so achingly close you could feel the heat of him. The white of your breaths mixing in the air like smoke.

“Tell me you want this.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his leather jacket, holding on like it was the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Your heart pounded, a slow, aching thud.

“I want this,” you breathed.

Aemond’s smirk deepened, his thumb teasingly pressing harder on your throat.

“Good girl.”

And with that, he placed a hand firm at your back, guiding you into the cab, into the inevitable.

The elevator ride up to his place was a steamy blur of tension, the kind that buzzed under your skin and refused to let up like you were in a shower room and all you could see were shapes of body and heat.

Aemond was standing beside you the whole time, his towering presence taking up more space than it should, his hands hanging casually down by his sides as if he weren’t fully aware of the effect he had on you - or perhaps he was too aware.

Every bump of the elevator, every jostle of it going up, has his hand brushing against yours; the warmth of it tickling your skin like whispered promises. All while he stood there, every so often looking at you with a look in his eye, a hunger so deep you began to wonder if you were about to be his prey rather than his hook-up.

He was strange, you had assumed he’d jump on you the second he got you alone, pushing up against the rickety metal of the elevator and devour you whole. His tongue feasting on you each patch of flesh at a time.

The silence was muggy, a heat bubbling under the surface that was only broken by the gentle hum of the elevator. There was a need in you that could barely stop you from stealing glances at him. Eyes appreciating him in the stark light of the elevator, seeing him in this light, was completely different from the bar.

There was a delicious sense of want every time you smoothed your eyes over the faint curve of his lips, a pout that seemed permanently etched on his face in a way that made you want to see his lips move in any way that you could, or the way his skin had blemishes that didn’t take away from his beauty. Dozens of little moles and freckles dotted all over his face and neck, all of them you itched to trace your lips over.

It was suffocating, and you imaged if lust between you two had a smoke there would be a lavender haze filling the space; it was mind-numbing but also filled you with such a need that you were curious if there was a possibility of having him take you right against the metal walls.

If he felt the same, he hid it well, almost too well that a small insecure part of you wondered if he was merely playing a trick on you. That the pout you begged to kiss would sneer and tell you to leave, that you were stupid to follow him home.

You knew nothing of Aemond, just a few mumbled words between friends that he was elusive and rather hard to crack and that he was devastatingly gorgeous. But gorgeous men just shouldn’t be trusted, couldn’t be trusted.

When the doors eventually slid open to his home, the view hit you first. The entire far wall of his apartment was glass, lavished with a thick black blind at the top. It revealed the glittering Kings Landing skyline that stretched out infinitely beneath the night sky.

It was a renovated loft apartment, and it was truly a reflection of his style. Edgy yet inviting. Exposed brick and steel beams gave the space an industrial edge, softened by warm ambient lighting and plush furnishings. Worn walnut wood that was glaringly vintage, and sleek leather pieces tied the design together, everything looked lived in but not messy.

Deep forest green and royal blue textiles added a sense of depth and luxury that you didn’t think he’d care for with his taste in music. There was amusement bubbling in you at the carefully curated collection of music memorabilia adorned the shelves, nestled between well-loved books, with framed art, vinyl covers, and concert posters punctuating the walls in sleek black frames.

From your place at the door, you could see that he had a few guitars leaning on a rack by the window, a large turntable next to it that blended well with everything. Dozens of records lining the bottom, all in what seemed to be an organised fashion, it all somehow felt like an extension of him – calculated, precise, personal without giving too much away and just a touch intimidating.

It was enough to make you even forget for a second that he was with you by the door, “You like it?” he asked, his voice low like he didn’t want to disrupt your thoughts, but there was a glimmer of something in his tone.

“It’s... breathtaking,” you admitted, eyes flicking to him briefly, the words slipping out before you could even second guess them.

He was watching you back, his hand outstretched to dump his keys in a random bowl, his jacket draped casually over the back of his breakfast bar stool. Leaving him in just a fitted black shirt that did nothing to hide the sharp lines of his frame.

“It has its moments,” he said with a very hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, stepping closer as he came up to your side; his footsteps quiet yet deliberate and his hand hovering over the base of your spine. “Though I’d argue the view inside is even better tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, though a faint warmth flooding your face. “Bold, are we?”

“I’ve been accused of worse.” He hummed amused, the faint warmth of his presence brushing against your back, grounding you that he was real, “Take a seat, I want to talk to you about something.”

Your chest seized at his words, turning to face him fully. He still smelt delectable; smoky like incense and cigarettes and earthy like the dew on an oak tree, but there was an underlying sweetness to it, a drinkable sweetness, his proximity making your pulse quicken.

God, you wanted to lick his neck and taste him.

The tension between the two of you felt sharper now, like a taut string of one of his guitars waiting to snap. “Talk?”

He nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable, though the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eye as his lips quivered with something at the corners.

"Yes, talk," he said with a faint drawl, his chin jugging in the direction of his couch, his tone teasing but with a seriousness that didn’t match the smirk tugging at his lips.

The loss of warmth as he stepped away from you felt wrong, his hand brushing against your back as he moved toward the leather sectional couch in the centre of the room. A worn and used, soft-looking blanket thrown over the back.

Your heart was still racing as you followed, an invisible string tugging you along with him. There wasn’t anything in you that was scared of him, but your eyes flickered around the space anyway. It all felt like a snapshot of a world he rarely let people into, and for a moment, you wondered how many others had stood where you were now.

Did he let people wear down his floorboards often or did he keep that door firmly locked?

As Aemond settled into the couch, you saw the same effortless confidence he carried everywhere else, one arm draped across the back, the other resting on his knee; his rings still shining in the low light, the sapphire eyes of the dragon head staring off to nothing on his middle finger.

It was faint but there was something under the surface of him, a nervousness that he was trying to hide, his fingers tapping against his knee before his pointer finger rubbed against the side of his thumb, something in his body calling to pick at the skin out of habit. He was fighting it though, a coolness of his face as he gestured to the seat beside him, his expression softening just enough to make the situation feel less intense than he was presenting it as.

You hesitated only a second before sitting, the leather cool beneath you.

"So," you said, tucking your legs under yourself and turning slightly to face him much to his amusement, "what exactly did you want to talk about?"

He leaned in slightly as he regarded you and got comfortable with you. Up close, the sharpness of his features was even more striking, the hard lines of his jaw that had your fingers twitching in the want to run across each hard line, memorising it for your memory bank.

The glint of something unreadable in his eye, and the faint scar that struct through the other one only seemed to enhance his magnetism. The scared eye was milky, not as vibrant as the other one, but it was still beautiful, the hint of blue that was still there, like cornflower petals in a milky bath.

“You know why you’re here, right?” he said softly, a faint fry to his voice with how quiet he was speaking to you; quiet but firm seemed to be the best way to sum him up.

You blinked at that, your stomach doing a flip at the soft intensity of his tone. “That sounds a little ominous,” you said, trying to keep your voice light despite the rapid thrum of your heartbeat, your fingers nervously picking at the fabric of your tights.

His lips twitched into a faint smirk as he regarded you, a soft tut from his pouted lips.

 “Just answer the question,” he huffed softly, leaning back again into the corner of the couch casually, and observing you with that same measured intensity. “Do you know why you’re here”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment, his demeanour casual but there was something else to it. “I’m under the assumption we’re going to sleep together, that’s all.”

Aemond’s smirk broadened at that but there was something behind it now, humour, sure, but also something sharper, something more intent. His fingers toying with the rings on his right hand, the subtle gleam of metal catching the dim light.

“Clever girl,” He purred softly, the clench in your stomach almost instant at his tone, “I want to lay some ground rules first.” His tone low and steady, carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken even more.

You arched a brow, refusing to be daunted by the intensity of his gaze, though your heart raced all the same. "Ground rules?” you countered; your voice softer now.

His eye flicked over your face, studying you with the same scrutiny that made you feel like he could see far deeper into you than you were comfortable with.

"I think you’ve gathered, I’m a rather… unconventional person," he admitted after a moment, his voice taking on a huskier edge, "I don’t exactly make a habit of bringing women home, for good reason."

You leaned back slightly, crossing your arms over your chest as you regarded him. "Care to elaborate?"

Aemond’s smirk softened into something subtler, a faint curve of his lips that hinted at a side of him you weren’t sure he showed to many.

"I don’t mess around," he said simply his hand reaching out again to move some of your hair out the way, though there was a flicker of something darker in his tone. "If all I wanted was a warm body, I wouldn’t have brought you here, I would have fucked you in that bar and been done with you."

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and charged; the lust had developed into something more, something darker, but not something unsettling, dare you say it even furthered your interest. The air between you felt impossibly still, like when the forest went silent for a predator in its wake, waiting for what would come next.

"So, what is it, then?" you asked, your voice quieter now, your tone giving way to genuine curiosity. "Why am I here?"

His gaze was cast to your lips as his lips perked up into what you could call a smile, a small huff of air blowing out his nose as he scanned his way back to your eyes, “What if I told you I was into a little more... Intense things than a throwaway one night stand?”

The air between you seemed to thrum, your pulse quickening at his words. There was something deliberate in the way he said it, slow and measured, as though he was testing your reaction, gauging how far he could push before you might pull back.

You tilted your head, your curiosity was now undeniable. “Intense?” you echoed; your voice soft but steady. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that, Aemond.”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, but his gaze remained fixed on yours, unflinching. “You’re such a precious little thing,” he murmured, his voice low, “and I can’t help but have a soft spot for tearing apart precious little things”

You blinked at that, both intrigued and slightly wary. “Meaning?”

Aemond’s smirk deepened, a glint of something heated flashing in his eye. “Meaning,” he cooed softly, his voice carrying the faintest edge of a threat, though it was tempered by the unmistakable pull of desire in his tone. “I won’t play nice with you sweetheart; I want to make you cry… If you’ll let me of course”

There was a beat of silence that passed over the two of you at that, your heart thudding in your chest like a hammer on an anvil, the thrill of his words coursing through you as you tried to maintain your composure.

 “I think I can handle that,” you replied with a gentle breath.

He leaned forward again, closing the space between you, his hand brushing against your knee with deliberate slowness. “Is that so?” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something darker, something that made your skin tingle.

You swallowed hard, your gaze locked on his, the intensity in his words drawing you in even as they sent a shiver down your spine. “I guess you’ll have to show me,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart.

For a moment, Aemond said nothing, his eye searching yours as though he were trying to unravel you, piece by piece. Then, with deliberate care, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Be sure you mean that, sweetheart, I’m not just going to hold you gently and hum into you like some soft puppy.”

Your breath hitched at the feeling of his lips so close, the weight of his words settling over you like a tangible thing. There was no mistaking the warning in his tone, nor the promise. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze sharp, unyielding, and entirely intoxicating. The warmth of his hand lingered on your knee, his touch deliberate but not overbearing, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

The room felt impossibly still, the quiet stretching between you both like a strong ready to snap. You tried to steady your breathing, though it felt like your lungs had forgotten how to work properly under the weight of his intensity.

“You seem sure that I’ll regret it,” you murmured, your voice low but steady.

Aemond’s lips curved into something resembling a smile, but it wasn’t soft - it was sharp, calculated, and laced with amusement.

“I’m not trying to rattle you,” he said, his voice a soft drawl that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m giving you the chance to leave if you wish.”

The meaning behind his words wasn’t lost on you, and yet you felt rooted in place, unable to walk away even if you wanted to. There was something about him, his presence, his mystery, the dark promise in his tone, that made it impossible to look anywhere but at him.

“And if I stay?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the question carrying more weight than you intended, your noses brushing as you turned your head to look at him. The gaze was intense and heavy, the breaths being passed between you, sharing some kind of charged air.

Aemond leaned in again, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice low and deliberate. “If you stay,” he whispered, “You need to tell me your safe word, baby.”

The words sent a thrill down your spine, your body caught between the undeniable pull of his presence and the weight of what he was suggesting. The way he said it - low, deliberate, almost tender, only added to the magnetic tension that wrapped itself around the two of you, binding you in place.

Your lips parted slightly, your breath catching as you tried to form a coherent response. “Safe word?” you echoed, your voice barely more than a whisper, laced with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness.

He leaned back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression calm yet charged, like a predator toying with its prey. “I told you,” He said, his tone measured but firm, “I’m not like the men you’ve probably been with before. I need to know you’re prepared before we go any further.”

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze locking you in place. “And what happens if I don’t give you one?” you asked, a faint challenge in your tone, though your heart pounded in your chest.

Aemond’s lips twitched into a smirk, his thumb brushing lightly over your knee.

“Then you walk away,” he said simply, though his voice carried an edge that made it clear he wasn’t bluffing.

“Because this…” he gestured between the two of you, the space that felt like it was crackling with electricity “…isn’t something I take lightly. And neither should you.”

You hesitated, your mind racing as you tried to process the weight of his words. There was no denying the allure of him, the intoxicating pull that made you want to step into his world no matter how dangerous it might be. But there was also something comforting in his seriousness, in the way he framed this not as a game, but as something far more deliberate, far more intimate.

After a moment, you tilted your head, “Mercy,” you said softly, the word slipping from your lips with surprising ease. “That’s my safe word.”

Aemond’s smirk softened into something almost reverent, his hand sliding up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words sending a shiver through you. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The praise, quiet and deliberate, settled over you like a blanket, making your pulse race in a way that was equal parts exhilarating and grounding. You barely had time to process it before he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and far more intimate than you expected. It wasn’t rushed or demanding, it was a promise, one that made your stomach flip with anticipation.

It was a draw of lips together that felt matched, a soft click as they met again and again – a soft breath leaving you as you tried to push forward. He tasted like whatever he drank back at the bar, and faintly like the gum he spat out after his cigarette while the two of you got out of the cab.

The taste bleeding into your mouth as his tongue licked at your lip with a hum. Your hand was grasping at the one he had held at your neck and jaw, fingers brushing over his bracelets, his skin surprisingly warm for someone who looked like the outside would turn them to dust.

Behind it all was a need, a burning disgusting need, your lips parting for his tongue as he licked into your mouth; tickling at your soft palette and sucking softly at your tongue as you played back. He kept drawing you closer, breathing in every single breath he could, his teeth nipping at your lip every time your tongues hid.

When he pulled back, he let out a soft breath, his lips glossy, and his voice a low murmur. “There she is...”

The words hung in the air, weighty and inescapable, as if they sealed an unspoken pact between you. The faint brush of his breath against your lips sends another ripple of anticipation through you. The room seemed to shrink, the rest of the world fading into insignificance as Aemond's gaze held yours, his intensity making it impossible to look away.

It was like a magnet was pulling you back, your chin tilting to bring your mouths closer again but your lips didn’t meet, they only brushed and danced, breaths mixing as you held your gaze.

You breathed out softly, “What am I getting into?”

He only tutted softly, like you would a small child, his hand reaching to brush at your chin endearingly. Aemond studied you for a beat longer, his hand slipping from your cheek to trail down your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you hyperaware of every inch of yourself.

“Stand up,” he said softly, his tone commanding but not harsh, as though testing your willingness to follow his lead.

You rose without hesitation, his gaze never leaving you as you stood in front of him, so close that the heat of his body warmed yours, his hand up coming to rest lightly on your hip, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the area over your clothing.

“Take off your jacket,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

The simplicity of the command shouldn’t have felt as electrifying as it did, but with him, every word carried a weight that made your pulse quicken. You shrugged off your leather jacket, letting it slide from your shoulders and drop to the floor, your eyes never leaving his.

Aemond’s lips curved into a faint smirk, his eye flicking over you with an almost predatory focus. His hand led the way as he gestured toward the sleek couch. “Sit,” he said, his voice still calm, but with an edge that sent a thrill through you.

You did as he asked, the cool leather of the couch beneath you a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. He remained sitting for a moment, watching you with that same unreadable look.

“This isn’t just about me,” he said, his voice breaking the charged silence. He turned back to you, his expression softer now, though no less intense. “If we’re going to do this, it has to be on my terms, but that doesn’t mean your voice doesn’t matter. Understand?”

You nodded, the seriousness of his tone grounding you, even as your anticipation built. “I understand.”

Aemond’s smirk returned as he reached for your face, his fingers brushing against your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your lower lip.

His smirk deepened, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he leaned in, his nose dragged softly against your cheek before his lips brushed against your ear. “Don’t worry, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low promise. “I’ll take good care of you.”

The air between you thickened as his words settled, wrapping around you like a velvet tether. Aemond’s hand lingered at the nape of your neck, his touch light but deliberate, his thumb idly brushing the sensitive skin there. He was in no rush, savouring the moment, drawing it out until you felt a need clawing at the back of your throat.

“Can you do something for me, baby?” he said, his tone shifting slightly, the teasing edge replaced by something heavier, more serious, his body straightening so he was sitting tall in front of you, your neck craning to look up. He held out his hand, palm up, waiting for you to take it.

You hesitated for the briefest moment, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. But the intensity in his gaze drew you in, and you found yourself placing your hand in his without a second thought. He drew you up with him and close to his body, the heat between you palpable as his head very slightly craned to whisper to you.

“There’s a door down that hall,” His head jutted to the corridor on the farther side of the apartment, turning off to what you could see was a series of doors, “First one just on the right, go inside and wait for me, hm?”

Your breath caught at the subtle command in his voice, the mixture of calm authority and deliberate softness sending a wave of anticipation through you. His hand remained steady around yours, grounding you as his gaze stayed fixed on yours, unwavering and unrelenting.

You nodded, your pulse quickening as you murmured, “Okay.”

Aemond’s lips twitched into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eye but carried enough weight to leave you momentarily breathless. He released your hand, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before falling to his side. He straightened, his expression calm but laced with a promise you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Good,” he said simply, his voice low. “I won’t keep you waiting long.”

You turned, your legs carrying you toward the hallway he’d gestured to. Each step felt deliberate, the sound of your feet muffled against the sleek flooring. Your mind raced as you reached the first door on the right, your hand hesitating briefly on the handle. There was a flicker of nervous excitement bubbling in your chest, your heart hammering in anticipation. You pushed the door open.

The room was already dimly lit, the soft glow of wall sconces casting a golden hue over the space. The décor here mirrored the rest of the apartment: chaotically put together and understated, with a dark mood. The far wall was lined with more shelving that housed an assortment of neatly organised items; picture frames, polaroids, the odd camera, and books.

The room exuded the same calculated precision that seemed to define Aemond. It was surprisingly clean for a man’s room, but you expected nothing less from him.

You stepped inside, your fingers brushing the edge of the doorframe as you took it in. There was an intimacy to the space, a sense that this room was set apart from the rest of his world, reserved for something singular and private. Your feet padded against the wooden floor towards the plush-looking bed, the black sheets inviting as you sat carefully on the edge. Your breathing was steady but shallow, as you tried not to disturb the neatness of his room, sitting quietly as you turned to face the door, waiting.

It wasn’t long before you heard the soft sound of his footsteps approaching, unhurried but deliberate. The door opened again, and there he was, framed in the golden light. He wasted little time though, and closed the door behind him with a quiet click, his eye fixed on you as he stood by the door.

Aemond’s presence filled the room instantly, the air shifting with the weight of his heated gaze. He didn’t say a word at first, his eye tracing your form as you sat on the edge of the bed; staring at you like were about to disappear at any moment, your hands resting on your lap, fingers fidgeting slightly. The faintest of smirks tugged at his lips as he pushed off the door, the sound of his feet soft against the floor in time with the thuds in your chest.

“Well, aren’t you just a pretty thing,” He hummed softly his voice low as he came to stand in front of you, smooth, and impossibly calm, “You’re nervous.”

Your head tilted up to look at him, your face level with his belt buckle as he looked down at you, his hand reaching out to gently caress your head.

His voice was a mere coo as he looked down his nose at you, “Don’t be. You don’t need to be.”

He was taking in your features in the low light of his room, his hand moving from your head to the side of your face, his thumb caressing the skin as he just merely observed you. His touch was warm and slightly rough from what you could imagine was years of guitar playing, the slight scratch on your cheek grounding you at the moment.

“Lay back for me, pretty girl,” He hummed comfortably, one of his knees coming up to rest by your hip as he pressed forward.

It was like your body was on autopilot, sinking back into the bed as your chin tilted up to look up at him; Aemond followed your movement with a slow, deliberate pace, his fingers trailing lightly over your collarbone as you leaned back onto your elbows, his hand skimming your neck like he wanted to grab and softly press back. Similar to the way you’d guide an animal.

The intimacy of his touch sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t quite tell if it was the weight of his presence or your anticipation that made your breath hitch.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice smooth, laced with something that sent heat rushing through you. He climbed onto the bed with ease, his movements controlled and precise.

The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and you felt his hand settle on your hip before sliding down your thigh to grab the plush skin, grounding you further into the soft fabric beneath. His gaze roamed over you, his lips curving into a smirk as he silently appraised you for listening to him. It wasn’t just his words or his touch, it was the way he looked at you like you were his and his alone in that moment.

"You’re being so good for me, baby," he began, his thumb brushing the fabric that covered your thigh, "Can I ask something of you?"

Your breath hitched again, the words catching in your throat before you could respond. His hand slid up your side, barely ghosting over your ribs and dragging the fabric of your shirt up with it, and you felt your heart pounding in your ears.

"Say something," he coaxed, his voice a quiet command as his head dipped lower, his lips barely brushing against your ear. "Or I'll have to guess…"

The closeness of him was intoxicating, and as his fingers played at the hem of your shirt, the pad of his thumb just brushed the skin underneath with a burning intensity that didn’t match the soft action. When you finally found your voice, it was quiet, almost timid, but it was enough to satisfy him.

"Okay," you whispered, your gaze flickering to his face. The corners of his mouth twitched, amusement dancing in his single, stormy eye.

"I want to remember you, baby, can I ask you do to something for me?" His voice was breathy, his thumb pressing slightly harder against your hip like he was trying to keep you as close as possible like you’d ever run away. "Let me film you..."

The air in the room seemed to shift at his words, the weight of his request hanging between you on a delicate thread threatening to snap. You could feel your eyes widen slightly as your brain worked overtime to process what he’d said, your breath catching in your throat. His gaze stayed locked on yours, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

"Only if you’re okay with it," Aemond added, his voice softer now, almost tender. The hand on your hip loosened its grip, his thumb brushing slow, soothing circles against your skin. "The way you look right now, baby, I think you’d be so pretty for me on camera..."

Your heart raced, not just from the intensity of the moment but from the vulnerability in his words. It wasn’t just desire in his eye, it was something deeper, something that made your chest tighten and your resolve falter. He wasn’t just asking for control; he was asking for trust.

"I..." Your voice came out shaky, and you swallowed hard before trying again. "I’ve never…"

"That’s okay," he interrupted gently, his hand moving to cup your cheek. His touch was warm, and grounding. "I’ll take care of you, baby, if it’s too much, just say your word, and we stop. It stays between us."

The sincerity in his tone eased the knot in your stomach, and after a moment, you found yourself nodding. "Okay," you said, your voice steadier this time. "I trust you."

This could potentially be a huge mistake, placing this amount of trust and intimacy in someone you’d only met tonight; but there was something about Aemond that just called to you. Made you forget yourself, and want to indulge yourself more in his hardened image.

His smirk softened into something closer to a smile, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary. "Good girl, he murmured, his lips brushing against yours teasingly. "You’re perfect."

With his assurance, he shifted slightly, reaching over to his nightstand, his hand blinding opening one of the drawers to pull out a small but expensive-looking vintage camcorder. It almost looked like a relic of the '90s, but it seemed fitting, just like everything else about him. He was knelt on his knees between your open legs as he fiddled with the gadget.

Aemond handled the camcorder with surprising care, checking the settings like he’d done this a dozen times before the faint whir of the tape winding filled the air, a nostalgic sound that somehow made the moment feel even more intimate. The blinking redlight told you that it was capturing everything that was going on.

Aemond glanced back at you, his eye gleaming like molten steel beneath the dim light. His long, platinum hair, messy from the gig, fell over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, his voice steady as before but with an edge to it that told you that he was taking your feelings into consideration. "If it’s too much, we stop. No bullshit. No pressure."

"I’m sure," you replied, the words carrying more confidence than you expected. You met his gaze, letting him see the truth in your eyes.

Aemond nodded, his lips curving into that familiar smirk again. "Good girl," he said, his tone low and full of praise as he adjusted his position on the bed leaning over and angling the camera just right to sit on the nightstand. "Just keep looking at me, baby. Don’t worry about anything else. It’s just you and me."

And with that, Aemond leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as demanding as it was gentle like he wanted to claim every piece of you. There was something delicious about the way his lips coaxed yours, the way he commanded each smack of your lips with a gentle flick of his tongue; teasing you. The world outside the room faded, leaving only the steady rhythm of your breath and the overwhelming heat of him as he pulled you closer.

The kiss deepened, Aemond's lips moving against yours with a passion that left no room for hesitation. His hand slid to the nape of your neck sliding into your hair and tilting your head back slightly as he explored every inch of your mouth. It was a slow but consuming kiss, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece. A soft moan escaped you as his tongue tickled at the roof of your mouth, one you couldn’t quite suppress, and you felt him smile against your lips, a faint chuckle rumbling low in his chest.

"Cute," he murmured with a nip at your bottom lip, pulling back just enough for you to catch your breath. His eye roamed your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your lip shone in the low light of his room, the way your lips parted slightly, and the addictively dazed look in your eyes. "Even prettier like this."

You didn’t have a chance to respond before he was leaning in again, his lips trailing a line of soft kisses along your jaw, his breath skimming your skin down to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a shiver through you, and his grip on your thigh tightened as though he felt it rack through you.

"Aemond..." you breathed, a slight whine to your voice as your hips pushed softly up against his, the feeling of his length through his jeans, not enough friction for you to feel remotely content.

Your voice, trembling and needy, seemed to burn something in Aemond. His lips paused at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your breath hitch. A low, pleased noise rumbled from his chest as his fingers dug into your thigh, grounding you beneath him and pulling you further into his body.

"You’re something else," he murmured against your neck, his voice rough like a low guitar riff, the heat of his breath fanning against your skin. "So eager for me, aren’t you?"

His murmured words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and you felt your body instinctively arch into his touch. He didn't stop his lips, however, as they continued their exploration, kissing and nipping down the column of your throat, marking a path that made your pulse race.

When his lips met the hollow of your throat, he paused, lifting his head to meet your gaze. His gaze burning with an intensity that coiled something in your stomach; a mix of desire and something more, something deeper. Your body felt like it was on fire as his fingers traced up the inside of your leg, his middle finger toying with the leg of your shorts. Dipping in teasingly as he smirked amused by your squirming.

“Will you be good for me baby?” He nosed at your jaw softly, tilting your head up like a dog would as he spoke against the bone, this thumb joining the action to stroke the little pudge of fat you had at the top of your thigh as he did; your core clenching in anticipation with his proximity.

If you could see the air between the two of you, you imagined it looked like something struck hot metal; sparks snapping and crackling. He was something addictive that you weren’t sure you’d ever want to give up as every nerve ending in your body attuned to his touch, his voice, the intoxicating weight of his presence.

You could feel Aemond's smirk against your skin as it widened, your breath coming faster, your chest rising and falling beneath his touch. His thumb continued its maddeningly slow strokes, brushing against your skin just enough to tease without giving you the relief you craved.

"I asked you a question, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dripping with a dark amusement as his lips hovered over your jawline, leaving a snapping kiss that felt like a tease more than a relief. "Will you be good for me? Or do I need to coax the answer out of you?"

The rasp in his tone sent another wave of heat rushing through you. Your hands instinctively clutched at his shirt, fingers gripping the soft fabric like it was the only thing tethering you to reality.

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat before you managed a quiet whimper: "I’ll be good."

"That’s what I like to hear, baby…" he purred, his hand sliding further up your thigh, past your core and to the waistband of your shorts, his touch deliberate but still torturously slow as he gave them a teasing tug.

"Look at you," he continued as he pulled back, his tone low and rough. "So desperate, so perfect... all for me." His thumb pressed lightly into the skin above the waistband, and the pressure made your hips buck involuntarily into his bulge, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

He chuckled giving a teasing push of his hips against your core, the feeling enough to make you want to wrap your legs around him and rut like an animal. But it was a deep, throaty sound that vibrated against your skin and gave you a slight pause as he moved his lips back to yours, leaving a few biting kisses on your lips like he was trying to placate you.

"Patience, baby," he murmured, his free hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward his. "I’ll give you what you need, but I want to savour you first."

At that, Aemond pulled back slightly to sit back on his knees between your open legs, as he studied your face. His gaze sharp and alight with a mix of lust and authority. His hands trailed down your body, deliberately slow, fingers grazing over your waist before settling back on your thigh giving a reassuring squeeze. The weight of his touch was grounding, even as his words sent a shiver through you.

"Take this off for me," he commanded softly, tugging lightly at the hem of your shirt. His voice was low, carrying the same deep rasp that sent your heart racing, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath his tone.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words registered. He rolled off to the side of you, his body leaning back with his elbow on the mattress as he expected to take place standing at the edge of the bed, clearly intending to watch. His smirk deepened as he reached for the camcorder, angling it slightly to capture the moment.

"I want to see all of you," he continued his voice a purr; soft and low like he was trying not to interrupt the scene. "Slowly, baby. Let me enjoy it."

The air between you crackled with tension and heat as you got up, your legs trembling from lust as you stood between his parted legs. It was nerve-wracking, looking down at him and the blinking red light, his gaze rolling over your form hungrily.

Your hands trembled as they gripped the hem of your shirt, Aemond’s gaze and the camcorder burning into you; unwavering and unrelenting. He was memorising every move you made.

You hesitated for a moment, your cheeks flushing under his intense scrutiny, however, the heat in his gaze was reassuring, grounding you in a way that made your nerves fade into the background. Slowly, you lifted the fabric, revealing more of your skin inch by inch. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as the shirt finally cleared your head, your hair fluffing around you as you dropped the fabric off to the side like it was nothing. He let out a low hum of approval at the sight of your bare chest, the shirt you wore to his gig not built for wearing a bra under it.

His room wasn’t the warmest in the world as you felt your nipples pebble with the cooler air, and the look of his eyes feasting on each piece of skin you showed. He was laid out like a Greek god and you were his water nymph he was playing with; one of his legs bent on the bed to rest his foot on the edge, widening his stance. All in an attempt to ease some pressure from his erection.

"Good girl," he murmured, his eye raking over you with unfiltered hunger, his hand surprisingly steady with the camera as he let one hand go to palm himself, a flush blooming over your chest and cheeks from the action. "Now the rest for me, nice and slow."

His words, paired with the way he sat back like he had all the time in the world, sent a blooming heat through you. Your hands slid to the waistband of your shorts, emboldened by his words as you caressed your skin on the way, unbuttoning them with deliberate slowness as you followed his command. Each movement felt like a performance under his intense gaze, the weight of his attention making your heart pound harder.

“Look at you, baby,” He sang softly, appreciating you as the shorts slid down your legs and onto the floor, you stood there, bare save for your underwear and tights, feeling simultaneously exposed and powerful under his gaze. “Putting on a show just for me…”

"Perfect," he said softly, almost to himself, before tilting his head to get a better look at you, his platinum hair falling over his shoulder. "The rest of it too, baby, turn around and show me…”

You swallowed thickly at that, the low rasp of his voice sending shivers down your spine as your nipples only pebbled more at his tone. Aemond’s gaze never wavered from your body, his intensity a weight in your chest that kept grounding you in the moment.

You gnawed softly at your lip, hesitating for only a moment before spinning slowly on your toes, letting him drink in every exposed movement. The stillness of the room let you hear his sharp inhale, which was low but unmistakable, a subtle confirmation that he liked every inch of what he saw.

His gaze burned as it followed the curve of your back, your hands moving to the waistband of your tights as he asked. Your body rolled down with them, giving a little wiggle to your hips, as your hands worked on sliding them down inch by inch. The fabric clung to your legs before pooling at your ankles, kicked off to the side and leaving you bare but for the thin piece of cotton that clung to your hips.

As you straightened, your heart hammered in your chest anxious to make sure you were doing good for him, your lip still between your teeth as you glanced over your shoulder at him.

Aemond’s lips parted slightly from behind the camera, his tongue darting out to wet them again like he was restraining himself. "Turn back around, baby…" he murmured, his voice low and rough, the barest hint of a growl behind his words.

You obeyed, slowly turning to face him, your hands instinctively moving to rest at your sides. His gaze roamed over you, lingering at your hips, the lines of your legs, rolling back up over your chest, and finally returning to your face. His smirk deepened, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in satisfaction.

His gaze didn’t waver as he reached out to place the camera off to the side, the red light moving like a star in the sky as he rested it just out of reach but you had no doubt it still had the two of you in view. He didn’t need to say another word in the moment as he held his hand out to beckon you closer, your legs hitting the edge of the bed as his hand rested on your hip, guiding you closer with deliberate slowness.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice a low purr as he leaned back further, his back hitting the sheet this time, spreading his legs just enough to make space for you. "Climb up, baby. I want you right here."

Your heart thundered in your chest as you obeyed, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs. His hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm but not restrictive as you settled into his lap.

The feel of his denim-clad legs beneath you was rough, a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch as his thumbs began tracing slow circles on your skin. He was hard as a rock as he tugged you forward slightly, resting your core over that hardness as you squirmed. Your hands rested softly on his hips for balance as you gazed down at him. His belt buckle was cool even through the thin material of your panties, every breath feeling like it was nudging you further into the cold metal as you fought a small whine that was building in your throat.

"You look so good like this, baby…" Aemond said, his gaze locking onto yours, the hunger in it making you feel like the only person in the world. "So fucking beautiful."

Heat pooled in your stomach as his words wrapped around you, his praise making you feel bolder despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. Your hands moved to rest on his waist, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his tee. His smirk deepened as he felt each little squirm of your hips, the scent of leather and faint cologne wrapping around you like a second skin.

"Move for me," he coaxed, his voice a quiet demand that left no room for argument. His hands guided your hips gently, encouraging you to rock against him, the friction sparking a delicious heat between your bodies. "Just like that, baby. Let me see how good you feel."

A soft moan escaped your lips as you followed his lead, your movements tentative at first but growing bolder as his hands steadied you. The way he looked at you like you were a melody he wanted to memorise, only spurred you on.

"That’s it," he praised, his tone dropping lower, rougher, as his lips brushed against your ear. "You’re perfect, baby, every fucking inch of you."

His fingers slipped higher, grasping the plush of your hips as he pulled you closer, his hips pressing up slightly to meet your movements, a soft moan spilling out your lips as the rough denim of his jeans scraped against the soft crotch of your panties; kissing your clit so deliciously you could help but push back harder, desperate for some friction. His grin turned almost wicked, his voice dropping to a growl as he added, "Let me see all of you, baby."

Aemond’s words curled around you, igniting a fire in your chest that burned and tore through you with every passing second. His eye flicked down to where your bodies moved in rhythm before meeting your gaze again, the intensity in his expression making you feel both vulnerable and unstoppable.

"That’s my girl," he murmured, his hands tightening on your hips, guiding your movements with more purpose. The rough fabric of his jeans against your core only added to the sensation, the friction sparking a need that seemed to consume every thought in your head as soft little moans spilt from your lips.

You tilted your head back at the feeling, your hips moving on their own as he leaned back on the bed, looking up at you with a dark look as he watched you take your pleasure. It was going to be enough to make you cum at this rate, the hardened feel of his length pushing against you and the jeans making the crotch of your panties slicker and slicker as you practically humped him like an animal in heat. He has the smuggest look on his face as your eyes fluttered softly, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip trying to focus on that burning pleasure between your legs.

"Aemond," you whimpered as your eyes fluttered shut, fingers grasping tighter into the fabric of his shirt, the sound of his name on your lips sending a visible shiver through him.

He let out a low, satisfied hum, his hands moving up to cradle your waist as his hips rolled up to meet yours. "Say it again," he demanded softly, his voice like velvet in your ears, "I want to hear you."

"Aemond," you repeated, louder this time, your voice trembling with pathetic whine, the weight of everything you felt in that moment crushing at your chest.

He could only coo at you softly as if your desperation was the sweetest melody he’d ever heard. His lips were carved into a permanent smirk, the kind that made your stomach flutter and your core tighten.

"Look you at you," He cooed, his hands gliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin beneath your ribs appreciatively. "Humping at me like a little bunny."

Your hips bucked instinctively at that, a quiver in your movement as his words settled into you, the friction sending sparks shooting through your body as a needy moan slipped past your lips.

"Aemond," you whimpered again, the sound more like a plea now, your head tilting back as the pleasure coursed through you in waves.

"Fuck, look at you," he growled, his hands tightening their grip on you as he rolled his hips up harder, matching your rhythm perfectly. The sensation was almost too much, the rough denim of his jeans and the wet fabric of your panties creating a torturous friction that had you trembling begging for more. "Do you like that baby, being called bunny?"

Your breath hitched at his question, your movements faltering for a moment as his words wrapped around you. The pet name, soft and teasing, sent a new wave of heat rushing through you, making your cheeks flush. You nodded, unable to form words, your hips resuming their desperate grind against him as your hands fisted tighter in his shirt.

Aemond chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating against your chest as he leaned up, his torso meeting yours, his lips brushing against your ear. "I think you do," he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My little bunny, so desperate for me, aren’t you?"

"Yes," you gasped, the confession spilling from your lips without hesitation, your body moving instinctively in search of more of the delicious friction. Your head tilted back again, exposing the length of your neck to him, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His lips found the sensitive skin there, pressing kisses that were both soft and possessive, his teeth grazing lightly before sucking a mark into your skin.

"My sweet little bunny," he praised, his voice muffled against your neck as his hands gripped your waist tighter, guiding your movements. His hips rolled up to meet yours with each grind, and the pressure against your core sent sparks shooting through you, each one more intense than the last.

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you felt the tension building in your stomach, the heat coiling tighter with every pass of your hips over his. "Aemond," you breathed, your voice trembling as you clung to him desperately, your body trembling from the effort of holding on to the edge.

"That’s it, bunny," he coaxed, his tone both commanding and tender as his eye locked onto yours. His smirk softened, replaced by something almost reverent as he watched you come undone above him. "Let go for me, show me how good you can be…"

His words stupidly pushed you over the edge, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the burning tension in your stomach snapped and a wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your body shuddered against his, the feeling of your walls fluttering around nothing and your movements faltering as you buried your face in his neck, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Aemond’s hands never left you, steadying you through each shiver of your body, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your temple. "There you go," he murmured, his voice soothing as he ran a hand up and down your back. "That’s my good girl."

You felt his grin against your skin as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your panties, a teasing edge to his tone as he added, "But we’re not done yet, bunny. I want all of you."

As you slumped against him, your body still trembling from the aftermath of your release, Aemond's arms tightened around you, holding you securely in his lap. His breath was warm against your temple, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he pressed a lingering kiss to your hair. The room felt hotter, like someone had turned up the heat as you nuzzled pathetically against him, a gentle needy kiss being pressed to his jaw as you sought out his comfort. Something in his position had you sinking into a different side of yourself, ready and willing to be taken care of by him.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, his tone soft but laced with an undercurrent of need that made your heart stutter. His hands slid down to your hips again, a pat on this skin as he held you steady, leaning back slightly and scanning your face. "But now it’s my turn, bunny”

The heat in his voice sent another rush of anticipation through you, even as your body felt boneless and pliant in his hands. Aemond’s hands slid up your sides, his touch firm yet tender as he guided you to kneel on the bed.

"Good girl," he praised, his gaze burned into yours, filled with a mix of affection and hunger as he reached for the button of his jeans. "Come on, bunny. I want you to do the honours."

"Stay just like that," he instructed, his voice low and commanding, the dark edge of it sending a thrill down your spine. He moved off the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he moved to stand at the edge, the camcorder now firmly in his grip. His eye roamed over your form, appreciation burning in his gaze as he adjusted the angle of the lens to frame you perfectly.

As you helped him shimmy out of his jeans the fabric resting at the middle of his thigh, the bulge beneath his boxers became impossible to ignore. He was bigger than you thought, and you’d already humped yourself silly on him, his black boxers did nothing to hide that he was bigger than you’d taken before, thicker too as you spotted a small wet patch on the fabric from where he was clearly leaking. Your gaze flickered up to meet his as you spotted it, and the smirk that curved his lips made your cheeks burn with equal parts excitement and shyness.

"Don’t get shy on me now," Aemond teased; his voice a low purr as he guided your hands to the waistband of his boxers, your hand skimming past his length. "You’ve been so good for me, bunny. Show me how much you want to keep being good."

Swallowing hard your fingers curled into the elastic of the waistband, and with a breath you tugged the fabric down, freeing him from the confines of his boxers. The sight of him, hard and already glistening with evidence of his arousal, made your breath hitch. He was too heavy to stand attention, the sigh of his hanging between his thighs had your core burning even more as you imagined how exactly it was going to feel to take it. Aemond groaned softly as the cool air hit him, trying his best to keep the camera steady as he pointed it down at you.

"That’s my girl," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Now, come here."

Your cheeks flushed, the weight of his gaze, and the camera lens and the red light, made you feel exposed in a way that was both thrilling and intoxicating. You shifted on your knees, leaning forward slightly, your body arching instinctively to give him a better view as you looked up at him.

"You can touch bunny," he growled against your lips, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Show me how good you can be for me."

Aemond groaned as you watched your hand hesitantly come up to grasp him. He was heavy in your palm, your fingers barely meeting as you gave him an experimental tug, the skin silky smooth as you looked at him properly; he was unfairly pretty down there, his head flushed the same colour as his lips as you spotted small droplets weeping from the tip.

You could tell that he was letting you take the wheel on this one, his gaze and the camera staring down at you as you softly started moving your wrist over him. He let out a soft groan at that, your eyes blinking up at him for any sort of praise as you did, the tears from his slit sliding down with each stroke aided in the movement – lubricating each tug as his breathing picked up slightly.

"Good girl," he praised, the words a growl as he pushed his hips closer, the camcorder capturing every inch of you while he did. “You can taste, bunny, I know you want to.”

And boy did you want to.

The red light recording you became just another part of your vision as you kept eye contact with the lens, your lips parting slightly to place a soft kiss on his weeping tip – the groan that he let out at the contact was almost enough to have your eyes rolling slightly but you held it together. There wasn’t any other thought in your head at that moment, your mind focused purely on hearing that noise again. Aemond seemed to be enjoying the simplest of touches, his breathing picking up softly at your tongue flicked out to lick softly at his tip.

"Fuck," he breathed out quietly, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head as you pressed a soft kiss to his tip, his fingers sinking into your hair as he tugged your head forward a little more; a small giggle passing your lips as you kept your eyes on him, "You’re going to put me in an early grave, bunny."

With head soft tug of your hair, you could tell that he was coaxing you to take him in your mouth, the feel of his pre-cum making your lips glossy in a way that had his face flushing with want behind the camera. The feeling of erotic, and despite being unsure to begin with, you’d never felt more wanted by someone at that moment, that’s why you had no issue parting your lips for him and slowly sinking him into the wet heat of your mouth. A soft moan passed your lips as his musky taste hit your tongue, and the silky-smooth skin glided him in as far as you could handle; a soft gagging sound slipping out as his fingers tightened in your hair.

“That’s it…” He groaned out softly, his fingers quivering in your hair as you gave a soft suck, your cheeks hollowing out and your tongue lavishing his length as you pulled your head back, “Pretty, pretty girl…” He said as the camera angled more towards your mouth.

You could hear the sound of the camera zooming in as you kept moving slowly up and down his length. A soft gagging sound every time he hit the back of your throat drowned out by the sound of his breathing and airy moans, your hand stroking what couldn’t fit. You imagined it was an erotic sight, made even more by the fact he was filming everything like you were some video vixen.

“So, fucking good bun,” He moaned softly, unashamed at any noises spilling out that pout, his hand tightening in your hair to get you to speed up slightly. “Taking me in your mouth like a good girl…”

Every time you sank down, he held you there a little longer, your nose nearly touching the base as you gagged around him. His teeth grit at the feeling, the wet cavern of your mouth doing wonders for him, made all the better by the drool dribbling out the corners of our mouth. He wasn't forcing you down though, you could still move away if you wanted to, and every time you pulled back you panted softly for air. Your lips kissing softly at his tip while you caught your breath.

When he pulled you back in, you could tell there was an air of something desperate about him as he groaned a bit louder, sinking in and out of your mouth with more intent, more purpose. His hand tugged more at your hair as he began to move you more and more.

“Let me fuck that mouth, bun,” He panted softly, his stomach tensing every so often like he was holding something back, your eyes glazed and looking up at him. “Will you?” He asked breathily like he was whispering to the sick part of your brain directly.

From everything that had happened so far, you knew that you were safe with him and that he wouldn’t hurt you, and the sick part of your brain was ready to give everything up for him and just let him use you how he wanted. At your lack of answer, he pulled you off him, a soft pop as he slid out of your mouth, his free hand moving to wipe the drool off your chin.

“Bunny,” He murmured, tilting your chin farther up – his body leaning away from you for a second to place the camera back on the nightstand, “You with me?”

You could only nod, a small smile on your face, “I am, sorry… I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?” He smirked softly, tapping your chin affectionately, “Is my cock not pleasing enough to you, bunny?”

The flush on your face burned harder at that, your teeth nibbling at your lip as you tried to look away – a bit embarrassed to be caught so in your head at the stupidest of times. He was all over you, his taste in your mouth, his touch on your skin – it was addicting, to say the least. He was too beautiful, and that needy voice in your head begged, pleaded and cried to just let him have you any and all ways.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” You mumbled softly, a shy twinge to your voice like you were ashamed to even be admitting that you wanted it, blinking at him like you could communicate with just your eyes.

“What do we say when we want something, bunny?” He smirked, his hand grasping your chin a bit tighter as he bent at the waist to level with you, looking down his nose at you, “Use your big girl words now, I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

The desperation and the humiliation clawed at your throat, the burning between your legs leaving you stupidly uncomfortable, your thighs squeezing together on the bed to try and ease that feeling.

“Please,” Your voice was little, barely there, like the words were just another breath out but he wasn’t having that, his hand tightening again as his eyebrow raised silently. “Aemond, please…” The desperation crawled out your mouth in the form of a whimper, pathetic and needy like yourself as it spilt out.

The tut that left his lips was humiliating, something you’d do at a pet that was misbehaving or you were displeased with, his thumb brushing against your skin tauntingly as he gazed at you, “That wasn’t so hard now was it, bunny?”

The fact all of this was on camera didn’t help either, the red light on the nightstand taunting you from the corner of your eye.

“Sweet little thing,” He patronised you softly, craning your head up as far as it could go as his hand squeezed your mouth open, lips parting with a soft breath, “You need to be good and ask for things, bunny…”

The word sorry died on your tongue as you looked at him, he didn’t want your words right now.

“I’ll use that pretty mouth of yours,” He cooed, the words filled with taunt and want equally as he looked at you amused, “Open your mouth wider for me.”

If he told you to jump off a cliff right now, you believed that you would, your mouth opening wider under his hold with a slight “Ah” noise.

The amusement danced in his gaze at that, “Tongue too, bunny…”

He let out a soft hum as your tongue peaked out of your mouth, appreciative that you could in fact listen to him, his head leaning down closer to you as his gaze shifted from your eye to your open mouth.

“Keep it nice and wide,” He breathed softly, a subtle squeeze to your jaw pinching it just ever so slightly wider as he hovered over the open cavern, “There we go…”

You could already tell what he was going to do before he even spoke, his tongue rolling in his cheek slightly with a dark look, his lips pursing softly. Time stopped in that moment though, as you watched a glob of spit drip from his mouth to yours, the feeling viscous and wet on your tongue as you moaned out from your open mouth. He could only quirk his mouth at that as he stood back to full height, hishands reaching to shed his shirt.

“Keep that there, bunny,” He commanded softly as his free hand grasped his cock again, giving it a little tug for good measure before it hovered near your mouth, “You’ll get what you want.”

“If you need to breathe or you want me to stop, pinch my thigh, bunny,” He directed gruffly, his tip skimming your lips as you let out a noise of understanding, “Relax for me.”

Your hand flew to brace itself on his thigh as he slid back into your mouth, both of his hands moving to sink into the back of your hair as your lips sealed back around him. The moan he let out was euphoric as his head tilted back slightly, his hair shaking softly down his back as his hips sawed back before pushing forward. The gag was stronger this time as each thrust left his tip kissing the back of your throat, the slick suckling noises filling the space as he moved freely in and out of your mouth at his own pace.

The groans and moans he let out with each thrust were beautiful, you’d never been with such a vocal man before, and he was letting you know it was enough every second of it as you sucked harder around him. He had left you were a free hand of your own, the one that was bracing on his thigh grasping his skin tightly as he used your mouth with abandon, your free one was yours to do as you pleased.

The panties you were wearing were thoroughly soaked through, the gusset of them just a sop of fabric you were wearing as the burning increased, your eyes flicking up to his tilting head as you caressed your thigh and upwards.

With your moans picking up, each wet stroke of your fingers combined with the increased thrusting into your mouth, it was no given that Aemond was curious about what you were doing. His head tilted back to look at you with a stupidly amused look, a smirk painting his lips as he continued to patronise you.

“Filthy little thing,” He chuckled through a moan, his eyebrows raised slightly with pleasure as his lips parted watching you touch yourself while he used your mouth, “I’ll allow it for now.”

He seemed to enjoy the moan that vibrated around him, a groan of his own passing his lips as your hand sunk into your panties. It took microseconds to slide your fingers over your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts to ease the pleasure burning between your thighs.

“Good girl…” He breathed, his hips moving a bit quicker into your mouth as you touched yourself, your eyes shut as you focused on the stimulation of your mouth and your fingers, “You like that, bun?” He chuckled faintly.

“I bet you do…” He hummed, his fingers tightening in your hair starting to move your head how he wanted a bit more.

And boy, did you.

While your fingers weren’t pushing you towards another peak, they were turning this experience into something so filthy that you were sure you’d dream of it for years to come. The feeling of drool dripping down your throat, and your eyes watering as you gazed up at him. He was so invested in your mouth, his grunt and hisses tickling your brain as he met your eyes. A filthy smile on his lips as he sped up slightly, his eyebrows pulling with feeling.

“Will you let me cum in your mouth, baby?” He breathed out, the sound so airy that you barely caught it.

With your mouth a little preoccupied, all you could do was moan around him needily, the thought of him filling your mouth had you fluttered around nothing. Your fingers picked up with his hips as he forced himself more and more into your mouth, the gagging noise getting louder as his tip kept kissing your throat.

He gave you some reprieve as he pulled you off him slightly, your chest heaving and mouth swollen while you gave you a second to breathe. Your lips glossy with his precum as you looked up at him with heavy eyes. The moment was over before it could begin as he sunk back into your mouth, his hand moving off your head for a moment to brush a tear away from your watery eyes before getting back to it.

His stomach was clenching right before your eyes as he lost himself in the feeling of your mouth, his grunts getting breathless and needy. You were nothing but a vessel for his pleasure but you loved every second of his, your finger on your clit basically forgotten as you worked on suckling and lavishing your tongue over him.

His noises were getting louder and louder, his own eyes shut with a twist on his face; he was truly beautiful like this, “Fuck, baby…”

You would have giggled if he wasn’t filling your airways, the feel and taste of his precum stronger as he leaked into your mouth.

You could have stared at him for hours, sat with his cock in your mouth for the rest of time if I meant seeing him like this, but fate was cruel in its own ways.

The subtle tightening in your hair told you what was going to happen before it could, his hips snapping a few more times before he hissed loudly.

“Fuck.” He practically snapped, a final moan coming from you as he filled your mouth.

It sent your eyes rolling slightly as he landed in your mouth, some of his cum slipping down your throat and most of it on your tongue as he drew his cock out of your lips. His hand instantly flew to your jaw with a feral look in his eye to keep your mouth open.

He softly squeezed at the bone to keep it propped open as his lips parted, a soft chuckle coming out as he watched you roll his spend on your tongue slightly.

“Look at you…” He smirked softly, his hand forcing your head up more, “So pretty with me in your mouth…”

He placed a knee on the bed to get closer to your level, his body curling over yours as you smiled slightly, sticking your tongue further out for him to see what lay there. You were sure you looked a mess, spit on your chin and tears down your face, your lips throbbing slightly from use. But none of it mattered in that moment if it meant he kept looking at you like he was.

“Messy…” He chuckled with his lips hovering over yours, glancing between your eyes and mouth before his lips curled.

An honest shocked noise slipped out as his lips met yours, eyes slipping shut with a moan as his tongue slipped into your mouth; curling around yours and his spend as you swallowed some of it. It was disgustingly hot the way your lips met, the taste of him passing between the two of you as he laughed against your mouth, something feral bleeding into the tone as you rose up onto your knees with him.

Holding yourself up with his waist, the two of you exchanged spit and kisses with wet noises that would make anyone burst into flames. The kiss was intense with something so hot that you were surprised when he pressed forward, his arm slipping around your waist to tumble you both onto the best. Hands grabbing at skin, his own sliding into the back of your underwear to start shoving it down.

“Off.” He grunted with a bite to your lip, leaving no room for argument.

It was a haste to let go of him, his hands aiding yours to shove the offensive fabric down, caring little where they landed as they got pushed down your thighs and kicked off your foot. His hand was harsh on your thigh as yours sank into his hair, tugging with intent as he grunted into your mouth, biting your lip in retaliation for the tug.

Both of you were panting as you pulled apart, his eye dark as he looked at you flush and laid out in his sheets. His hand squeezing your thigh slightly with a tut, as he looked between you and the middle of the bed, a silent command to move.

You’d laugh at the power he had over you if you didn’t do what he said instantly.

It was like there was something lodged in your throat as you crawled backwards on his sheets, the softness against your skin doing nothing to ease the heat rising in you as he pressed and pressed you back – your body laying out like his own personal buffet. He was quick to secure your knees in his hands as he knelt between your parted legs, whistling lowly, mockingly, as he glanced down at your wet folds. Staring like he currently wasn’t standing at full mast.

“Poor thing…” He drawled with an amused smile twitching at his lips, his palms rough and warm against your thighs as they brushed up, the silver of his rings warmed to his skin, “So needy and for what? You couldn’t even get yourself off…”

The whine that bubbled in your throat with his teasing was pathetic, akin to a wounded animal as he jested at your dismissed orgasm. You ached so badly to close your thighs and relieve the fading burn, uncomfortable with the cool breeze hitting your wetness like a kiss from winter.

“I was playing so nice with you, bun…” He tutted softly, one of his hands letting go of your thigh to brace himself by your shoulder, sinking into the mattress as he hovered over you with a look that you could only describe as hungry. “But you got greedy, didn’t you?”

His eyebrow twitched at you as he repeated himself, your eyes gazing up at him, a soft sheen in your eyes as your frustration built, “Didn’t you, baby?”

He chuckled softly as your face twisted in discomfort, a crackle in your voice as you found the courage to reply, “Aemond…”

Oh, it was a desperate whine.

Oh, how he ate it up.

His chuckle was more of a taunt as he pressed his body closer to yours, skin warm as it touched, his nose drawing over your jawline as he breathed you in. Your own eyes fluttered as the caress of his warm breath, your core clenching as one of his hands dragged up your thigh, fingers edging its innermost parts like he would the frets of his guitar.

“Now, now…” He hums softly, laying a soft kiss on your jaw, chuckling as he drags his lips down your neck, more soft kisses being pressed every so often, “Ask nicely, and I’ll give in to your greed…”

His fingers brushed your inner thigh like a whisper, moving just enough to feel the texture as they ghosted up, palm spanning the skin.

Your breathing was shaky in its own right, your own hands drawing up his sides and to his back, feeling him properly as he played with you, your breath moving the soft hairs by his temple.

“Please,” You swallowed thicky, your nails sinking into his skin, “Aemond, please…”

Part of you wondered if maybe he was summoned from whatever lustful circle of hell demons resided, his touch closer to feeling like you were falling over the edge as he held you over it by a string.

“Good girl…” He hummed warmly, his teeth nipping at your neck in retaliation for the grab, his tongue swiping over the skin to soothe his bite, “You make everything so hard for yourself…”

If you hadn’t already laid your sins out bare for him to pluck at, to video, you’d be utterly ashamed of yourself at the way you keened when his fingers slid over your folds. An amused noise passed his lips on your neck as he drew up the same way someone would turn the pages of a book. Delicately, with the purpose of knowing what else there was on the next page.

His lips were as sinful as his hands as he laid kiss after kiss on your neck, biting with what would be violets blooming on your skin. The ache of the bite caused your head to drop back onto his sheets with soft pants, giving him the space he needed to paint his pictures.

“You’re practically drooling…” He taunted you, as a soft pleasured breath left your lips, his middle finger rough from strings ghosting over your clit – a warm shot of lightning catching in your stomach. “All for me?”

All you could do was nod as he grinned against your skin, his middle finger delicately brushing over your clit in soft strokes; his knee drawing up to the underside of your thigh to push your leg open further, a flower blooming. There was the familiar burn that spread from your clit and radiated up your abdomen with the tease of his middle finger, switching between a soft caress to a rub circle around as he pushed and pushed and pushed.

Your hips were squirming on the bed, trying to push yourself further into his touch so he’d fully give in, but with each movement, he jutted his hand back enough to keep you at the very edge of his touch. He was playing a game with you, even though you had pleaded for his touch, trying to see how many ways he could make you beg before he gave in. Even without words, his actions were enough that a part of you wanted to push him back, sink your teeth into his shoulder to see how he’d react.

He'd most likely like that thought.

“Please…” It was said a subtle turn of your head, your lips ghosted over his temple, breathing him in like he did you. “Please be kind, I…”

“Kind?” He tutted softly, his lips dragging down your collarbone, pressing a kiss to the top of your breast, “I told you I wasn’t going to be kind, baby…”

Your hand sank into the back of his hair, tangling in the soft strands as your chest pushed up towards his lips, your breathing hitching with the tingle of your skin.

Soft moans and breaths were spilling from your lips like you were resigned to haunting his room from now on; a single hand would be marked on your grave as cause of death with his name next to it. His touches a signature to the absolute dissolve of your sanity.

It wasn’t mercy he was taking on you, it was the attitude that he had to take you apart piece by piece as he grinned against your skin. His middle finger pressed forward first, grazing past your clit to sink down, notching at your entrance as he wiggled his finger there teasingly.

“Is this what you wanted?” He grinned, looking up at you from your chest, “Use your words…”

“Yes…” You breathed pathetically, his finger barely sinking in before it drew back out, the feeling of your walls fluttering around empty space driving you mad. “Gods, yes…”

He seemed pleased with your pleas, his teeth affectionally nipping at your nipple as he finally sank his finger in, your lips parting with a soft moan as your walls fluttered around every bump. His hands were so much bigger than yours, built for playing guitar and generally rougher from actual work, and from the feel of his middle finger, you were ready to give in.

The digit moving and sinking with a languid pace, curling teasingly to brush that rough patch inside you.

“So needy…” He cooed teasingly, his lips kissing back up your chest and neck to whisper in your ear. “It’s cute, baby…”

If you were sane, you would have died at the noises coming from between your legs with each sink of his finger – your mind not even on the camera at the moment as his thumb started to graze your clit again, the quiet room filling with that familiar clicking noise of wetness. Your head barely turned to meet his next to you, your eyes locking as you saw just how dark his eye had gotten with playing with you; your noses knocking together as he breathed you in. Lips barely touching as his finger started to curl more.

“You're soaked…” Aemond hummed softly as your eyes fluttered, a hitching breath leaving your mouth as he grazed that spot. “You think you can take another one, baby?” He teased softly, a nipping peck on your lips.

Before you could respond, he tutted, an amused breath pushing out his nose, “I don’t know why I’m asking, you will take another one.”

A part of you wondered what circle of hell crafted him, the way his lips parted mockingly with yours as he sunk another finger in – a taunting look in his eye that only added to the pleasure as he curled his digits experimentally. The feeling of your legs twitching on the bed and your hand flying down to hold his wrist was humiliating, his rings nudging your entrance with each flick of his wrist. Wanton moans spilling out as he got a little faster with each flick.

He wasn’t a lover that talked you through it, he was a lover that just talked to you, stirred you up and broke you down.

“You’re so tense, baby…” He chuckled, nipping at your bottom lip, “I thought you wanted to come?”

It was a needy strangle in your throat as you resigned yourself to the feeling of his fingers starting to get faster and faster. The delicious fluttering of your walls, coupled with the nudging of his rings, had you wishing that you could get him to sink all the way in with the rings too.

You knew being a guitarist was benefitting him at that moment, the way his arm was tensing without cramping as he did ‘come hither’ after ‘come hither’ motion inside you, your walls fluttering and tensing around him.  All the while, his thumb flicked at your clit the same way he probably plucked his guitars, just enough to get you to sing.

If the way your slick noises and breathy mewls filled the room, he knew how to make you sing for him. His eye burned into you, his voice low with his lips brushing the side of your face as he spoke of all the things he goaded you more.

“Doing so good for me, bun…” He chuckled softly, his lip dragging down your neck and nipping whatever skin he could; his praise shooting through you like a star falling out of the sky. “You were always going to be good for me though, weren’t you?”

The nod you gave in response was washed with sweat and desperation as your hips started to push up into the feeling of him. The burning in your lower stomach started to radiate and spread with each cruel and slick flick of his hand. Your fingers kept digging into his skin, no doubt leaving your marks behind. You were seeking something, anything, to ground yourself as the heat of pleasure rolled through you, the feeling starting to spread down your thighs. The noises you made got more and more desperate with each clench of your walls, threatening to pull you under entirely.

“You gonna let go for me, hm?” Aemond was right there with you, gaze dark with desire, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured.

His voice was low, coaxing, but laced with something sharp—control barely held together as he watched you unravel beneath him. His fingers didn’t falter, working you over with devastating precision, pushing you closer, closer—until the tension inside you felt unbearable.

Aemond shifted, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, nipping softly at the lobe. “I can feel you,” he murmured, voice rough with taunt and heady pleasure. “So close, just let go, bunny…”

The words sent a shudder through you, cries starting to fill the room as the pressure in your cunt grew. When his fingers found that perfect spot, curling up in a way that left no room for resistance, your body answered him. It was like something had snapped something inside of you, the heat flooding every nerve as you spilt around his fingers.

The familiar wetness of your release pushing out, and the way your gummy ways clamped down; pleasure tearing through you in waves. You barely registered the sound of your broken moans and sobs of his name, the way you trembled in his sheets, held firm by his touch, by him.

Aemond groaned, his grip tightening as he felt you come apart beneath him. His lips finally found yours again, licking into your mouth and swallowing every gasp, every cry, as if he wanted to devour the feeling right along with you.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered against your mouth, his tone slightly softer now, reverent almost as his fingers slowed. The moans coming out of your mouth softened too as you shook in his sheets still, the familiar dampness coating your thighs cooling with the air. But the hunger in his gaze hadn’t dimmed - not in the slightest.

And you knew he wasn’t done with you yet.

The moment’s reprieve he gave you from your last orgasm was more for his benefit than yours, his stance ever smug as he stroked your hip softly; his form lounging next to you like a deity, like he hadn’t just blasted you into another dimension.

It was an intimate embrace, or as close to it as it could get. Your head turning toward him, gaze hazy, reverent, like one might look at a saviour. But there was nothing saintly about him. No, he was not benevolent in any pure sense of the word. He was a giver, yes, but perhaps too much of one. If the trembling in your thighs and the stray tears tracking down your face were anything to go by.

“Don’t give me that look…” Aemond chuckled deeply, his hand reaching to brush your cheek, “I’m not even close to being done with you yet, our night is just starting…”

“You’re going to kill me.” You breathed softly, your own hand coming up to touch his, fingers spanning his wrist as you stroked it delicately.

Your fingers traced along his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin as if trying to ground yourself in him. A man who had so thoroughly unravelled you. Your touch was delicate. “And I think you’ll enjoy it.” He retorted.

Aemond huffed his first real laugh to you all night, but it wasn’t at the joke, it was at you. His eye was nefarious as he leaned down close to your face, glancing at you with a look you couldn’t place.

His look alone sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation curling low in your stomach, even as exhaustion clung to your limbs. You should have been spent, should have been begging for rest, but the way he looked at you, like something precious and breakable yet utterly his, had you curled toward him before you could stop yourself. Needy for his heat.

Aemond was too pleased with himself at your closeness, his fingers drifted lower, tracing the hollow of your throat, pausing where your pulse fluttered wildly beneath his touch. His smirk deepened, his thumb pushing softly on your windpipe – it wasn’t to choke you, more to keep you in place and at his command.

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around his wrist, but you didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Aemond leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to your jaw, a low mumble against your skin as he spoke.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against your skin, his lips dragging down the line of your throat, teeth grazing but never quite biting, he had left his purple flowers earlier. “Are you tired?” He taunted.

You swallowed hard, your throat moving over the subtle press of his thumb as words slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

“No.”

His chuckle was low, and he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own filled with something delicious. “Good,” Aemond murmured.

There was a slight pause as he took you in, undoubtedly looking at the flush colouring your face, or the way your pupils expanded to the point of looking like black wells. For a moment, a brief flicker, you could have sworn that there was something on his face that went beyond pure lust – but whatever it was, it didn’t linger. Something in his eye snapped back to his usual form, and his words tumbled out like silk between his lips.

“You’ve already given me so much,” he murmured, almost thoughtful. Then, a wicked grin. “But I think you can give me more.”

The pressure of his thumb dragging down your throat and back to your hip was humbling, the way something so small could have you ready to kneel so quickly. But whatever you could say about it was taken, his hand spanning your hip to pull you towards him on your side, the familiar feel of his cock hardened against your stomach reminding you that it in fact was not over in the slightest.

“Get up.” He demanded softly, his hand giving your side a final squeeze before he shifted himself.

There was an air of confusion as you watched him move to lay his back against the headboard, your eyes flickering to the camera on the bedside as his body stretched out with legs slightly spread. Aemond had a look in his eyes that told you that getting up was no argument, that the shaking in your thighs and the tiredness behind your lids wasn’t to stop you.

There was an air of silence that was building, your eyes watching as his hand brushed down his stomach briefly to grasp himself again, his own pleasure now on the forefront of his mind as he slowly stroked.

“I won’t ask again.” His voice was low but firm, hand moving casually like he wasn’t stroking himself, “Move.”

It was with a small sniffle that you got out, you weren’t really sad nor upset with the situation, just tired as you sat up; legs curling under you briefly before you crawled on the sheets towards him. His eye was positively wicked in the dim light as he looked at you crawling to him, his free hand reaching out to adjust the camera on the bedside to get all of you as you got to his parted thighs. Body kneeling between them patiently.

There was a beat of stillness before his free hand moved to reach out to you, your own hesitating slightly on your thigh before grasping it. He hummed softly as he tugged you forward, looking up slightly as you rose on your knees, letting go of your palm to smooth down your hips and tug you even further forward. It was a sign to straddle him.

His cock was laying heavy on his stomach as he let it go, both hands moving and grasping your hips as your knees raised to rest either side of him; sliding to your backside slightly to squeeze and coax you into sitting down. He shushed you softly as your sensitive core touched him, hands sliding up to your waist to press you as close as possible while your arms slid around his neck; his hair still as soft as ever as it slipped over your skin.

“You’ve been so good for me bun…” He hummed, his thumb brushing your skin maddeningly, “But you know what I want you to do right?”

A soft puff of air passed out your lips as your hips lazily moved against his cock, your core fragile to the touch after 2 climaxes and touching. It basically had its own heartbeat at this point. Gentle whines building in your throat as he chuckled, amused by your behaviour.

“Oh…” He chuckled deeply, guiding you a little, “You’re so close, baby but not quite.”

“I need a little longer.” You whimpered softly, your head dipping down to nuzzle at his cheek, “Please…”

“Do you?” He teased with a turn of his head, meeting your lips briefly, “I think you don’t, baby, be good now…”

Before you could stop it, a huff came tumbling out of your mouth like a spoilt child – the noise so clear that your eyes widened quickly before registering what you’d done. You couldn’t even get the sound of an apology out your mouth before you felt a force quickly smack down on your behind, an undignified noise tearing out your mouth as the sound of smacked skin filled the room.

The heat bloomed on your backside as you looked at him, shocked, one of your hands moving to cover the area as he gave you a heated look.

“I was planning on being at least a little nice to you, baby.” He scoffed softly, slight heat to his words as he knocked your hand away from your behind, “But you just had to go and be a little brat about it, hm?”

A slight whine came out as your eyes softened, “I’m sorry, I—”

“You what?” He taunted, this thumb brushing over your heated skin, his hand quickly raising again to smack back down without even blinking, “Try harder.”

“I’m sorry…” You bubbled softly, your eyes stinging slightly at the thought of disappointing him that you reached out to touch his face, his chin jutting away slightly with a chuckle. “I didn’t mean it, I just… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” He repeated with a slightly raised brow, his eye scanning your face with a dark look, “You’re sorry, baby, you didn’t mean it?” He mocked you slightly, adding a whine to his voice to really drive the point.

“Let me make it up to you…” You gulped softly, hands dragging down his chest as you pressed forward with glossy eyes, “Please…?”

The startle you got as he laughed was slight, the sound so deep and rich that you wondered what exactly was funny about what you said. You could only look at him confused as he pulled you further into him, his cock nudging at your folds, head tilting up to look at you with a grin.

“Baby, you don’t have to ask to make it up to me…” He taunted you softly, hand grabbing at your sore cheek for emphasis, “You’re going to.”

Whatever breath you had left in your lungs hitched as you looked at him, his eyes taunting you to see if you’d use your safe word or not. But no part of you wanted to, you wanted to push and push to see just how exactly he could put you in your place. The idea of him breaking you down was as delicious as Eve being called to the apple. With a thick gulp, you nodded, your hand reaching between the two of you with parted lips as you grasped at his cock; the appendage giving a subtle throb as your fist closed around him.

You knew exactly what he wanted you to do, and no part of you was ready to say no to him anymore as you raised up onto your knees; eyes flickering down slightly wondering just how you were going to take him. He was big, bigger than you’d had before that much was clear, lengthy with enough girth that you were sure he’d fill you lusciously. There was a slight hesitation as you lower yourself down, grabbing him slightly through your folds to catch on your clit with bated breath, fingers edging him further down to sit at your entrance.

All the while he looked at you like you were his last meal, his lips parted and eyes dark as he watched you hover over him with a subtle sway of your hips. A stuttered breath passed out your lips as you started to sink down, a soft noise forced out with the delicious ache of taking him. Centimetre by centimetre, you felt your body make space for him in your gummy walls; the fluttering of the intrusion caused a groan to pull out his lips.

“Fuck.” He breathed, his eyes cast down and his hands tightening on your hip as he aided you in sinking down on him, a loud moan in there as your heat enveloped him. “Doing so good, bun, making it up to me hm?”

He chuckled as you whined and moaned, sinking further and further down while he held onto you, “Looking so pretty on camera too, baby…”

Through a heady gaze, you turned your attention to the red light on the table, reminding you that everything was being captured for him – your hands reaching out to touch his face as you smashed your lips to his. Moaning as he finally sunk all the way in, his length twitching softly within your walls as he groaned against your lips.

He didn’t give you a chance to kiss him before he was pulling away, watching as you squirmed slightly on his cock, back lent against the headboard as he looked at you with an equally potent gaze.

“You can move, baby…” He chuckled, hands brushing teasingly over your hips, your own hands moving to his waist like earlier.

A soft groan fell out your lips as you looked at him pleadingly, being on top was never your favourite without help, but you figured he knew that by now.

“Please…” You sniffle softly, shifting your hips lightly as his cock kisses something inside that left you tingling, “Can you help me?”

He only tutted in response, “You’re supposed to be making it up to me, baby.”

“Aemond.” You whimpered slightly, shifting your hips more into a lazy grind for some kind of friction. “Please.”

Aemond only chuckled in response, leaning further back with a smug smirk; he was getting off on watching you not want to do it, your teeth sinking into your lip as you started to grind a little harder. He wasn’t going to help you, and it was maddeningly attractive, leaving you to your own devices to try and get off while he taunted and tutted at you.

You tried to brace yourself as your hands moved to rest on your thighs, a needy look on your face as you started to move your hips over him. He was kissing your insides like he belonged there with each grind, your clit rubbing on his public bone and forcing breathy moans to fill the space. It was a heady combination of desperation and just pure wanted as he watched you, the only sign he was even fazed being the subtle picking up of his breath and his flexing fingers on your hip.

“Look at you…” He drawled out softly, eye casting all over your form as you worked yourself up on his cock, “So pretty and so needy, is this you being sorry baby?”

“Yes…” You mewled as you looked at him, nails digging into your skin as your hips moved, and moved, and moved. “I’m sorry…”

“Do you really want to make it up to me, baby?” He cooed at you like you would a toddler, one of his hands moving and thumb moving slightly into the crease in your thigh, “Make me happy?”

A frantic nod happened instantly as you breathed and moaned softly, “Yes.”

He chuckled darkly, leaning forward off the headboard – the feeling causing him to slide in deeper which you didn’t think was possible as a harsher moan left your mouth. His free hand slid from your hip, all the way up your breast to brush at your nipple softly before settling at the base of your throat. His hold was soft but with strong intent as it lay there in warning, his palm spanning the bottom and his fingers curling around with a twitch.

“Bounce bunny,” He taunted you, his lips meeting your jaw briefly, “Go on, be good.”

The filthy part of your brain complied instantly to his request, your head tilting back with broken moans as you started to move up and down on him, his lips parting in enjoyment as you took from him. This wasn’t a show for the cameras, this was pure unadulterated want as you bounced and moved on him, his cock sliding in and out of you with each smack of skin, filling his room with the thuds you hadn’t heard in a while. The two of you shared moans and groans with each movement, his lips kissing around the hold on your neck and your hands moving to his shoulders for leverage as you moved like you hadn’t in a while.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me bunny…” He moaned faintly against your skin, his hand tightening on your hip slightly as you buried your nose in his hair, preening softly at his praise, “You like the way I feel, bunny?”

You nodded with a mewl of agreement, panting into his hair as you bounced like a bunny in his lap. It was desperation really, but gods it felt amazing to have him kiss every bump and ridge of your inside like someone carved your hole out just for him.

“Feels good…” You moaned, your hands smoothing over his shoulder and to his back to bite your nails into.

You could feel his teeth show as your nails sunk into his skin, a breathy chuckle passing out his lips as you did, hand twitching on your neck, “You feel good, bunny…?”

“You take me so well,” He moved his mouth to your ear, nipping at your lobe, “Perfect little pussy was made for me, hm?”

His words curled like smoke into your ears, your eyes sinking to a half-lidded state as he spoke to the deep recesses of your brain. Your walls clamped around him as he did, forcing you to move a little bit harsher in his lap. The burning in your thighs was building, spreading from your knees all the way up but you couldn’t stop moving on him, grinding with a pathetic little whine with each roll down. You were pretty sure you did look like a needy bunny in his lap, fucking on him desperately to try and get off again like he hadn’t made you spill twice already; ignoring the burning in your legs and stomach that begged you to stop.

“Maybe I should keep you,” He chuckled pulling his head back slightly to look at your dishevelled state, “You’d like that thought wouldn’t you, keep you with me, warming my cock like the desperate little thing you are?”

“Please,” You begged, pressing your torso to his seeking his touch, “Please…”

Something about him forced you to your edges, pulling you over the edge of cliffs and into some dark pool below that you just couldn’t stop. He moans and groans against your neck wishing that he’d give you the tape of this once it was over, just so you’d have something to hold onto. Just so you could listen to him when you needed to get off.

Gods, you’d let him keep you, the rational part of your brain ready to put away any feminism you had to let him keep you needy and desperate in his lap for eternity.

“Needy little thing…” He taunted you, both his hands moving to your hips with a groan, “What a needy fucking thing you are…”

“Aemond…” You cried softly, the burning in your thighs getting worse with each bounce, “Please, I can’t—”

“You want me to take over is that it, baby?” He grinned at you, something heated behind it, “You’re supposed to be making it up to me, remember”

“Aemond…” You drawled out, trying not to slow down as he pushed and pushed you. “Please, please…”

Tears were pricking your eyes, gathering like pearls really to drop as the pain of overexerting yourself bled into the sheer pleasure of fucking him. The first of them slithering down your cheek as you looked at him, face full of want and anguish for him to take over. His healthy eye’s pupil was already are wide as the abyss, but something about watching a tear streak down your face only caused a glint to pass over it. His face stretched into something dark as he caught the tear with his lips, grinning like he’d discovered diamonds.

“Now, look at that…” He licked your cheek as another tear fell, your eyes closing at the feeling, he was feeding off those tears, “Bunny, you look so pretty when you cry…”

He was a bastard, but gods he was everything in that moment.

It wasn’t pity he took on you with his hands starting to help you, it was a need to see more of those delicious tears run down your face. His body leaned back for leverage as he started moving you up and down on him, like his own personal toy, his touch was harsher than yours, however. Each time he pulled you down only forced more noises out of your mouth, the smacking of skin getting louder and louder as he worked you over him.

The tears in your eyes didn’t lessen in the slightest, your wet gaze looking at him as they dripped with other intent. This wasn’t pain anymore, it was a burning gnawing feeling of lust building up again as your insides started to flame with another building climax. Aemond was grunting himself in pleasure, groans and moans spilling out as he looked up at you with need written on his own face. He wasn’t a needy man clearly, but in the moment, he looked at you like your cunt was god.

You were aiding him in any way you could in your bouncing, your legs practically spent as you tried to keep up the hopping but it was clear he was doing most of the work. Your hands held onto his as you moved and moved for him. There was the feeling of your eyes starting to roll as he moved his legs under you, his feet placing on the sheets to push up into you harder. Squeaks forced out as his hips started snapping up.

Aemond’s face was beautiful in the throes of pleasure, his cheeks taking on a soft flush, his gaze lush as he looked up at you with an almost soft look. He wasn’t being soft at the moment, but the pleasure coloured his face in the way you imagined a painting would look. His abs clenched with each thrust up. There was something in his gaze though, something calling that this wasn’t just it, but you couldn’t name it.

The burning in your stomach was spreading further and further, teetering on the edge of another climax as he fucked you from below. You knew this time you’d need a little more help to get there, not being used to having more than two orgasms in a night, so you felt no shame as your hand moved away from his to slide between the two of you. Fingers found your clit with ease as you rubbed, a choked moan croaking out as you tried to build up to another climax.

Aemond however had other plans, a tut snapping out his mouth instantly as his hand flew from your hip over yours, knocking it out the way for his own fingers. He wasn’t as soft as you, his own fingers intent on pushing you over the edge with a scream rather than a moan – it was overwhelming but you didn’t shy away from the intensity.

As he rubbed, your eyes looked over him so into giving pleasure, scanning him appreciatively; hands moving to smooth over his stomach as you just took him in. It was hot that all of this was being caught on camera, your eyes lazily drifting to the lens on the bedside as you stared at it – wondering if this would give him the same feeling it was giving you later on.

He could tell that you were nearly there by the noises, the way your warm walls got tighter and tighter around him, and the fact your face was flushing like a rose. A smirk drew up onto his lips as he shifted you slightly, his cock hitting that spot inside you that had your walls snapping around him. Eyes widening as you look at him, not even close to being there.

“Ah—” You cried softly, not panicked but worried about just how far this was going to go as he looked like he was pushing himself away from the edge, “What about—” You strangled out.

He only shushed you with a lazy grin, his head tilting back slightly as he forced you down a little hard; fingers still stroking at you in time with his thrusts. His groans were melodic as he pulled you further and further to the edge.

The tears were spilling down your cheeks and the pressure built in your core, walls tight around his cock that you were surprised that he could even move anymore with how hard you were gripping him. The friction coupled with his fingers on your clit forced the familiar prick to start to build, the feeling of needing to let go insane.

“I—” You moaned loudly, your face starting to screw up, his hips forcing every little noise out as he grunted with effort.

Aemond was just as lost in it as you were, but you could tell he wasn’t as close to letting go as you, his grunts a bit too strained with effort as he tightened his hold on your hips.

“Come on bun,” He breathed out, the air forced from his chest, “Let go for me, I know you want to…”

Everything felt like a melting pot of pleasure and pain, your soft sobs and moans blending together to create something truly pathetic as your chin angled down with effort. If Aemond had neighbours that could hear, you were sure they’d think you were being murdered in here but you just didn’t care anymore, the feeling in your stomach like a balloon that kept expanding till the rubber exploded.

There was a subtle haziness to your vision that was flooding in, the feeling of sweat on your back, and the hairs around your temple starting to stick with effort. Every single nerve in your body felt like someone was grazing over it with a lighter, a subtle shiver building up your spine as you felt your eyes start to slip shut; walls as tight as they could be.

And then there was only ringing, your own ears not picking up the moan that ripped out your throat and into the room as you finally let go. Your vision went white for a few seconds as you felt the familiar gush from your opening and soak Aemond’s length, the slick noises adding to the slapping of skin. Your flesh pimpled with a shiver, from your legs to your nipples perking up as you cried on his length.

Aemond could only watch with a shit-eating grin as you let go of him, his hips moving you through your pleasure as tears leaked down your cheeks.

“Fuck, look at you…” His voice was hoarse with effort, the sound scratching at your brain as the feelings started to come back, “Pretty fucking thing…”

The noises out your mouth turned whiny as he pushed you into overstimulation, the burning in your core too much – he could sense your pain however as he started to slow down, easing you lighter and lighter over his till he stopped. Your chest heaving with effort as you sniffled and cried, arms out and braced in his chest as you kept yourself from completely slumping over.

Moments were fruitless to remember, but you could feel one of his arms slip around your back as he moved the two of you with little effort. The feeling of his cold sheets felt like ice kissing fire as he settled you down onto them carefully, his length still buried in your despite it all.

“I’ve got you…” He hummed softly, a juxtaposition from the hammering you just took from him, “You’re okay, bunny, I’ve got you…”

His hands pushed some of your hair back softly as he chuckled fondly, your body practically melting into the sheets as he laid you on your back. One arm holding him up above you as the other lightly touched your skin, trying not to force you into some space you didn’t need to be.

“You with me?” He asked warmly, this thumb brushing some of the tears off your cheek.

It felt like a herculean effort to open your eyes, the lids swimming with tears as they blurrily opened with a pathetic sniffle and nod.

“There she is…” He chuckled faintly, looking over your face for any signs of distress.

His hair was a curtain over your face as you looked up at him, his image unphased while you melted like ice on a hot day into his sheets. His cock was still very much buried in you, the feeling of fullness causing a twitch of your hips that wasn’t seeking pleasure.

He hadn’t cum and the thought had your eyebrows pulling together.

Sensing your thoughts, he hums softly, head dipping to peck your lips with some affection before mumbling against them.

“Bunny…” You could feel the smirk twitching at his mouth, begging to come out, “You know I’m not done with you yet.”

You let out a soft cry at that, your little sniffle causing a smile on his face as he kissed over your chin, “You know your word, bunny…”

Your body was spent, every nerve you had left was frayed away like a tired electric cable left to rust, sweat and slickness covered your body and overall, you felt ready to wither away.

But fuck, you could not bring yourself to say the word.

Whether you were a glutton for punishment now, all you could do was blink up at him as he faux-fawned over you like a child again.

“But she won’t use it though, will she?” He grinned with teeth, looking down at you with a look that told you he was more than ready to eat you up again, “Such a pathetically needy little thing.”

Your body was very much just his vessel to move around now as he sat back on his knees; cock slipping out of you with a strangled moan from you. Both of his hands slid down your sides, looking down at you with an amused look before he pats your hip.

“Turn over,” He hummed while leaving no room for argument.

You whined softly as you were rolled onto your stomach, a tender feeling flooding your body as you felt his hands caress your backside. Aemond was intent on leaving nothing of you, his hands tugging your hips up with little effort as you moved onto your knees and elbows. Your body blooming like a flower as your limbs shakily held yourself up.

“I’ll take care of you, baby…” He snickered softly, the bed dipping as he stood on his knees behind you, hands firmly on your hips as he pulled you towards him.

“M’tired…” You sniffled softly, face partly in the sheets to muffle the noise.

You couldn’t see him but you could imagine his head tilting in amusement, “You know what to say if you want me to stop, baby…”

But you just couldn’t bring yourself to say the word, your body trembling slightly as he pulled you flush against him; his tip nudging your puffy folds with a soft hum. He knew you weren’t going to say it, the hunger in you winning out to see what another peak would do to you, your eyes fluttering at the thought. There was a brief pause before he was guiding himself back into you with a low moan, the breath knocking out of you as your walls instantly wrapped around him tight to the intrusion again.

He released a breathy moan as his hands tightened on your hips, his own body most likely wound up like a coil from the way he kept himself from letting go before. Aemond gave you a few seconds to adjust again before he was gripping your hips and forcing you back onto him; soft ‘uh’ noises slipping out as he started to rock you into him.

This was the furthest you’d been pushed before but you loved it as he built up a steady rhythm, his breathing starting to pick up and his hand flexing on your hips. Not being able to see him left you with a sense of want, but having him behind you like this had his cock reaching further into you, and that’s all that mattered right now. His hips slapped off your behind with steady thuds as you moaned and whined on his length.

“Fuck.” He gritted slightly, his hips forcing just a bit harder as you gripped onto him like you were trying to suck him in, “Where have you been all my life?”

The compliment was enough to draw a tired giggle out of your mouth as your elbows dug into the bed with effort, your head picking up slightly to try and look back at him. From what you could see, his head was tossed back slightly, his hair brushing his back as he used you again like a little toy just for him. It was hot, and it was letting you muster enough strength to try and work yourself back onto him.

He looked down as you did, a smug little smirk on his lips as he watched you, his hand no doubt leaving marks on your flesh with how tightly he was holding you.

“Oh, she’s found life, has she?” He goaded you, “I was going lightly on you this time for your benefit, baby, but if you’re feeling so energetic.”

Your lips parted as you watched him, a shocked breath tumbling out as he goaded you. A dirty smirk on his face, as one of his hands let go to tangle in your hair, forcing your face forward.

Your eyes widened slightly as they met the lens, in your fog of pleasure you’d forgotten it was there. “Smile for the camera, baby” He taunted.

Something demonic made him, that’s where your mind went before he just let himself go on you. His hands moved back to your hips to fuck you like he wanted; hips slamming into yours with such a force you felt every single noise you could make leave you, leaving your mouth open to wheeze and mewl. Aemond was the loudest he’d been all night, grunts and moans filling the spaces in between the slapping of hips and the slick dribbling down your legs, his voice carrying as he did all the work for you.

You wanted to look at him so bad, but all you could do was blink at the camera as tears of pleasure built in your eyes again. Fingers grasping at the bedding while he worked on rocking every bit of sense you had left out of you. This descent up the peak felt different from the last, your body shaking with something cold and so deliciously good that you wondered why you’d never found someone willing to use you like this before.

He was something else entirely, something that you honestly never wanted to let go of as he fucked you.  If this was only going to be a one-night stand, then god you hoped he imprinted his length into you forever.

He’d mostly stopped talking to you, clearly working on finding his pleasure and your own again, his hips doing the work of a god. His grunt and moans were just music to your ears as your head dropping down to the bed, your sweaty forehead pressed into his sheets as your back arched further into the feeling, seeking everything you could from him as he chuckled through the haze.

“You’re something else,” He murmured between moans, clearly happy with how you were taking it like a champ.

Thrusting alone wasn’t going to cut it, despite how tight your body was wound, and the noises you were letting out probably spoke volumes to that. His lips shushed you slightly with a grunt.

“I know, baby…” He said between his clenched jaw, his hand slipping over your hip and under.

The demon he was, didn’t just go for your clit, however, his hand pressed softly on your lower stomach as you sang for him instantly. A sob left you as you felt yourself get impossibly tighter for a second, the push causing his cock to hit something deep in you that had your knees shaking. He wasn’t about to keep you on edge, his hand sliding down to find your clit as his wrist kept pressed on your lower stomach.

“Aemond…” You moaned a deranged sound from the back of your throat he grunted in response. “Fuck, Aemond please.”

“Just a bit longer, bunny.” He grunted with effort, your eyes widening in the sheets as something built hotter and hotter in you.

The feeling was like a hot iron being struck over and over with each rock of his hips, his fingers coaxing everything out of you. It was a scary feeling to be pushed so far, and you weren’t sure if you could even find that end again, no matter how determined a lover he was.

Aemond wasn’t going to stop until you both tumbled over the edge this time, his grunt building into something harsh as he fucked into you harder and harder; his movements needy as you felt right now. Your breathing was all over the place, torn between gasps and choked noises as you fought your brain to get to the end, your tongue peeking out your mouth slightly in desperation.

If you never slept with someone else again after this, you were so glad that Aemond was the one to muddle your mind into something twisted. The familiar haze of lust clouded your brain again as your knuckles went white on the sheets.

All you could get out was squeaks at this point, your head pressing further and further into the bed as you arched more, thighs slapping with his as he took you to the last lap.

“Bunny.” He grunted, something feral in his tone as he spoke to you, “Are you nearly there, baby?”

The only you could give him was a sob of what sounded like a ‘yes’, there was truly nothing left of you.

The hot iron before was melting in the heat, dripping its molten ooze into your body and fogging your brain. It was impossible to tell who came first, but as you felt his hips drive into one last harsh time with a moan so loud that you’re pretty sure it would be ingrained into your mind forever. You completely let go. Your mind blacked out in a haze of feral lust as the feeling of his spend filled you completely.

You weren’t sure if it was moments or hours anymore, and you’re sure if you could see yourself, you’d be embarrassed by whatever act you were doing. But none of it was a thought in your brain anymore, emptied-headed and fucked. That’s what you were, your brain cutting out as you felt your body slump out of his hold and onto the sheets one last time.

What happened after that exact point, you weren’t really sure, but in the moments after the fall, you felt a soothing hand on your stomach. Your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, barely fluttering open as you adjusted to every sound and feeling around you. There was a warmth between your thighs dribbling out and a hand on your stomach that wasn’t touching with intent, it was stroking so softly like he was trying to coax you back to him. A faint mumbling filled your ears as he soothed you in whatever way he could.

“You’re okay, baby…” He hummed softly, the two of you now lying on the bed, his body leaning on his side as he looked over you. “Did so good for me…”

It was lazy the way your head turned, eyes swimming with tiredness, to look at him.

All Aemond could do was smile lazily back, his own face the most tender it had been all night, “Look who’s awake.”

Your lips parted dryly before they closed again, no energy left to even speak.

“You okay, bunny?” He hummed softly, dipping his head slightly to look at you, eyes warm with care, “You blacked out for a second.”

“I’m okay…” You whispered softly, the flush on your face warm and your body sunk into his bed.

“Good…” He purred, his hand moving off your stomach to reach beyond you.

You had assumed he was turning the camera off, but you were surprised when his hand appeared with a glass; water swishing in the glass as he moved it to you with a soft sigh.

“Drink, baby,” He tutted softly, helping you up with him as he sat up slightly, pressing the glass to your mouth as your hand shakily moved to hold it with him.

God, it really was like finding an oasis in the desert as the cold liquid slipped down your tender throat. Your body leaned partly on his chest as you gulped the water down greedily, his free arm wrapping around you to brush your side softly.

“There you go…” He sighed warmly, making sure you didn’t slip into any uncomfortable place, his lips by your ear as he spoke softly to you, “You were so good for me, baby…”

After a few moments, he placed the glass on the bedside table before pulling you closer to him, his warmth seeping into your skin like a comforting embrace. Aemond’s fingers continued their slow, absentminded tracing along your arm, his touch featherlight, grounding you back into reality.

Your body still tingled from the intensity of the night, exhaustion weighing down your limbs like a heavy velvet blanket. You let out a breath, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the heady scent of your session that clung to him. Giving yourself a few moments of reprieve from the absolute storm that was him.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pressed a kiss against your temple. “That tired, hm?”

You hummed in response, words too much effort when all you wanted was to stay wrapped up in him, in this moment. His arm tightened around you, his palm smoothing slow, lazy circles along your back as he held you close. Neither of you spoke, only the sound of your steady breaths filling the dimly lit room.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in his arms, his touch keeping you tethered to reality. But eventually, Aemond let out a soft sigh, pressing a kiss to your hair before carefully slipping from you. The loss of his warmth made you stir slightly, your fingers weakly grasping for him, but he only shushed you gently.

“Just getting you a shirt, bunny,” he murmured, brushing a hand over your cheek before stepping away.

You barely cracked your eyes open as you watched him move, his bare back to you as he rummaged through his drawers. The exhaustion in your limbs made it impossible to do anything but wait, sinking further into the bed as exhaustion tugged at your edges.

Then he was back, helping you up slightly before draping a soft, worn shirt over your head, guiding your arms through it, his touch tender. Once you were settled, he laid you back in the covers again.

“Feeling better?” His tone was softer than usual, but there was something beneath it, something careful, almost hesitant.

You blinked up at him, drowsy, but nodded. “Yeah…”

Aemond exhaled through his nose, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your side. He was drawing shapes you couldn’t understand, his eyes looking over you in his bed, his body still bare to you.

It was almost reverent like the two of you didn’t just fuck like animals for god knows how long, but it was nice, comforting even. Your brain finally settled down as you moaned softly, settling into bed like you never wanted to leave, his face amused as he watched you.

“Can I ask you something, bunny?” He murmured softly breaking the silence, his hand settling on your hip possessively, his eye slightly wicked with intent.

“Hmm…” You tiredly moaned in response, eyes half-lidded and face in his pillow as you tried to listen to him.

He smirked softly, and then, after a beat.

“Come on tour with me.”

While I do not own the characters, I retain full copyright over this written work. Under no circumstances may this content be translated, copied, reposted, or used for AI training or any other purpose without my explicit permission.

[slttygeto]

Hot Ones! With Suguru Geto & (Name)!

pairing: music producer/singer! Suguru x singer! fem! reader

genre: fluff, crack.

📊 Video Stats

12M views| 350K likes| 87K comments

Geto Suguru was almost like an urban legend. No one knew if he actually existed—I mean, he had to if his voice could be hard on almost every trending song. 

But he never ever made an appearance. Not on any talk show, interview or even famous award shows he had been invited on to win. 

And so logically, no one knew a single thing about the famous producer/singer. They only knew his birthday because Gojo Satoru, a famous actor and his childhood best friend, would always post him while covering his face. 

Which would set the internet on fire for at least two weeks after.

The picture showed that Suguru Geto was a man with a large build, almost as tall as Satoru himself. He had two sleeve tattoos that were barely visible in the picture but enough for people to comment ‘as if this man wasn’t attractive enough’. They can only make out that he has long dark hair, tied in a bun with a long strand of hair dangling on the side. 

However, when Satoru posts his best friend this year to celebrate his 33rd birthday, the internet can’t help but fixate on a detail they hadn’t seen before. Something that was never able to appear because Suguru always hid his hands in his pockets, a shiny band wrapped around his ring finger that was visible to the camera because the producer was jokingly choking his best friend.

Suguru Geto was married, and the internet needed to find out who the lucky person was. 

—

“This week on hot ones! Geto Suguru and (Name) will play a hot game. Tune in tomorrow at 8PM, ET!”

The tweet goes viral the moment that it gets posted. The picture used shows you and Suguru with your backs facing the camera wearing a Hot Ones T-shirt and pointing with your thumbs to the logo. 

And when the video finally gets uploaded, people are losing their minds.

“Welcome to Hot Ones!” You are already sitting on your stool when Suguru finally joins you, sitting across from you at the table. “On a scale from 1 to 10, how excited are you?” You pretend to shove a mic his way and he chuckles.

“4.”

You gasp dramatically, placing your left hand on your chest to show off your wedding ring as well. “Four? How disappointing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru keeps eyeing you as you look at the plate of hot chicken wings and the bottles of hot sauce. “Are you excited?”

“I’m doing it with you, so yeah.” You flash him a grin before scooting closer to the table. 

You had been in the music industry for a while—in fact, you were known to be one of the few artists who gradually rose to fame. Suguru’s producer tag was a recurring theme in your songs.

Suguru produced more than five albums of yours before you decided to chime in and teach yourself some skills of your own. So a couple of years into your career, people never suspected that there was ever something going on between you and the producer.

Despite the signs being there.

He would hop on songs that were intimate, songs where you’d explicitly express the wild rollercoaster which was your sex life. Romantic songs that showed how happy you were, how this one person was finally worth you giving love a second try. 

And yet people never put two and two together.

Not until this video at least.

“Okay so it’s either I answer the question or I eat a hot wing?”

“Not quite,” you grab the cards before shuffling through them. “You eat the hot wing anyway, and you have to answer the questions.”

“...did you just make that up?”

“Because I know you’ll avoid answering the questions!”

And just based on your demeanor and how comfortable you are whining to the man, the audience could tell that the dynamic between the two of you was the result of years of knowing each other. 

“I’m still not doing that” 

“First question, you have been in the music industry for quite some time—some might even consider you to be a legend–”

Suguru snorts. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“Describe an instance where you didn’t feel like working with an artist because they were being difficult.” You laugh as you read through the question. The internet doesn’t know this about your husband, but he tends to be brutally honest. You lean back in your chair and watch as he carefully thinks about the question.

“Honestly–”

“Suguru!” you warn him, giving him the look that makes a chuckle escape him.

“Alright then, which sauce should I use?” 

—

“Okay princess,” Suguru shuffles through his cards now, carefully picking the first question. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” 

“What is your least favorite song that I produced?” Your jaw drops at his question, covering your mouth while your husband is having the time of his life. He knew how hard it was for you to tell the truth when it could risk hurting someone else—especially when that person was your spouse.

“I can’t do that!”

The tall man gestures towards your plate. “Then eat a hot wing,” 

You think about it for a good ten seconds, eyeing the plate of chicken wings and the hot sauce that made your husband sweat so much his cheeks were flushed. 

Fuck it. 

“...the light is coming.” 

“The light is coming.”

Your eyes widen when you hear him answer at the same time as you, his shoulders shaking as he tries to stifle a laugh.

“If you knew it then why would you ask me?!”

“Because I needed you to come clean once and for all.” Suguru wipes a stray tear, still laughing. Then he turns to the camera. “Every single time someone brings up that song, you can see her face drop. She’s denied it for so many years, but the truth has finally come out.”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Okay final question,” he grabs the last card, and you notice a smirk painting his features. “Favorite thing about me?”

“Is that actually the question?” You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. Suguru then shows you the card.

“I don’t lie, darling.”

“I can’t pick one thing,” you rest your chin on the palm of your hand, gazing lovingly at your husband. “But if I could really choose, I would say that you are unapologetically you and I wouldn’t change it for the whole world.” 

After a beat of silence and a shared loving look, Suguru finally speaks up.“You know, I was going to tease you and say ‘I know one thing you really like about me’ but your answer is so wholesome I feel like a teenage boy.”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe you.”

🗨️ Top Comments

💬 [somethingsgottagive]: THE (Name) AND THEEEE SUGURU ARE MARRIED??? (6k likes)

💬 [somuchtosay]: Oh my god we are so blind (5k likes)

💬 [onehastogo]: their wedding rings im going to cry (7,3K likes)

💬 [theboyismine]: they suit each other so well im:(((( (1.8K likes)

💬  [sweetnsourchicken] replied to  [theboyismine]: the perfect dynamic

💬 [alltheavocadoes]: this is what dream thought his face reveal would be like (923 likes)

💬 [albumoftheyear]: revealing his face AND whom he’s married to in one day is crazy (508 likes)

💬 [cmontryme]: can someone check on that (name) and suguru fanpage we were all clowning. I fear they were right (392 likes)

💬  [name&suguru4life] replied to  [cmontryme]: I TOLD YALL AND NO ONE BELIEVED ME

💬 [cmontryme] replied to [name&suguru4life]: we owe you a big apology

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[imawreck]

Darkness

Pairing: Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: You're left with flushed cheeks and a shared secret with the darkest part of Bucky Barnes... and you want more.

Author's Note: You guys fucking DEVOURED the last one so this is the sequel to the previous part, His. It makes more sense if you read the other first! If you like this content, drop a comment or an ask and I'll be sure to write more like it in the future! It gets a little feral and I won't apologize for it. Also, there is possibly a part three on the table if this ship sails like the last.

Warnings: Choking kink, metal arm kink, Cursing, mentions self loathing/guilt (it’s Bucky, kinda normal), Possessive!Winter Soldier, hair pulling, fingering, Dominant!Winter Soldier, hickeys, bruising, PnV, praise kink if you squint, licking, oral (fem receiving), knife play (?) and probably some more but those are the big ones.

Word Count: 6,899

It had been two days.

Two days since you’d tried and failed to lure the Winter Soldier into a cell. Two days since you’d felt his hands on your body.

Two days since he’d given you a taste of what you could have.

He’d left his mark on more than just your skin. Though bruises and love bites littered your neck, it was your mind that he’d left the most impact on.

There was hardly a moment you weren’t thinking about him, about Winter. About what would’ve happened if the agents hadn’t stormed the stairwell. If he’d been able to keep going.

And you wondered if you’d ever get another chance to see.

Bucky had recovered, his mind once more his own. You didn’t know if he remembered, or if he would say anything to you even if he did. It’d been radio silence from everyone in the tower other than Steve, who’d been checking in on you to make sure you were really alright. You were sure Thor would be here hounding you if he was on the planet too.

Apparently, the earpiece had fallen out a little after he’d cornered you. So Steve and whoever else that was watching over you didn’t hear much of the conversation you’d exchanged with the assassin. They’d had to rely on the cameras, which hadn’t been able to see you past the wall of a man caging you between his arms.

Which means none of them had seen what had happened, that this was something only you carried the knowledge of. A small part of you was relieved.

That still left one question unanswered: Did Bucky remember?

A sharp knock jolted you from your thoughts, dragging you back to the present. 

Blowing out a breath, you got up and headed towards the door. “Steve, I told you I’m fine. I—“

But when you opened the door, it wasn’t Steve on the other side.

It was strange how different those blue eyes were when it was Bucky at the wheel instead of Winter. Lively, pooling with emotion where you’d seen cold calculation and unbridled lust just days before.

It was guilt swimming in those eyes now, red rimmed and bloodshot. His dark hair was disheveled like he’d been running his fingers through it all afternoon, and he wore a loose pair of sweats and a black long sleeve despite the summer heat.

He looked scared and out of place standing in the hall.

“I—uh, hey.” A poor attempted smile wobbled onto his face, and he brought his flesh hand up to run through his hair—a nervous habit he had when he was uncomfortable or anxious — just like you’d guessed. “Can we talk?”

You opened your mouth to answer him but no words left it. You could only stare up at him and nod, feet shuffling back to pull the door open further.

Bucky’s frame squeezed through the door and he padded further into your space with wandering eyes and furrowed brows.

It was impossible not to notice the changes you’d made in the last few months since your breakup. Bucky used to frequently stay with you, favoring your bright and comforting space over his own empty room. You liked your knick-knacks, and you were a sucker for creature comforts so you always had the softest blankets and the fluffiest pillows. And you’d always made sure Bucky had things he liked in your space.

You used to keep his favorite coffee stocked in the mini breakfast bar you’d made on a bar cart, and his favorite pillow and throw blanket was always neatly folded in the armchair by the window. You’d even set out copies of his favorite books in case he wanted to relax in your room instead of the commons area or his own space. 

But now it was gone. The little pieces of him you’d made room for were removed along with the photos that used to line your walls and bookcase. Save for the one, of course.

And it stung to see the reality of what he’d done, the choice he’d made now reflected in the absence of everything he’d built with you. 

He pried his eyes away from the empty shelves of your bookcase and glanced back at you, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “I… Steve said that I went after you when I got back.”

His statement hung in the air for a few seconds, silence crowding you both and making him tense his shoulders the longer it remained. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, “I can’t imagine how awful that was for you. I-I never wanted you to see me like that. That- He’s not me, okay? God, I’m so sorry.” His fingers scraped over his scalp as he clenched his teeth, turning away and pacing a few steps.

Bucky couldn’t look at you, not after what he’d done. What he’d forced you to witness. He’d never wanted you to see him like that. It was one of his worst nightmares when you had been dating, and now it was a brutal reality.

“Bucky,” you started, but he cut you off.

“Did I hurt you? Did… did I do something to you?”

It struck you then that he didn’t remember what he’d done. What Winter had done. And your room was too dark at the moment to see what remained painted on your skin from the encounter.

You were both relieved, and utterly frustrated. Now what do you do? ‘Oh yeah, Bucky! I let you finger me with your metal arm in a stairwell for shits and giggles while you were all killer mode. No biggie.’ And then what, ask for him to do it again?

Yeah, definitely not.

“You didn’t hurt me, Bucky.” Your legs moved on their own accord, drawn forward by his obvious distress and the instinctual need to sooth his worries. “I’m fine, really.”

Bucky finally turned to face you, his eyes filled with sorrow. He chewed his cheek, his eyes searching your face for any hint of a lie. “I can't remember what happened, there's just glimpses.” His voice lowered, softened by the weight of his words and the fear woven in his tone. “But I can feel him. Stronger than before. Something’s different this time.”

You stilled at that, eyes glued to the side of his face. 

“I can feel what he felt. I-it's like he’s just behind a curtain.” His right arm came up, his index finger tapping his temple, “Waiting.”

The haunted look in his eyes twisted a knife of guilt in your gut. You didn’t want him to feel guilty for what had happened, but it was unfortunately normal for Bucky. You understood it, respected his boundaries and his need to do anything he could to keep you safe. But you wanted exactly what he was keeping from you.

You wanted it so badly.

Could you tell him? Could you confide in him this secret you’d kept from lovers in the past? Something so twisted that you’d only shared it with someone equally as sadistic as you were flawed? Bucky was so much more important to you than any of them had been. You… you felt deeply for him. And it was obvious that the unknown was weighing on him heavily.

One more look at his shattered expression gave you your answer.

With a frustrated huff, you reached for his hand. You tugged it from where it’d curled itself into his hair again, and led him to the edge of your bed. “Bucky,” you started, keeping your voice as gentle as you could. “I need to tell you something. It’s going to be hard to understand, and you’ll probably think very differently of me, but I think it might lessen the burden I can see you’re putting on yourself.”

Bucky’s eyes fixed on you. Those brows furrowed over confused and tortured eyes, but it was obvious that he would listen.

You bit your lip, beginning to sweat as the nerves rattled through you. “First of all, I… I haven’t told anyone this. It’s not something I’m proud of, but rather something that just is. And it didn’t start with you. I mean—,” you let out a sound of frustration, “Fuck, I mean I didn’t date you because of it. It just sort of grew more complicated as we got closer.”

Those brows furrowed more and twisted his face into more concern than anything.

You kept going. “When you came after me, I was scared. Of course I would be.” You winced at the hurt that flashed in his eyes, but continued on, “But I also… I liked it.” 

A shaky, bitter laugh left you. “I liked the chase. I liked it when he cornered me against the wall, when he—,” you paused, a feeling akin to resignation and begrudging acceptance settling into your bones. Your eyes found his metal hand, gazing at the light bouncing off the silver metal. “When he choked me with that hand.”

You buried your face in your palms, tears of shame threatening to leak from your eyes. “You didn’t hurt me. He didn’t hurt me, Bucky. He just brought to light these things I thought I’d kept from you.” 

With another breath, one that felt like needles sinking into your lungs, you went on. “He made me feel good, Buck, in all the ways I’d always hoped you would someday. I feel like the worst person in the world for thinking that, for feeling the way I do, but I can’t help it.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. Shame was writhing in your stomach and threatening to consume you. Tears pricked your eyes and wet your palms that still remained pressed to your face. 

Bucky didn’t say a word, and you just let the silence thicken the air. You’d already said everything there was to say.

Your sin was bared for his judgment. “I get that you don’t want to be with me anymore—“

“That’s a lie.”

Your head snapped up at that, teary eyes wide as you took in his surprised expression. An expression you watched morph into confusion, and then something else. Realization, maybe.

Bucky went on, “I never wanted to stop being with you, Y/N.”

A piece of you settled deep in your soul at that confession, and you leaned in to listen. Every word from his lips an answer to the question haunting your every thought for the past three months.

“On that mission, we came across intel that there might be a mole in the tower and that they were going to try and trigger the Winter Soldier. I… I was scared, Y/N.” Grief washed over his face as he folded his hands together, knuckles turning white. “I was so scared that you’d see me like that and be afraid of me. I was terrified of hurting you, of— of killing you, that I had to make it look like you didn’t matter to me. I had to make it real, so that whoever saw you and I would think you didn’t matter and leave you alone. I was trying to make you less of a target.”

Your heart thundered in your chest at his confession, at the thought that these past two months of utter disaster had been the result of Bucky trying to protect you from himself. 

“You could’ve talked to me,” you muttered, sniffing and wiping your face in a poor attempt to rid it of the mascara you knew had run. “You could’ve told me what was going on.”

Bucky’s head shook, “There wasn’t time. You have to understand.”

You nodded, even if you didn’t truly understand. The guilt and remorse on his face told you he was on the edge of crumbling, and if agreeing with him kept him from breaking, you’d give it to him.

Another long silence blanketed the two of you. You watched his face, his eyes, as his mind mulled over the information you had exchanged with him.

Those blue eyes found your’s after a while, something steely in them that wasn’t there before. “Friday?”

The AI of Stark Tower answered politely, “Yes, Mr. Barnes?”

“Initiate Soldier Protocol in Y/N’s room and cut camera feed. Don’t alert anyone.”

Soldier Protocol. 

Your eyes widened, and a chill ran over your skin. Soldier Protocol was something Bucky had come up with when you’d first started dating. It was a safety protocol installed into yours and his own room to ensure that if the Winter Soldier was triggered, it would keep whoever was in the room safe, or keep whoever was trying to get inside from entering. It was a double edged sword, really, because if you were trapped in the room with him, then you couldn’t get out. Bucky had made sure to teach you some basic self defense moves on the very slim chance that would ever happen and had shown you ways that you could use to evade and make an escape to the bathroom if needed. Even though you’d thought of all the holes in the protocol, you couldn’t bear to voice them if it helped ease Bucky’s nerves knowing that if something were to happen, that you’d have an extra wall to keep him from getting to you.

“Confirm Command; Soldier Protocol, Miss Y/N?”

You hesitated, voice wavering just the slightest as you whispered, “Are you sure?”

Bucky nodded slowly, giving you the confidence you needed to answer the AI.

“Confirm Soldier Protocol, Friday. No alerts or cameras.”

The calming voice answered once more. “Command Confirmed. Soldier Protocol initiated.”

Your eyes followed the windows as metal safety doors shut out the dim light of the day. One after another they locked out the outside world and left the two of you inside the confines of your bedroom. 

You and Bucky, and your confessions.

“He wants out, Y/N.” It was barely a whisper, but the low timbre of Bucky’s voice reverberated in your bones. “He wants you.”

There was concern laced in his words, but there was also more. So much more that you knew you’d have to talk about later. You’d have time to unpack all of this, what it means for the two of you, later. Right now?

Right now you needed Winter as desperately as you needed air.

“What… How can I help you, Bucky?” Your hands shook at the thought of Winter's return. Of what it would bring.

Bucky pulled his lip between his teeth, his hands running through his hair before twisting themselves in his lap. His eyes were wide, as if he didn’t quite believe he would say the words spilling from his own mouth. “I want you to trigger the Winter Soldier. Feeling him there— it’s driving me mad. An-and now that we know he won’t hurt you and that you… you want him—.”

You reached for his hand, concerned that if he kept squeezing them as tight as he was that he’d break bone. “Bucky, it’s okay.” You tilted your head, smiling softly at him, “Take a breath. There’s a few things I want to set straight before we jump into this.”

His voice lowered, “Okay.”

Bucky was obviously torn up over this whole thing. And as excited as you were to repeat what went on in that stairwell, this was someone you cared about for more than just sex. 

This was Bucky. 

This was the man who’d apologized with the biggest bouquet of flowers you’d ever laid eyes on the day after your first encounter with Winter. The same man who’d apologized for months after with cute little notes and trinkets he knew you loved and still kept in that shoebox under your bed. The exact same man you’d opened your heart to one Saturday night over a tub of butterscotch ice cream and the third playthrough of your favorite movie. He didn’t complain that you’d watched it back to back either.

This was the man you’d fallen in love with in just a few short months.

The realization settled into your heart, and that warm tingly feeling swept over you as you tightened your hold on his flesh hand and reached for his metal one too.

Bucky hesitated, jerking it away for a moment before allowing you to tug it into your lap. “Buck,” you started, thumbs swiping over his hands in slow calming paths. “It isn’t just the Winter Soldier I like about you. You know that, right? Because if you don’t, I’ve failed as your lover. And as your friend.” 

Those blue eyes darted between your own, searching there like a man searching for salvation. You gave his hands another squeeze, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I… I love you, Bucky. You. I think I’ve known for a while now. I was just too scared to admit it out loud. I haven’t had the best run with guys in the past, and you’re so good that I was afraid I’d ruin you somehow.”

Your eyes fell to your joined hands, and this time he was the one to squeeze back.

“I know it’s kind of shitty timing, but I need you to understand that I’m not with you for any other reason other than the simple fact that I adore you, Bucky Barnes. Everything about you.” You shook your head, frowning. “I meant it when I told you I wasn’t with you just because of Winter. I’ve always had this attraction to… well, you know. Dating you just made it more difficult to hide when you were obviously so uncomfortable with it. I didn’t want to make things hard for you. I just wanted you to be happy.”

“Doll,” he mumbled, the name drawing your eyes to him. You’d always loved it when he called you that. “Say it again.”

You frowned, confused for a moment, before a small smile drew itself onto your face. “I love you, Bucky.”

A choked sound fell from his lips before his arms circled around your waist and pulled you into his lap, his face inches from yours. “Again. Say it again,” he begged, his  breath fanned over your face as his fingers fisted the back of your shirt. “Please, doll, say it again.”

You folded your legs around his hips, threading your fingers into his hair and peppering kisses on his face. “I love you.”

“Me?” It was the most broken sound you’d ever heard.

You grabbed his face, tilting it up to look at you and tried your best to pour every ounce of love into your expression. “You, James. I love you. I’ll say it a billion times if I have to until I get it through that ridiculously handsome head of yours.”

He laughed at that, broken as it sounded. “I love you too, Y/N. God, I fucking love you.”

Soft lips crashed into yours, dancing a familiar dance as his flesh hand slipped under your shirt and glided up your spine. Your breath caught as the cool sensation of his metal fingers followed after it, his arm wrapping around your back. You smiled against his lips, leaning into him more.

You nearly pouted when he pulled away.

“Y/N,” those eyes, less uncertain and more determined now, swept over your face. “I want you to trigger him.”

You frowned, “But Bucky, you—.”

“I need this.” His voice was surprisingly steady, “I need to do this otherwise it’ll drive me mad. Feeling him there— Jesus, it’s like someone’s scraping a knife against my skull.”

Metal fingers drew circles against your back, “Are you okay with… with seeing him again? I’m not confident enough to do what he did yet. I need more time to come to terms with the damage this hand has done.” He pulled the appendage away, looking it over before his eyes found you again. “But I… I can tell he won’t hurt you. I can feel it,” he pulled his flesh hand away and pressed it over his heart. “Right here.”

He laughed, almost incredulously. “Even the Winter Soldier has fallen in love with you.”

All you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears. He wanted you to trigger the Winter Soldier. He said that he loved you, and that Winter did too. 

It would really fucking suck if you were dreaming.

“I don’t know your words,” you mumbled, suddenly shy in the light of his proclamation.

This time, the smile he gave was one that reminded you of those old photos from the 40s you’d seen in the history museum. The one where the left side crooks up a bit more than the right. He didn’t release you, but instead wrapped his left arm around your hips and leaned back to rifle through the top drawer of your nightstand for the notepad you always left in there.

He pulled it back to himself and released you only long enough to scribble down a few words and tear off the page. “You’ll have to memorize them. I don’t want them to leave this room.”

You nodded, because of course he wouldn’t and you’d rather swallow hot coals than ever betray him. Your eyes scanned the page a dozen times when he handed it to you, lips moving in silence as you played with the foreign vowels. 

All the while those strong hands of his trailed along your back and hips, sometimes exploring your upper thigh. 

It made your mind foggy, and you had to keep yourself from squinting to focus.

After you’d finally memorized them, you remove yourself from Bucky’s lap and padded over to your bookcase. You snagged the candle lighter from a shelf, and then removed the bag from your trash bin. It took a few tries, but once the lighter ignited, you let the flames eat away at the page before dropping it into the bin and watching until it was nothing but ash at the bottom.

You could hear a breath of relief leave the soldier from where he remained seated at the edge of your bed. He looked somewhat relaxed, but a tension still ran along his shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You returned to the bed, smiling a bit as his arms wrapped around the back of your thighs.

Bucky hummed, low and steady. “M’sure, Doll.” He leaned his head against your stomach, and your hands found his hair on instinct.

He hummed again at the touch, and his arms tightened around your legs before he lifted you. Bucky turned quickly, one knee coming up onto the bed before he laid you down with a thump on the mattress.

You smiled, laughing a little as you bounced from the sudden drop. Bucky grinned back, his eyes shining. “Missed you, you know. I’m sorry for not telling you.” He leaned over you, hands planting on either side of your head. Nothing but honesty shined in those blue eyes as he looked down at you. “I’m sorry for wasting three months, and I promise I won’t do that again.”

Butterflies stirred in your belly, and you could feel the flush of heat on your neck as you leaned up and planted a kiss on his lips, “Better not.” 

Before you could think much of it, Bucky reached over and flicked the lamp on. You were too busy feeling fuzzy inside that you’d forgotten the very prominent marks littering the delicate flesh of your neck.

Marks that would always make Bucky drown in guilt.

“Fuck, doll.” 

He stared at your neck, horror painting his face in the lamplight. His body lifted until he was sitting on his knees over you, hands resting on his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them as he took in the damage he’d left.

This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen. “Hey, no—,” you gripped the front of his shirt, the sudden motion catching him off guard as you pulled yourself up to his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes. You would’ve liked to yank him back over you, but you lacked the ability to battle his serum-enhanced strength. Sitting up did just fine.

“You don’t get to feel guilty for this. Not now, and not anytime after this if you… if we’re serious about doing this.” You stared him down, unwilling to allow him even a glance away. “I told you, I liked it. I told you that it didn’t hurt. You need to trust me as much as I trust you in this. That’s the only way this,” you motioned between you both, “is going to work.” You lowered your voice, nearly mumbling the last part. “I can’t take another step back, Buck. Not after three months, and definitely not after that.”

Bucky’s eyes danced between yours for a few moments. They darted down to your marred skin and back again several times before he blew out a breath and nodded reluctantly. 

Your shoulders eased too. 

“Now come back here and kiss me, soldier. Your girl’s in need.” You smiled, quirking a playful brow in an attempt to draw him back in.

It worked. That smile pulled at his lips, small at first but quickly blooming as you began peppering his jaw with kisses.

The kisses started gentle and exploring, and the touches soft and sweet. You hadn’t felt his skin against yours for three long months, save for two days ago, and you’d missed everything that made him Bucky.

You’d missed how the stubble of his chin brushed your cheeks when you kissed, and how he held your face like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched. Delicate and worthy of worship.

You’d missed him so much it hurt.

“Bucky,” you panted, tugging his shirt as you kissed him. “I love you.”

A deep, rumbling groan left him, and his tongue swept across your bottom lip. “I love you, Y/N. So damn much.”

His flesh hand cupped the back of your neck and guided your head to the side so he could place the tenderest kisses over each hickey Winter had left. “He’s a brute,” Bucky mumbled against the column of your throat, stealing your breath. “If he hurts you–.”

“He won’t, James.” You pressed your forehead to his shoulder, biting your lip as his flesh hand trailed all the way from your neck to the base of your spine. “I know it.”

You only got a hum in response before his lips crashed into yours again. Bucky’s hands were everywhere, confident and warm on one side and tentative and gentle with the other, much colder one. The contrast sent delicious tingles along your skin wherever he touched and only served to heighten your anticipation.

This was the first time Bucky himself had allowed so much of a brush of his metal arm against you, let alone tender touch.

His palms mapped every dip and crest of your body, his touch growing more needy with each sweep of his skin against yours. His tongue slid over your lips again, a silent request that you were all too happy to accept.

You couldn’t help the satisfied sound that escaped you as the taste of him swept over you, familiar and strong. Things only hastened from there. It was like a switch had flipped and he couldn’t bear not to have his hands on you.

He kissed you hard, chasing you with lips and tongue like a man starved. The feather light touches of his hands turned more firm as he held your hips and pulled you closer. Bucky’s chest heaved, his breaths fanning over you between kisses in hot puffs.

You could tell he was still holding back. That he needed this as much as the burning need in your core told you that you did. “Bucky,” the sound was practically a whine, “Please.”

His fingers curled against your hips, “Fuck. Okay, okay.” Wet kisses were trailed down your neck as his hands slipped beneath your shirt to sweep calloused thumbs over your aching nipples. “Say them, doll. Say the words.”

You deserved a fucking gold metal for succeeding to pull your mind out of the fog he’d clouded your brain with. It always happened with him. Your mind just short circuited every time he cast you a heated glance, and this? Well, it was a miracle you could remember your own name.

You opened your mouth, the words you’d memorized tumbling out one after another. 

“Longing.” Bucky grunted, but didn’t stop in his ministrations as you spoke the next. 

“Rusted.” Another grunt, and a tremor through his shoulders, but his lips never left your skin. In fact, it just seemed to spur him further as his hands tugged your shirt down to reveal the delicate skin of your breasts.

“Furn-,” you gasped as his lips locked onto a nipple, tongue teasing expertly over the nub. “Furnace.”

The hum he released sent skittering tingles across your body in the most delicious way.

“Finish, baby.” 

Fucking hell. What was the next word?

“Daybreak,” his hands lowered to your ass and held it firmly against him as he licked and sucked the sensitive skin of your breasts, never missing a beat. “Seventeen.”

Those devilish hands dragged lower, fingers trailing along the seam of your panties through your leggings and along the underside of your thighs where they met the curve of your ass. Inches from where you needed him most.

You could barely suck in a breath, utterly overwhelmed by the sensation of his mouth on your skin and those hands mapping your body in agonizingly slow strokes that sent waves of need straight to your core. “Benign,” his body arched over yours, easing you into the mattress, “Nine.”

Another shudder this time, and you could see the ripple of muscle beneath that tight black shirt. God did you want it off of him.

“Homecoming.” 

A groan, and a shake of his head. It was the first indicator that he was uncomfortable.

 You hesitated at the pained sound, but you didn’t have time to ask a thing though. Not when his head snapped up and those wide, wild blue eyes found yours. “Don’t stop,” he panted, cheeks flushed.

So you didn’t.

“One.”

Wet lips trailed kisses down the exposed skin of your stomach, the tips of his dark hair trailing down as he kissed past your naval and kept going. Lower, lower, lower…

“Freight Car.” The words sounded strangled in your throat through your labored breathing.

The kisses stopped abruptly, and Bucky’s body went stock still.

You weren’t even sure he was breathing until the even rush of an exhale swept against your stomach.

And then he chuckled.

 It wasn’t the kind you’d normally hear from Bucky. It wasn’t filled with joy, or playfulness. This one sounded depraved and downright corrupt.

The hairs on your neck raised, and that sharp bite of panic jolted through you as you stared down at his large frame hovering over you. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, and the lack of any hint of what was going through his head only heightened the tension building in your body.

“Told you, didn’t I?” His voice was a rumble in the silence, and you gasped when his tongue swept a path up the center of your belly. “You fucking need me.”

Cold fingers hooked the waistband of your leggings and shucked them off in one quick motion, the cool air assaulting your exposed skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. You simply stared up at him and tried to remember to breathe beneath the weight of his eyes on your body.

Those cold, lust-lidded eyes.

“Winter,” you breathed, a thrum of excitement mingling with the nerves tingling under your skin. The ache you felt was at the forefront of your mind. Bucky’s gentle touches had served to stir the need that was already brewing.

Now, Winter has come to finish the job.

He smiled, slow and sultry. “Needy little thing, aren't you, Dollface?”

You bit your lip as heat crept up your neck.

Winter’s body rose to his knees, his hands curling around your thighs in a bruising grip and lifting them over his shoulders. You yelped, but it didn’t stop him. Those thick corded forearms locked your legs in place over his shoulders, his face centimeters from your core and the stubble of his jaw tickling your thighs.

You were almost certain you'd soaked through the thin pair of panties you wore.

His hands dragged up your thighs, fingers slipping beneath the fabric at your hips as he held your eyes. 

And then he ripped them at the seams. The puny fabric fell to the mattress in tatters, and all you could do was gawk at him.

“Don’t wear those when you’re with me.” Winter ordered against your thigh, his tongue swiping a path up the inner stripe of skin. 

The action sent another wave of want through you, the anticipation of what he was going to do serving to build your nerves higher and higher.

He drew you closer by your hips, humming against your skin. The sweep of hot air over you was a welcome sensation and you arched into it. Your heart pounded, and the angle in which your body was held, your head still resting against the mattress along with your shoulders, made it hard to think. 

Winter stopped just short of brushing his lips over your sensitive clit. You could’ve cried right then and there. Blinking up at him, you caught the wicked grin plastered on his face.

The soldier above you looked downright god-like bathed in the dim light of the room. His eyes gleamed, and that silver arm danced with every move he made. Every devious stroke of cool fingers against your body.

You knew this exact image would be carved into your mind for the rest of your life.

“Beg for it,” he ordered, his grip turning nearly bruising. “Tell me how badly you want it.” His lips brushed your core, just a whisper of scruff on your sensitive skin. 

You squirmed in response, chasing the feeling. Normally, you would rather die than beg a man for anything. But Winter? He had a special way of breaking you down. “Please, Winter, please. I-I want you. I want you to–.”

He didn’t even let you finish before his tongue delved into your core. 

You felt every sweep, every brush of that expert muscle laving over you. Desperate, needy sounds were echoing through your room, and a part of you knew they were yours. That they were spilling from your parted lips in broken sentences begging him for more. You were too focused on where his tongue toyed with you to care about anything else, though. Every pass of his tongue on your clit, or a sweep against your clenching walls made it harder and harder to ground yourself.

You were crawling closer and closer to the edge.

Your fingers were curled into the bedspread, and your hips ground into his face and bucked against the solid grip of his arms over your thighs. Winter groaned into your heat, the rumbling vibrations pushing you closer to euphoria.

Dazed, you tried to focus on his face, tried to make out his features in your love-drunk state. 

Winter's eyes were closed, and his face never came up once for air. Not even when you could feel his chest shuttering, and those muffled grunts became more frequent.

And God did they feel good.

Your chest heaved, your legs trying and failing to move an inch against his iron grip. As those vibrating groans shoved you over the edge with a cry.

Your brain couldn’t focus, not with all the blood rushing through your head and the thundering sound of your own heart in your ears, or the blissful sensation of release crashing over you in waves. 

“So dirty, Dollface. Letting me ruin you like this.” Winter eased his grip on your shaky legs, his hands dragging up your thighs to grip your hips. “Letting me brand you, taste you…” He licked his lips, tasting you on his stubbled face. His body leaned forward, your legs parting around his hips as he planted a burning kiss to your lips, “Fucking perfect.”

You panted, blinking to focus on his words as you came back to yourself.

Winter was lifting himself off of you, his eyes raking over your disheveled form as he slipped off the bed and stood to his full height. Those blue eyes held nothing but burning desire, muscles flexing as he yanked off his shirt and rewarded you with the view of his sweat slicked torso. 

The sight was erotic. His hair damp with sweat, and his face glossy with the remnants of your release, chest heaving as he sucked in much needed air.

Winter reached forward, his cool fingers wrapping around your ankle and tugging you towards the edge of the bed with a wicked grin. “Gonna make you come again, Dollface. Need to hear those pretty sounds you make.” His flesh hand grabbed your calf, pulling you closer. “Wanna hear my name on your lips again, and again, and again.”

His metal fingers gripped your thigh hard enough to leave bruises, but that didn’t bother you. You loved the reminders that littered your skin from the last time Winter branded you with his affections, and you relished each one that would follow. 

With a quick, strong motion, he flipped you on your stomach. Your chest bounced against the bedsheets, the friction against your pebbled nipples sent a jolt of pleasure down to your toes making you moan into the comforter as he brought your hips up and adjusted your knees against the bed.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He panted, pressing himself against your ass.

You could feel him through the sweats still hanging from his hips. The length of him pressed firmly against you, brushing your sensitive core and making you groan again. You wanted to feel him, needed to know what it was like to be with Winter the same way you craved intimacy with his counterpart.

“Please,” You begged. 

With a grunt, the sweats were yanked down and he thrust harshly, seating himself completely in one swift motion.

His moan rumbles through you, setting your nerves alight. “Oh god…”

And then he starts moving. 

One stark difference between James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier, was that one was gentle and kind, and everything you’d want in the man you’d take home to meet your parents. And the other? The other was the kind of man that would carve his name into your skin with a smile and defile you in unspeakable ways, rough and raw.

Winter snapped his hips at a breakneck pace, pulling out only to plunge back in with a force that made you see stars. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, clinging to the sheets as he drove you into the mattress. His cock hit all the right places, those quick, constant motions driving you closer and closer to another release. His grunts and puffs of breath only added momentum.

Tears pricked your eyes, your heart hammering and your skin on fire as pleasure coursed through you, building higher and higher.

A cold palm slipped along your belly, snaking its way between your breasts and firmly wrapping around your neck, squeezing those delicate pressure points that made your head spin. He lifted you from the mattress, his pace halting almost completely as your back met his heaving chest. 

Winter’s raw voice met your ears as you whimpered at the loss of friction, teetering on the edge of sanity as your core wept for attention. “Gonna cum if I keep that up, Dollface.” His voice is choppy, puffs of air hitting the side of your neck as he talks. “Feel so fuckin’ good.”

His dick pushes in again, dragging slowly along your walls as he groans in your ear, your own voice joining him in a broken harmony. “‘M gonna need this every time. Need to feel your tight cunt, hear your pretty cries…” His tongue darted out to slide over your cheek, swiping up a tear that had fallen from your damp lashes, “Taste you every. Single. Time.”

Those hips snapped back into their brutal pace, slamming against your ass as he clutched your frail neck in his metal hand, the other coming up to grip your hair and tug your head back as he sucked more love bites along your neck.

You moan, tears of pleasure falling from your lashes as you near the edge. Winter’s grunts and shaky breath vaguely registering that he’s nearly there himself.

He sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck, the combination of pain and utter pleasure shoving you over the precipice as you open your mouth in a scream. That metal hand snakes up to stifle it as his hips jerk a few more agonizing thrusts before shuddering with his strangled moan.

You’re left limp and breathless, utterly spent and draped over his arm with your head lolling against his strong and heaving shoulder.

Winter slips from you, repositioning you on the bed like an offering on an unholy altar. With his hair plastered against his forehead, those dark strands utterly soaked with sweat, he smiles down at you.

“Again.”

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[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 7)

You and Johnny were at a standstill. You woke up not long ago from your nap, still safely tucked to his side in the nest in an almost claustrophobic way. You were ready to just get up and leave this situation, but Johnny didn't really let you, actually still insisting on playing with you, which resulted in now.

Both of you were staring eachother. You were satting quietly against the nest border as Johnny laid hid big body across the nest easily, laid on his side as he smiled smugly at you, hand holding his head up, his other hand resting quietly near your little feet. If you tried scooting backwards, he would pull you back easily with just a small tug.

"Pup, come on, ya knae ya want to play a wee bit~" He almost singsongs, voice low and provocative...

Still a bit babyish too.

"Wanna play tag?" As you shake your head quietly, he crawls a bit closer, keeping his big body somehow lower than your sitting position. "No tag? I'll play nice, papa always play nice!" He smiles big, sharp and long teeth on display, making you tremble a little.

You still shake your head, embarrassed.

"Hide 'n seek?" He pouts exaggeratedly, long, fluffly ears pinned back on his head. It looked... kinda cute, but you still shook your head a little. "Come on, Lass.... It'll make ya good to move around a wee bit..."

"Don't wanna play..." Your murmur quietly, still pretty much shy around them.

Johnny lets out a little whimper at that, which immediatly startled you a bit at the high pitched sound.

"How about... just a walk around, yeah?" He suggests gently, only to immediatly sit up a bit, getting excited about his own idea. "Oh, yeah, yeah, let's go for a walk, wee pup! That way, you can get to knae the place around the house, aye?"

"If they are going for a walk outside, they need to be properly dressed." Kyle casually remarks as he comes inside the room out of nowhere, clothes in hand. "It's already getting dark, and the temperature is dropping. Price said that it's threatening to snow tomorrow." "Already??" Johnny growls slightly, and that immediatly makes you jump back a little on the nest. "Oh, nae, nae, it's okay, pup, i'm so sorry, wee pup, come 'ere." He changes tones quickly, leaning over you to coo gently as he paws the blanket tangled around you, pulling you closer.

"Unfortunately." Kyle huffs a little, wings shuffling behing his back, getting fluffly. "I though we would have more time."

Johnny hums, frowning as he considers what to do next, his hands holding you to his chest, even as you squirm a little.

"It's probably okay for a human, aye?"

"If they are properly dressed, yes. Come here, chick." You didn't have time to react as Kyle bend down and picked you up on his arms, the blanket still wrapped around you.

Johnny got up too, stretching like a real dog as he watched Kyle gently set you down on the carpet and pat your clothes, straightening the sweater and pants that got rustled after your nap.

"Give me your hand, chick." Kyle smiles easily, gently, grabbing your hand after you hesitantly lifted it. "John got good things, thank god. This gloves and hat feel very warm."

"It has to be, right? Weren't them in a store that caters to humans too?" Johnny kneeled down by you, watching faithfuly as Kyle gently put the thick wool gloves on your little hands.

"Yeah, but you know how it is. They say they cater to these less common races, but in the end it's just a marketing scheme." Kyle roll his eyes slightly, once again dropping out of the gentle persona he usually adopts when near you. "But these are fine, they feel thick and warm, the wool is good quality, the type that will isolate the heat nicely."

Kyle picked up the new thick jacket they got you at the store, quickly helping you into it, zipping it up tight over the sweater. It did feel warm, almost too warm to your already warm room.

"And here's your beanie, Lass!" Johnny smiled big, picking up the wool beanie and using one of his big hands to push your hair back flatly, your eyes squinting at the action as you feel the hat being placed expertly on your head. "Does it feel warm?"

You nod quietly, feeling a bit too wrapped up in your new clothes.

"Good! Let's put on your shoes and go outside, aye?"

It didn't take long for the three of you to be making your way downstairs, immediatly caughting Simon's attention as he frowned.

"You're leaving?" He asks gruffily, posture immediatly changing as he crossed his thick arms over his chest, still frowning.

"Aye, going outside with the lassie to exercise a little!" Johnny quickly smiled, nodding as his tail wagged behind him.

"It's late."

"It's like, 6:30 p.m." Johnny smiles back, rolling his eyes a little.

"It's cold outside."

"They're wrapped up." Kyle adds, smiling a bit too smugly.

Simon squinted his eyes a little more, annoyed, which only made the younger two laugh with a bit too much arrogance.

"Stop going all mama bear, Si, they're gonna be fineeeeeeee~" Johnny laughs, gently nudging you towards the front door.

Simon growls quietly at that, but cuts himself off almost immediatly as they see you weaken your steps.

"I just don't like the idea of having them outside at this hour and at this weather." He replies, voice heavy and low, almost growled out.

"It's not good for them to be cooped up inside all the time." Kyle points out, Johnny quickly nodding to agree with his mate.

Both harpies and werewolves are very active and outdoors' species. Contrary of Wraiths, obviously.

"Let them go, Simon. It's good for the kid to walk a little too." John raises his voice for the others to hear him from the kitchen.

Simon huffs, but his posture relax slightly. He glances at you, that is obediently still by the door, Johnny big presence pressed against your back as he still smiles smugly at Simon.

"Be careful, eyes on them all the time, don't start with your little games yet, this is a little human kid we are talking about." Simon speaks slowly, clearly holding back on a growl as his fingers started to let out small wisps of shadows.

"I knae, Si! What do ya take me for?? 'M nae dimwit!" Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes before he lets out a big grin right after. "I'm not play wrestling this wee baby yet, it's just a little walk!"

"God, I also want to let loose and fly a little..." Kyle huffs a bit, stratching his wings, tho quickly tucking them back when he saw you take a small step away in intimidation. "But I'll let that for later. I'll help John with dinner."

"Be back before dinner." Simon warns Johnny once again, that just throws a mock salute his way and steps out of the house, taking you with him.

"Right, mama bear! We'll be right back!"

"Don't compare myself to the likes of Nikolai." Simon huffs as he turns away from the now closed front door, going to the kitchen to both help the other two with dinner and to watch Johnny and you outside the kitchen window.

Part 6 / Part 8