#love to him is to provide. it is to protect. it is to be steady. but he doesn't know the rest of it and learning is scary

[heirbane]

what kind of love are you?

LOVE AS A FLAW. - Cowering, your love hides in the dark. In shadows and under cover of night, your love runs from corner to corner, afraid to linger, afraid to be caught. Afraid, afraid, afraid of everything. When you fall in love, it is with alarm bells ringing. Your love is a mistake, a flaw in the code, a purchase you don’t remember making and desperately want to return. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want this. It’s a problem–– your problem ––and you would do anything to pass it off, burn it away, scoop it out of you with bare hands, or carved out with hooked knives before it can destroy you. Get it out, just get it out now. You don’t care who you hurt in the process, only that you can’t afford to be hurt first. Being loved by you is to be loved by a figment of the imagination. It is to be loved in halves, or not at all.

stolen from @daizure!

[taeghi]

sweet n sour

sunghoon's in bad shape after a match... if only there was a way to make him feel better.

PAIRING : boxer!sunghoon x worried gf!reader

GENRE: smut, slight fluff & angst. oral, unprotected sex!!, praise, just some soft sex tbh oh and a breeding kink

WC : 4k

mdni

you lie on the couch, the glow of the tv casting shadows across the empty room. it’s so late, past 1am, and the apartment feels more yours than ever, even though its meant to be shared. your eyes are heavy, threatening to close, but you force them open. you want to greet him when he comes home. 

the silence is loud, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the building settling. you try to focus on the show playing, but your mind drifts, thinking of him and sleep. he always tells you not to wait up for him, to go to bed, but you can’t help it. anxiety, worry and pure love for him keep you here, wide awake on the couch, fighting sleep. 

you shift on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around you. the cushions feel cold, a stark contrast to the warmth you remember when he used to sit beside you. you glance at the clock again, the minutes ticking by slower than ever. 

you fight sleep, but your eyes grow heavier with each passing moment. the tv’s flicker becomes a blur, and your mind drifts, lulled by exhaustion. you don’t realize that you begin to succumb to sleep. 

an hour later a faint noise jolts you awake again. your heart races as you sit up, disoriented and tense. 

the living room is still dark besides the tv light. you strain your ears, and then you hear it– a rustling sound, followed by the faint hum of water running in the bathroom. your eyes dart to the front door, where his gym bag sits slumped against the wall. relief washes over you and you exhale slowly. 

he’s home. 

you rise from the couch, your body protesting the sudden movement. padding quietly across the room, you reach the bathroom door. the sound of the water is louder now, a steady stream of water hitting porcelain. you hesitate for a moment, your hand hovering above the door. 

knocking gently you call out, “babe, it’s me.” 

there’s a pause, then the water stops. his voice, cold and distant, cuts through the silence. 

“i told you not to wait up. go back to sleep.” 

his words sting but you know he’s not trying to hurt you. “i know, i was just worried and wanted to see you.” 

“‘m fine. go to sleep.” 

the finality in his tone makes your chest tighten. you stand there, fingers brushing the doorframe, fighting the urge to whimper. “can i get a hug before i go to sleep, then?” 

silence stretches between you. you think he’s ignoring you, and the ache in your heart deepens. but then, the door creaks open and you gasp as you look at him. 

there, sunghoon, your boyfriend, stands. his clothes are still on, but his face is covered in bruises and dried blood. his one eye is swollen, a cut is splitting his lip. you’ve seen him beat up before, but this is the worst you have ever seen him. your heart breaks, and you reach out instinctively, but he turns his face away, avoiding your touch. 

“please,” he mutters, voice strained. “just go to bed.”

you linger for a moment, wanting to say more, do more for the man that you love. 

“no,” you say firmly, guiding him to sit on the toilet. the bathroom feels heavy. “i’m going to take care of you, or your wounds will get infected.” 

sunghoon doesn’t argue. he sits, silent and resigned, his shoulders up high even though he is in physical and emotional pain. you can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he battles with himself. he should be the one protecting you, providing for you, but right now, he can’t even look at you. his swollen eye is an excuse, but deep down, you know it’s more than that. 

you grab the first aid kit from under the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you pull out antiseptic and gauze. the air between you is thick with tension, an unspoken sorrow that hangs over everything. you kneel in front of him, carefully dabbing at the dried blood on his face.

“can you not clean me up with that look on your face?” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper.

“what look?” you ask, your eyes meeting his briefly before returning to your task.

“like you’re about to cry,” he says, a hint of a smile playing on his bruised lips.

you pause, swallowing hard. “i can’t help it. you look like you’ve been through hell.”

sunghoon shakes his head, wincing at the movement. “i just hate that you have to do this.”

“what, play nurse?” you tease lightly, trying to lift the mood.

“no,” he replies, his voice turning serious. “see me like this. feel like you have to take care of me.”

“sunghoon,” you say, your tone soft but firm, “we’re in love. you’d do the same for me in a heartbeat.”

“yeah,” he mutters, looking away. “but i’m supposed to be the strong one.”

you stop, cupping his face gently, forcing him to look at you. “you are strong. but it’s okay to let someone else be strong for you sometimes. it doesn’t make you weak.”

he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. “i just don’t want you to worry.”

“too late for that,” you whisper, brushing a kiss against his forehead. “i’m always going to worry about you. because i love you.”

he opens his eyes, finally meeting yours. there’s a vulnerability there that you rarely see, and it makes your heart ache. “i love you too,” he says quietly. “more than anything.”

you smile, your eyes misting up. “then let me take care of you. let me love you.”

he nods, and you can see the walls he’s built around himself start to crumble. “okay,” he whispers. “okay.”

you continue to clean his wounds, the silence between you no longer heavy but comforting. the bathroom feels less oppressive, the darkness not as daunting. you’re here, together, and that’s what matters. as you finish bandaging his knuckles, you press another kiss to his skin, out of habit.

“thank you,” he says, his voice barely audible.

you move to brush his hair off of his sweaty forehead and cringe when you notice the dried blood in his hair. “you should get in the shower,” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady. 

he looks at you, eyes filled with a mix of pain and vulnerability. "can you get in with me? help me wash my hair?"

your heart aches for him, seeing him like this, so raw and exposed. "yes," you say softly, because he’s in pain and you’d do anything to ease it.

he stands slowly, every movement measured and cautious. you help him strip off his clothes, the sight of his bruised and battered body that you love, making you wince. the bathroom feels smaller. you turn on the water, letting it warm up, the steam rising and filling the room with a humid embrace.

you undress together. his muscles flexing as he strips. he bare body makes you wanna drool. it's so smooth and soft and you can't help but wonder how he is yours.

"you're so fucking beautiful," he says as he steps towards you. you wonder if he knows you were thinking the same about him. his eyes scanning your face and bare body. he runs his hand up your thigh, his touch making you shiver, "all mine."

you step into the shower with him, guiding him under the spray. he tilts his head back, water cascading over his face, washing away the blood and grime. you reach for the shampoo, lathering it in your hands before gently massaging it into his hair. your fingers work through the tangles, careful and deliberate.

he closes his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips. "thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

"always," you reply, your own voice soft. you rinse the soap from his hair, the water turning pink as it swirls down the drain. you repeat the process, ensuring every trace of blood is gone, every wound cleaned.

his hands rest on your bare hips, a grounding touch that steadies you both. "i don’t deserve you," he says, the words heavy with regret.

"you do," you counter, your tone firm. "we deserve each other."

he opens his eyes, looking at you with such intensity that it steals your breath. "i’m scared," he admits, his voice breaking. "scared of losing you."

because sunghoon knows that he should be home more. that he shouldn't spend so much time at the gym. that he shouldn't be allowing himself to enter match, after match, after match because you'll be home waiting up for him (even if he tells you don't).

"you won’t," you promise, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close. “i’m scared of losing you. like you won’t come home one day.” 

sunghoon dryly laughs into your wet hair, “i’m not gonna die, y/n. i’ll always come home to you.” 

you smile up at him with his promise. you lean up on your toes to press your lips gently onto his cut ones. your hands glide over his firm chest and stomach, gently caressing his skin. he hums in appreciation, his hands equally as gentle as he glides his hands down your bare back. 

leaning more into his touch, your hands roam lower, teasing the crease where his thigh meets his groin. 

sunghoon notices your wandering hands and a lazy smirk crosses his face as he looks down at you in the shower, “what’re you up to?” 

you pout up at him, your chin resting on his chest, “wanna take care of you.” 

sunghoon brushes your wet hair out of your face, “then do it.”

the warm water runs down your bodies as you reach for his cock, already hard at the sight of your naked body and your touch. you take it in your hand, stroking it gently before running your tongue along the length of his shaft. 

sunghoon groans, his hands reaching up to grip the shower handle as you take the tip of his dick in your mouth, sucking gently. you look up at him through your lashes, enjoying the pleasure written over his face. his eyes are closed, his head thrown back as he loses himself in the pleasure you’re providing. 

“oh fuck, y/n,” he moans out, his voice mixing with the sound of the water hitting the tub, “i love your mouth so much.” his hips buck slightly into your mouth. 

you take more of him into your mouth, relaxing your throat to accommodate his girth. your hands cup his balls, massaging them gently as you continue to suck and lick his shaft. you can taste the precum leaking from the tip and you moan softly, vibrating his cock with the sound. sunghoon’s hands tangle in your hair, guiding you along his length as he thrusts gently into your mouth. 

“that’s it baby, take it nice and slow,” sunghoon urges you, his breath coming in low gasps as you begin to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks as you such. “you’re mouth feels os fucking good.”

the water streams down your bodies as you continue to blow him, the warmth creating a steamy, intimate atmosphere. you moan softly, the sound vibrating along his length, making sunghoon groan and tighten his grip on your hair. his hips thrust gently, meeting your mouth as you take him deeper, your lips gliding over sensitive flesh. 

“you’re doing so good, princess,” sunghoon praises, his voice hoarse with need. “you’re such a good girl for me, taking care of me so well.” he leans his back against the shower wall, one hand bracing himself as you pick up the pace, sliding your mouth up and down his hard cock. 

your one hand caresses his balls, rolling them gently between your fingers while your other hand strokes the abe of his cock, twisting gently as the root. sunghoon’s breath catches, and he curses, his hips start to stutter as you press and roll your fingers just right. 

“fuck, baby,” he curses his breathing becoming ragged, “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” 

you hum in response, taking him as deep as you can, your nose bruised in his abdomen. your tongue swirls and flicks, tasting every inch of your boyfriend. 

sunghoon’s muscles tense and he throws his head back, a strangled cry escaping his throat a she floods your mouth with his hot sticky cum. you swallow greedily, moaning with satisfaction as his taste exploses on your tongue. you milk him with your mouth and hands, drawing out his orgasm until he’s too sensitive for further stimulation, gently pulling away with a soft, wet, satisfied smile. 

“fuck baby that was so good,” he breathes, hauling you to your feet for a passionate kiss, tasting himself on your lips. “i love you,” 

you smile against his lips, “i love you, too.” 

“let me take care of you, now.” 

sunghoon turns off the water and you both step out. steam swirls around you both, wrapping you in humidity. you reach for a towel, your hands gently drape it over sunghoon’s shoulders. 

he stands there, droplets of water tracing paths down his bruised skin. you move with care, blotting away the moisture, your touch feather-light. the towel soaks up the water, but the tension in the air remains heavy and thick.

you let your eyes wander over his smooth, pale skin. months and months of hard work that he put in to get so muscular. you feel your mouth salivate as each movement of his makes his muscles tense.

sunghoon watches you, his eyes following your movements. he doesn’t say anything, but the gratitude in his gaze speaks volumes. you dry his hair, your fingers threading through the damp strands, untangling the knots gently. he leans into your touch, his body relaxing under your care.

when you’re done, he takes the towel from your hands and wraps it around you, his touch equally gentle. his hands move slowly, methodically, as if memorizing every inch of your skin. you close your eyes, savoring the warmth of the towel and the intimacy of the moment. his fingers brush against your arms, your shoulders, leaving a trail of need in their wake.

when both of your bodies are dry, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, a kiss that’s more about reassurance than passion. he kisses you back, his lips soft against yours, conveying all the words he can’t seem to find.

as you pull away, you take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. the night is far from over. 

sunghoon laid you gently on the bed, kissing your neck and shoulders as he moved downward. his hands caressed your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. you moaned softly, already feeling the pleasure building inside you. his mouth found your nipple, sucking and teasing it with his tongue, while his hand squeezed and fondled your other breast.

"you like that, don't you, baby?" sunghoon murmured, looking up at you with a grin. “like how easily i can make you feel good?" his free hand trailed down your stomach, until his fingers found your wet pussy.

teasingly slow, he traced your slit, gathering your juices on his fingers. "so fucking wet for me already," he growled, before bringing his slippery fingers to your mouth. "taste yourself, baby." you obediently sucked your juices off his fingers, your eyes never leaving his.

then, without warning, sunghoon plunged two fingers into your aching cunt, making you gasp. he pumped them in and out, curving his fingers to hit that sweet spot deep inside you. with his thumb, he rubbed your clit in circles, applying just the right amount of pressure.

you’ve been dating for so long that he really could make you feel good so easily. his fingers picked up their pace as he continued to thrust them into you at the pace that he knew would get you to cum the fastest. usually he would tease you, make you beg for him to make you and let you cum. but tonight, he was feeling generous– he owed you for taking such good care of him. 

it didn’t take long for your stomach to start to tighten as your moans to increase with his name. your eyes fighting to stay open as sunghoon fucked his fingers deep inside of you. 

“i-i’m gonna cum, hoon.” you moan out softly to him, your hand wrapping around his forearm for support. 

"that's it, baby, cum for me. let me hear you."

tour back arched off the bed as your orgasm took over your body. tou moaned loudly, calling out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders. sunghoon kept working your pussy through the waves of pleasure, milking every last drop of ecstasy from your quivering body.

as your breathing slowed, sunghoon withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth, sucking your juices off them as you watched, transfixed. "delicious," he smiled. "but now I want to feel that tight pussy around my cock."

you eagerly nodded your consent, unable to form words as you were still reeling from your powerful orgasm.

sunghoon trails his hands over your body, caressing your stomach, making you whimper out for more. "you'd look so amazing round and full," he practically whispers out. "wanna fill you up so bad."

sunghoon positioned himself between your legs, hard again from you drying his body so intensely, from you crying out his name and squirming underneath him. his rock-hard dick throbbing with anticipation. gently, he slid inside you, filling you up inch by inch.

you whimpered at the sensation of being stretched around his thick cock. sunghoon paused, giving you a moment to adjust, before beginning a slow, sensuous rhythm. he thrust into you deeply and gently, his hips meeting yours with a soft, pleasurable slap.

"fuck, yn, you feel amazing," sunghoon groaned, his eyes closed in sheer bliss. "your pussy was made for my cock. it fits so perfectly inside you." he quickened his pace slightly, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

you met his movements, pushing your hips up to greet each of his delicious thrusts. "sunghoon, oh god, it feels so good," you cried out. "keep fucking me like this. want you to breed my pussy and fill me up."

hearing your pleas, a dark, possessive smile spreads over his face. sunghoon increased his speed and force, pounding into you fervently. your bodies slapped together, creating a steamy rhythm of flesh on flesh. your juices flowed freely, coating his shaft and dribbling down onto the bed sheets.

"you're my little slut. can't wait to see you pregnant," he groans out.

you gasp at his words, your body thrumming at the idea of being full with his babies, "yes," you breathe, your hands latching onto his shoulders, "breed me like the slut i am. impregnante me, baby."

"fuck you have such a dirty mouth, y/n, love it so much,"

sunghoon continues to thrust in and out of you bare. you can feel every inch of his enter and exit again and again. your damp bodies mixed with sweat and shower-water combine and thrust together. "you're such a good girl, taking me bare, letting me mark you as mine."

sunghoon's possessiveness makes you cry out, a shock of pleasure moves down your body. you can feel your clit start to throb from how turned on and sensitive you were.

"you want everyone to see that you're mine when you're all round and full with my cum? with my baby?"

"oh god yes," you moan, rolling your hips, desperate for his cum. "i want everyone to know you own this pussy- fuck harder."

sunghoon obliges, his hips begin snapping into you at a relentless pace. his cock hits your sweet spots every single time. "that's it, take it. take my cock, baby."

"yes! fuck!" you scream, your body so close to edge. "oh god, i'm close. i'm gonna cum, hoon."

sunghoon leaned down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue mimicking the thrusts of his cock. you tasted yourself on his lips, adding fuel to the fire burning between your loins. his hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding his cock inside you.

"cum with me, baby," sunghoon whispered urgently. "i'm so close. want to feel your pussy milking my cock as you cum." his dirty words sent you over the edge once more. your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, causing your walls to contract around his cock.

feeling your pussy squeeze him tightly, sunghoon couldn't hold back any longer. "fuck, y/n! shit!" he grunted, as he released his load deep inside you. strings of hot cum filled your pussy, mixing with your juices. sunghoon collapsed on top of you, his sweaty chest heaving as he caught his breath.

with a satisfied smile, he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you lay spooned against his body. you snuggled into his arms, feeling his heart racing against your back. "that was so fucking good, baby," he panted.

you smile, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, “it’s always so good with you.” 

after sunghoon cleans you up, it doesn't take long for you both to be laying in bed, sleep taking over your tired bodies. it was almost well into the early morning at this point.

your shared bedroom is filled with darkness, except for the sliver light filtering in through the blinds. you turn to face him properly, your heart aching as your eyes trace the contours of his bruised face. the swelling, the cuts, the bruises—all reminders of the life he’s chosen, the life you’ve chosen to share with him.

his eyes are closed, his breathing steady but labored. you know that sleep will bring only temporary relief from the pain, both physical and emotional. you reach out, fingers trembling slightly, and gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. he stirs but doesn’t wake, his body instinctively leaning into your touch.

you know he will continue to get himself hurt. it’s who he is, who he has always been. he loves being a boxer. and you understand that, even if it breaks your heart a little every time he steps into the ring.

you swallow hard, the lump in your throat growing. this is something you’ve chosen to live with because you love him. the fear, the anxiety, the endless nights of worry—they are all worth it because they come with moments like this, where you can be there for him, hold him, love him.

you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, careful to avoid the worst of the bruises. his skin is warm under your lips, and you linger there for a moment, breathing him in, memorizing the feel of him.

as you begin to drift off to sleep, you know that when you wake up sunghoon will still be there, that he won’t just disappear. because your love for him, for who he is, bruises and all, is stronger than any fear. and that love, in all its beautiful, painful complexity, is enough.

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

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[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats (Pt. 3)

Aegon ii x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

Part 1 | Part 2

“With free reign of King’s Landing, Aemond will focus his attention on the occupation of bast-” Aegon’s face flushes bright red. “Harrenhal.” He corrects himself, “and the extermination of house Strong.”

“What did you call it?” Daemon arches a brow.

“Harrenhal,” Aegon repeats.

“Before that,” Daemon prods.

Aegon sighs, looking to his wife.

“Bastardhal.” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“My brother’s term of endearment.” He explains, “a slip of the tongue.”

“Mmm,” Daemon hums. “Perhaps allegiance to your brother runs deeper than you let on.”

“I have left my siblings and abandoned my post to be here. I remain loyal to Rhaenyra’s claim and her line of succession. What else would you have me do?” Aegon scoffs.

“There are a number of things.”

“If you refuse to believe that Aegon is loyal to our queen, believe that he is loyal to me and I am loyal to my mother.” Y/N takes a protective step in front of her husband.

Daemon’s jaw ticks, frustrated and teetering near sanity’s edge. “You then, are responsible for his indiscretions.”

“I take full responsibility.” Y/N agrees, “he is here for me.”

“Perhaps he might further demonstrate his loyalty.”

“And how, do you suggest, I do that?” Aegon wonders.

“Deliver us your brother’s head on a platter.” Daemon sneers.

“Mother!”

“Am I wrong, Rhaenyra?” Daemon scoffs.

“That is enough!” The Queen slams her fist against the table. “Thank you, Aegon for the information you provided. We will coordinate with our army and send reinforcements to Harrenhal. We will send word to Cregan Stark-”

“By raven?”

“However I see fit, Daemon. Stay your hand.” Rhaenyra snaps. “You are all excused.”

Aegon is out the door just as swiftly.

Y/N flinches as it slams behind him.

Jacaerys remains stoic in the corner, saying nothing for a long while as his mother and step father begin bickering. “Sister,” he nods toward the hallway.

Y/N returns the gesture, following him out past the royal guards. “The nerve of him.” She is fuming as they begin strolling the grounds.

“That is Daemon.” Jacaerys breathes. “Pay him no mind.”

“It’s not as if I don’t want Aemond’s head. Luce is our brother, for the gods’ sake.”

Jace swallows, mouth set in a firm line. “He was our brother.”

Was…is he not anymore?

“In these dealings with Aemond, you must remember that killing him will not bring Luce back.”

“It would be even.”

“A son for a son was also even.” Her brother reminds her. “Your grievance with it hath brought you here.”

“I should have allowed the murder of a child?”

“I did not say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What is even is not always right, I expect you know that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Ravens will take too long.” Jacaerys laments, “but mother will not let us deliver messages anymore. It is a shame that our safety comes at the expense of other’s.”

Y/N draws in a steadying breath. “Pity.” She turns away, in the direction of her chambers. Aegon is waiting for her there, sipping from a pitcher of wine. “Did they not give you a cup, my darling?”

“Hmm,” Aegon hums into the container, “of course.” He lowers the pitcher from his mouth, “but this is faster.”

The princess puts a hand to her head.

“I am not a dog that’s been kicked, do not look at me that way. As if I am weak.”

“I love you and you are hurting.” Y/N sighs, “I do not know how else to look at you.”

Aegon mulls this over for a moment. “I did not mean to call it bastardhal.”

“I know that.”

“You are not a bastard.” He presses on, “I am sorry for ever calling you one.”

“You are forgiven.” It is nothing more than a word. It cannot harm her anymore.

“If no house would claim you, then I would.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile, “thank you, Aegon.”

“You think I jest? Or does it simply mean nothing coming from me?”

“It means everything coming from you,” Y/N takes a step toward him. “Forgive me if I have made it seem-”

“No,” Aegon shakes his head, “forgive me. I am lost in this. I mustn’t take my frustration out on you.”

Y/N cups his face in her hands. “If you are loved by no one, know you are loved by me.“

“Without you I have nothing.” He reaches a shaky hand out, stroking her hair, reverently. “I am nothing.”

She draws back, searching his eyes. “That is not true.”

“If you ask me to slay my brother, I will do it.” Aegon breathes.

Y/N presses her lips together. She had not asked, Daemon did. But Aegon does not bend to Daemon’s will, only hers.

“Please do not ask.” He murmurs with wide, sad eyes.

Y/N cannot stand to see him cry. It tears at the depths of her soul. She wraps her arms around him, “I will not ask.”

Aegon clings to her. “I would do it.”

“I know, my love.” Y/N presses kisses to the side of his face. She knows his sadness, the burden of being least loved by everyone else. Some part of him will always seek to win her approval, her affection… her love.

He is pawing at her then, at the laces of her dress. He does not know how to comfort her, nor himself. He knows how to bring pleasure so blinding it nearly drowns out the pain.

Y/N helps him remove his clothes, wrapping him up in her arms. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” He’s stumbling backwards then, hovering over her on the bed. Easing his cock into her.

She sighs, losing herself in the gentle rocking of his hips. There is no haste to reach their peak, taking what little comfort they can from each other.

It is not until his thumbs skate over her cheeks that Y/N realizes she is crying. Even here, on their marriage bed, there is no end to suffering. Only an end to loneliness.

————————————————————————

Y/N waits until Aegon is sleeping soundly to clamber from the warmth of his arms and dawn her riding gear. Dragonstone is quiet as she makes her way down to the dragon pit. Stormborn is nestled in beside Sunfyre, her light blue scales complement the golden hue of her companion.

“Where are you off to at this hour, your grace?” One of the keepers asks.

“I’m going to take Stormborn out for a bit of fresh air. The moon is beautiful this evening, don’t you agree?” Y/N smiles, tucking a bit of loose hair behind her ear.

“Indeed, Princess.” He eyes the sword, sheathed at her back.

“This is only a precaution,” Y/N lies, “we can never be too careful in these times.”

He nods, “I will saddle her.”

“Thank you, Marcelo.” Y/N nods, tugging on her riding gloves as she waits. Tapping at her wedding band, beneath the cool fabric.

“She is ready, your grace.”

“Thank you, again.” She says, climbing up onto Stormborn’s saddle.

“It is my great honor.” The man smiles, watching in wonder as the princess sets off across the sea.

Only a few torches are lit at the entrance of Harrenhal.

Y/N lands near the stone walkway, striding up to the tall hooded figure and ripping back his cloak.

Aemond turns to his assailant. “Y/N?”

“Take out your sword.” She demands.

“Lucerys death was a tragic mistake, a lapse in judgment I do not care to repeat.”

“I will not kill you with your back to me, I am no coward. You will face me, take out your sword.”

“For the sake of the gods, Y/N,” Aemond growls. “Do you aim so desperately to break my brother’s heart?”

“I will not allow the slaughter of innocent people. This ends here.”

“A brother for a brother it will be then, not a son for a son.” Aemond reluctantly withdraws his weapon.

Y/N charges him, in a blind rage, their blades meet, clanking together.

“You make a better sparring partner than most.” He draws his sword away, narrowly dodging her next attack.

“This is not a children’s game, I want your head!”

Aemond purrs, “you must earn it then.”

She sees red, swinging at him again, until his blade slices across her side and she has cut deep into the flesh of his leg. Bringing the Prince to his knees, with her sword at his neck.

“Do it,” Aemond insists, “you will not get another chance.” He stares up at her blade, dripping with his blood. The fear etched into her eyes, tresses of dark hair clinging to her sweat damp skin.

In this light, each of them resemble their brother.

The end Y/N desires is so near she can taste it, rising like bile in her throat. She chokes on it. “No.” She drops her blade from his neck, covering her aching side instead. “No.”

Aemond hangs his head. “I am sorry for that business with Luce. I lost my temper that day.”

“And I lost my…” No, she cannot say it, the pain is too great.

“Let me see your wound.” Aemond insists.

In her shock, Y/N obeys.

He tears across the bottom of his cloak, knotting the material firmly around her torso. Unbothered by her hissing protest. “This will hold until you reach Dragonstone. Go to Aegon, he will tend you.”

“You must leave this place.”

“You have my word.”

“And you must leave King’s Landing.”

Aemond smirks, “where would I go?”

“Anywhere.” Y/N suggests, “take Helaena and your children. We both know, she is too kind to bear the weight of the crown and our blood. Take her away so she might be happy…and free.”

“Do you not wish to be free from the weight of the crown?”

Y/N hesitates for a long moment. “I am the crown. I am my mother’s heir, her only daughter. I cannot abandon her, she has lost too much.”

Aemond swallows, “very well. Helaena will write you. You and my brother might visit, once we’re settled.”

“Perhaps we will.” She will never forgive him for Lucerys. They will never be as they were before Storm’s End. “You are my husband’s brother and husband of my dearest friend.”

“I am also your brother’s murderer. A title that trumps all, despite your best intentions. You are good, and kind, but human all the same.”

————————————————————————

“Aegon.”

“Hmm?” He reaches for his wife, blindly, stroking a hand over her dark waves. “What have you done to your hair, darling girl?” He grumbles, “it is awfully coarse.”

Jace bats Aegon’s hands away. “My sister is gone, you buffoon. Get your clothes on.”

“Jacaerys?” Aegon springs up, covering himself with the top sheet. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N is missing. The dragon handlers informed me that she left on Stormborn nearly two hours ago. Sunfyre has been yowling ever since.”

“Alert your mother,” Aegon demands, “raise the guard. Who on earth let the heir to the throne take a dragon from the pit in the middle of the night?”

“She is a princess, not a prisoner.” Jace reminds him, “I have a hunch as to where she went.”

“Harrenhal.” Aegon begins tugging on his clothes. The little brat bedded him and snuck off; again. “She will be a prisoner upon her return. I tire of these games.”

“You mustn’t be so harsh, my sister would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“Yet she will not stay with me.” Aegon steps into his boots. “Surely she loves me so dearly that she flees at every opportunity.”

“Do not see it that way.” Jace sighs.

“I have no other way to see it.” Their chamber door swings open, revealing the woman in question.

“Aegon,” Y/N chokes. The blinding rush of battle is gone, leaving only her pain.

“Leave us,” Aegon waves a dismissive hand at his nephew.

“Y/N,” Jacaerys looks to his sister instead.

“I am well, brother.”

“You are bleeding.”

Y/N glances down at her wound, “perhaps you might go quietly to the maester and request milk of the poppy?”

“The maester should tend you,” he argues.

“Aegon will tend me, tis but a scrape.” Y/N insists.

Her brother squares his shoulders. “Very well, I will be back.”

“Thank you, brother.” Y/N forces a smile as Jace exits the door.

“What happened?” Aegon demands, squinting into the dim light as his wife stands before him, in her riding gear.

“I could not do it.” Y/N curses her own weakness. “I went to Aemond, I stopped him from taking Harrenhal and I let him go.”

Aegon shifts her garments aside to reveal the damage. A long bleeding gash, beneath her ribs. “Aemond did this to you?” He sits her down on the foot stool, pacing in the small space before it.

“We dueled,” Y/N admits. “I made my mark on him as well.”

“Gods be good.” Aegon breathes.

“If Daemon catches word of this-”

“You are injured. That is where my interests lie, not in the folly of men.” Aegon seethes.

“He has already condoned the murder of children. Helaena’s children, of all people. What will he do if he hears of this?”

Aegon passes a hand over his face. “Surely we cannot leave the wound open like that, it will fester.”

“I know,” Y/N nods. “We must seal it up, with a heated blade. We can do it here, no one need know.” She reaches for his cup on the dresser, chugging the foul liquid down for some relief.

“You’re asking me to…” his eyes dart to his dagger, abandoned near his boots. “No.”

“Aegon.”

“I can’t.”

“It will be quick,” she reasons. “It will scar, but it is on my side, you will not look upon it often.”

“That is what you’re concerned with,” Aegon snaps, “of all things, you think I care about the scar it will leave? That I might frown upon an imperfection?”

“I-”

“You are maddening.”

“I am sorry. I do not wish to fight.”

“It is unavoidable from what I’ve heard. Marriage causes strife and disagreements.”

“Not ours,” Y/N insists, “you are the only person who understands me.”

“I do not understand why you would put yourself in danger.”

“For you.” Y/N tells him. “So you would not have to choose between your wife and your brother.”

“I would choose you, imbecile.”

Y/N bares her teeth. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are mine, Aegon! I protect what is mine.”

In the way of the dragon. And that, Aegon understands very well.

“Here it is,” Jace returns with milk of the poppy.

“Thank you,” Aegon takes the gauntlet, bringing it to his wife’s lips. “Drink all of it.” He demands.

“Is there anything more I can do?” The other man asks.

“Rest the blade of my dagger over the fire until it glows red, then bring it to me.”

Jace nods.

“First, might you find something for her to bite down on. Leather works best.” Aegon purses his lips, “bring me my belt.” One of them is still etched with her teeth markings from Laenor’s birth. He’s delivered two of their children, surely he can do this.

Jacaerys rushes to the armchair beside the bed, tugging Aegon’s belt free and placing it on the foot stool beside his sister.

Y/N curls her fingers around the harsh material. Her vision has doubled, swaying from side to side.

“Are you going to faint?” Aegon catches her face between his hands.

“I feel fine,” Y/N slurs.

Aegon taps her chin. “That is good, my dearest love. I am going to remove your shirt.” He eases the material over her head, leaving only the bindings to cover her breasts.

“The blade is ready,” Jacaerys calls, from the fire place.

“Open.” Aegon tugs at her bottom lip with his thumb until her jaw goes slack, taking the leather belt from her clenched fist and placing the strap between her teeth. “Bite.”

Y/N clamps her teeth around it.

“Good girl.”

Jacaerys approaches, handling the instrument with care.

“You will hold me around the waist, you are not to let go until I say.” Aegon instructs, waiting until she is wrapped around him in an awkward sort of hug. “There you go.” He pats her head before taking the dagger from her brother. He offers no additional warning before lying the blade flat across the expanse of her wound. The cut is a clean one, without jagged edges.

Y/N lets out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” he hushes her, holding the heat to her skin for just a moment more before tossing the dagger away. Gingerly withdrawing the belt from her teeth. Resting his forehead against hers as whimpers settle to deep breathing. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods.

“If you dare leave me again, Gods help me, I will shackle you to my side.”

Y/N strokes a hand over the side of his face. “Yes, Aegon.”

“I do not jest.”

Part 4

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago

[idkyetxoxo]

Aegon Targaryen - Cradle of Love

Summary - Heavily pregnant and tormented with late-night cravings and hormonal swings, the queen finds comfort in her husband Aegon, whose unwavering love and support provide a comforting anchor as they navigate the trials of impending parenthood.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2174

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Sleep eluded me, partly from the gnawing hunger in my stomach and partly from the babe pressing against my internal organs. The room was dark and quiet, save for the soft sounds of Aegon's steady breathing beside me. I turned restlessly, my mind unable to settle.

"Aegon," I whispered, shaking him gently. He groaned, deeply asleep, his body heavy with exhaustion. "Aegon," I repeated a bit louder, but he only turned over, clutching his pillow tighter. 

Frustration and desperation mingled as I shouted, "Aegon!" and slapped him awake, my hand making contact with his shoulder.

He jerked upright with a start, his hand instinctively clutching his racing heart. The abruptness of his awakening caused a flash of panic to cloud his eyes, and he looked around the room in confusion. 

"What is it?" he asked urgently, his voice trembling slightly as he scanned my face and body, searching for any sign of distress. "Is it the babe? Are you in pain? Should I call for the maester?"

A deep sigh escaped me as a pang of guilt tightened in my chest for having woken him. I gently pushed his hands away from my face. 

"Yes, no, and no," I replied, my voice strained from the mix of emotions and physical discomfort. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, his concern gradually shifted to confusion.

"Well, what is it?" he asked again, his voice a mix of worry and curiosity.

"I want grapes," I said, the words sounding almost absurd in the quiet of the night. He blinked at me as though I had suggested the most nonsensical thing.

"That's all?" he asked, his disbelief evident. I nodded, fiddling with my hands nervously. The request felt so trivial and petty now that it was out in the open, but it was all I could think about.

"You could have rung for a servant," he said, trying to make sense of why I had roused him from his sleep for such a minor need.

"I do not wish to bother a servant," I said softly, my voice barely more than a whisper. His soft laugh, tender and affectionate, was a small comfort amid my hormonal upheaval.

"So, you bother your husband, the king?" he said playfully, his eyes twinkling with amusement. His words, meant in jest, made my eyes well up with tears, my emotions heightened by the hormones coursing through my body.

Tears spilt down my cheeks uncontrollably, and Aegon's eyes widened in alarm. He rushed to pull me into an embrace, his arms enveloping me with a protective warmth. 

"What's the matter?" he cooed, his voice soothing as he gently stroked my back but the touch that was meant to comfort only seemed to intensify my sense of being misunderstood. 

I pushed him back, confusion and hurt flickering across his face.

"You think I'm a bother?" I hiccupped, the tears flowing freely now, mingling with the frustration and helplessness I felt.

"No, my love, that is not what I meant," he said, taking my hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "I just... I want to make you happy."

"So now I'm a liar?" I asked, pulling my hands away to wipe my face with the back of my hand. The sense of being misunderstood only deepened my vulnerability, and I felt overwhelmed by the surge of emotions.

I could see him struggling to maintain his composure, dealing with his heavily pregnant wife in the middle of the night. He took a deep breath, his patience unwavering. 

"You know what," he began slowly, getting up from the bed. "The queen gets what the queen wants." He headed towards the large doors of our chambers with determined steps.

"Aegon," I called out, my voice wavering with a mix of fatigue and affection. He paused, turning back to me with a look of gentle inquiry, his expression softening.

"I want cake," I said, stroking my large belly as the babe gave a little kick as if to emphasize the request. The shift in craving was as sudden as it was intense.

"I thought you wanted grapes?" he asked, his brows furrowing in genuine confusion.

"The babe wants cake now," I said, a small, sheepish smile forming on my lips despite the tears still on my cheeks. 

His face broke into a smile, a mix of amusement and affection, as he gave a small nod before exiting our chambers.

I settled back against the pillows, trying to find a comfortable position as I waited. The minutes seemed to stretch endlessly, and my mind wandered, thinking about the journey we had been on together. 

The late-night cravings, the mood swings, the anticipation of welcoming our child into the world, Aegon had been there for every moment, unwavering in his support and love.

Eventually, the door creaked open again, and Aegon returned, carefully balancing a small tray. He approached the bed with a tender smile, setting the tray down. On it was a generous slice of rich chocolate cake, a fork, and a goblet of milk.

"Here it is, my love," he said, his voice gentle and soothing, his eyes full of warmth and affection.

My eyes sparkled with delight as I sat up, my discomfort momentarily forgotten. "You brought cake," I said, my voice filled with gratitude and excitement.

"Of course," he replied, sitting down beside me. He picked up the fork and held it up, a playful glint in his eyes. "Shall I feed you, Your Grace?"

I laughed, feeling a rush of warmth at his demeanour. "Yes, you shall," I declared, opening my mouth in anticipation.

Aegon carefully cut a small piece of the cake and brought it to my lips. I took a bite, savouring the rich, velvety texture and the sweet burst of chocolate. 

"Mmm, it's perfect," I murmured, my eyes closing in bliss.

He watched me with a look of pure adoration, his fingers lightly brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. "I'm glad," he said softly, cutting another piece and feeding it to me.

I began to relax, but a sudden memory surfaced, bringing a frown to my face. "You know," I began, breaking the comfortable silence, "today at court, Lady Hesper was rather blunt with her comments."

Aegon's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. "What did she say?"

I sighed, a touch of annoyance seeping into my voice. "She commented on how 'large' I've become. It was rather... off-putting."

Aegon's expression shifted to one of gentle indignation. "Large? She should be more mindful of her words. You're growing our child, the future heir, she should be grateful to witness it."

"I know," I said, a hint of defensiveness in my voice. "But it was just... strange, It felt as though she was critiquing my body rather than celebrating this moment."

Aegon's eyes softened with understanding, his concern evident in the gentle lines of his face. He leaned closer, his gaze unwavering.

"The problem can easily be taken care of," he said, his tone suggesting he was hinting at the power and influence he held.

I shook my head quickly. "We are not doing anything rash just because a lady at court made an offhand comment about my size. I refuse to let her words dictate our actions."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but respecting my stance. "If that is what you want," he said with a hint of playful resignation, continuing to feed me the cake with a tender smile.

Between bites, I gazed at him, my heart swelling with love. "You're too good to me," I said, reaching out to touch his hand.

He shook his head, his expression earnest. "No, you are my world. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Tears pricked my eyes again, but this time they were tears of happiness. "I love you, Aegon," I whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly.

He returned the kiss with equal tenderness, his lips lingering on mine. "And I love you," he whispered back, his voice filled with unwavering devotion.

As our lips parted, he gently wiped at the tears on my cheeks, a small, affectionate smile on his face. "Please stop crying, though," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the wetness.

"I can't help it," I said, sniffing and leaning back slightly to stretch out, my body aching from the weight of the babe.

Aegon looked at me with concern, then placed the tray carefully onto the floor before lying next to me. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. 

"Are you tired?" he asked, his voice soft and soothing.

"Yes," I admitted, closing my eyes momentarily, trying to will myself into a state of relaxation.

"Sleep, my love," he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on my brow, his lips warm and reassuring.

"I cannot," I pointed out, opening my eyes once more. The frustration and discomfort were too overwhelming to ignore.

"Why is that?" he asked, his hand rubbing my stomach gently in slow, soothing circles.

"Every time I close my eyes, I feel ill. I am sore, and I can no longer sleep on my stomach," I said, looking down at him as he hummed softly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

He continued to rub my belly, his touch comforting. "I know it's difficult," he said, his voice a balm to my frayed nerves. "But we'll find a way to make you comfortable."

I sighed, appreciating his effort but feeling the weight of my discomfort. "I just want to feel normal again," I confessed, my voice tinged with a mixture of longing and exhaustion.

Aegon's eyes softened with understanding. "I know, my love. It won't be much longer now," he reassured me, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on my skin. The gentle circles he drew seemed to ease the tension in my muscles, offering a small respite from the relentless discomfort.

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me more closely, his eyes filled with concern and determination. 

"What if I play with your hair?" he suggested, his voice tender and full of love.

My eyes lit up at the prospect, and I nodded eagerly. A smile of satisfaction spread across his face, pleased to find something that might bring me comfort.

He opened his legs, beckoning me towards him. With a grateful sigh, I shifted to lay my head in his lap, my body finally finding a semblance of relaxation. I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of his presence envelop me.

Aegon began running his fingers through my hair, his touch feather-light and soothing. 

He played with the strands, gently untangling and stroking them with a rhythmic motion that felt almost hypnotic. Each pass of his fingers seemed to draw away a little more of the stress and unease that had been plaguing me.

"Does this help?" he asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Mmm, yes," I murmured, a contented sigh escaping my lips. The sensation of his fingers in my hair was incredibly calming, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I felt a sense of peace begin to settle over me.

Aegon continued his gentle ministrations, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to my forehead or murmuring sweet nothings. His touch was patient and tender, full of the love and devotion that had always defined our relationship.

"Do you remember the first time I played with your hair?" he asked a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

I smiled, my eyes still closed, savouring the calm his touch brought me. "Yes," I murmured, my voice soft and drowsy. "It was during that long journey to Oldtown. We had been travelling for hours, we were both so exhausted and you offered to help me relax."

He chuckled softly. "You fell asleep almost instantly. I remember thinking how beautiful you looked.

"Well, your touch has always had a magical effect on me," I replied, reaching up to gently squeeze his hand.

A glint sparked in my eyes as a thought crossed my mind. "Then again," I continued, "your touch might be part of the reason we're in this situation to begin with."

Aegon clicked his tongue in playful reprimand. "No, my love, I think that might be my cock," he said with a smirk.

I gasped in mock indignation, slapping his leg lightly. "Aegon!" I scolded, a laugh bubbling up despite myself.

He shrugged, unrepentant, his smile widening. "What? You enjoy it."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Maybe I do," I admitted, my voice softening with affection. "But you're still shameless."

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "And you love me for it."

"I do," I said, my heart swelling with warmth. "Even when you're being insufferable."

Aegon laughed, a sound full of genuine joy. "Well, someone has to keep things interesting around here."

We lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sounds in the room being the soft rustle of the sheets and the occasional creak of the castle settling around us. Aegon's fingers continued their soothing dance through my hair, and I could feel the heaviness of sleep beginning to tug at my consciousness.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice drowsy. "For everything."

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you," he replied softly, his voice full of sincerity.

A/n - Inspired by my friends pregnancy scare, cause ofc when that happens you write something like this <3

[elixirfromthestars]

Tulip

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: On a night when the past weighs heavy on Bucky, fate brings him to you.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): established nickname -> tulip / fluff / mentions of grief

a/n: After seeing how much people loved Biker Bucky in Usual I decided to share more of their story with you all 💕 This is going to be a bigger collection of fics, so I will have an official taglist for it and there's more info on that here. That taglist in this fic is not related to the tags on here. The tags on here were for just for fun!! Hope you enjoy!! Likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

next in their story ♡ // the whole collection ♡

It was one of those nights where Bucky was irritated without reason. His face was etched into an intimidating scowl as he looked at nothing in particular in his bar. The laughter was too loud, the clinking of glasses irked his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, and his heart felt heavy. Almost as if one of the men in his bar were pressing down on it with their heavy boot. 

Bucky was getting tired of this. Of having these moments where his body thrummed with discomfort and his fingers found the familiar grooves in the wooden table he sat at—etching the oak with erratic lines until his nails were chipped and uneven. He could already hear the shit Sam would say as soon as he saw the added marks. 

Bucky was getting restless—reluctantly so.

“Hey, Buck, one of the—”

“‘m goin’ out for a ride.”

As soon as Steve came over to give Bucky an update on the business, Bucky stood up from the table and dismissed himself. Steve held back a sigh, his lips forming a tight line as his best friend blew him off. He didn’t take it personally, at least not tonight. More than anything Steve was worried for Bucky. It was never easy seeing him fall into this state once a year. 

Bucky always got like this around the anniversary of his father’s death. 

Steve and the rest of the crew exchanged wary glances as Bucky pushed through the bar in a rush. His hands at his sides flexed as he sought out the comfort of his bike. He took out his leather gloves from his jacket—dark and weathered from years of wear—and slipped them on before mounting his Harley. It thundered to life underneath him, the deep rumble easing the tension in his shoulders. 

He pulled out of his parking space, the blacked-out engine chrome gleaming under the streetlights. Bucky had no set destination, just a familiar path he had taken hundreds of times while on patrol. One that transgressed the entirety of the small town he lived in. 

The small town he and his gang protected. 

Bucky twisted the throttle, the Harley's roar echoing through the quiet streets as if warning the town of his presence. He drove down the roads at a steady speed, letting the breeze brush through his hair like a soothing balm. Hoping the night and his Harley would take away the hollow ache in his chest. 

He couldn’t keep thinking of his dad. Not right now. There was too much going on in his life. 

Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to be swept by the bittersweet memories. There were dozens of problems at the bar he needed to solve, rival gangs were stirring up trouble in neighboring towns so his people depended on him now more than ever, and his Ma and Becca relied on him as the sole provider.

Giving himself a moment to grieve—to feel—was a luxury he couldn’t afford. 

After a full loop around the town, Bucky decided to survey the downtown area once again. It was nearing ten at night and the majority of the businesses were closed, and yet he was still adamant about getting a good last look before he returned to the bar. 

He witnessed the usual: Yori and his son closing up their family-owned restaurant for the night, Mr. and Mrs. Fury bickering on their walk home, the savory aroma of Stark’s Pizzeria wafting through the air as he drove by, and a stack of wooden crates dancing in mid-air. 

Hold up. 

Wait a minute.

What?

Bucky had to do a double and then a triple take to make sure his eyes weren’t tricking him. He hadn’t had an ounce of alcohol tonight, and yet he began to gaslight himself into thinking maybe he had. 

That was until you appeared from behind the wooden crates. Huffing out in annoyance and setting them down on the bed of an old pickup truck. Glaring at them as if the fury behind your eyes would suddenly make them ten pounds lighter. 

Bucky stared at you from afar perplexed and yet with a ghost of a smile on his face. He had never seen you in town before, meaning you must have moved here not too long ago. A faint memory of Sam telling him a new shop owner was coming into town crosses his mind, but Bucky couldn’t remember all the details.

With a multitude of other things on his mind, he hadn’t been paying attention at the time. 

The Harley’s rumble softens until it comes to a still as Bucky parks it on the street opposite you. He sits on it for a moment watching you, searching his brain for the finer details of what Sam had mentioned, but nothing comes to him. He’s left to find out more about you in the here and now. 

Bucky suddenly catches the determined expression on your face as you go to pick up three of the wooden crates again. His eyes widen and before he even registers what he’s doing he swings off his bike and jogs over to you.

“Here let me help,” Bucky doesn’t ask or wait for a response as he easily takes the crates from your arms, lifting them as if they weighed nothing. You watch him in startled awe, wondering where this incredibly strong stranger had come from. Hand on your heart to calm yourself down from the sudden intrusion on your solitude. 

“Oh! Um…you really don’t have to—” 

“‘m already carrying ‘em, dollface. Jus’ tell me where to put ‘em.”

Bucky’s voice was calm and collected, but on the inside he wanted to ask you what the hell were in these crates. He’s used to carrying heavy boxes of supplies for his bar, but even then he’d use a hand truck to haul everything in. To think you were trying to carry all of this by yourself…he didn’t know whether to be impressed by your determination or laugh at your stubbornness. 

The wooden crates obstructed your view of each other—and he’d never admit it—but they covered enough of his eye sight to where he had to tilt his head to watch his step.

“Here, let me guide you,” you placed a tentative hand on his arm, trying to ignore the way his bicep flexed under it. There was fragile cargo in those crates and you needed to make sure they got into your shop safe and sound. Bucky showed no signs of rejecting your guidance. 

You carefully led him inside, sliding away any obstacles from his path with your feet. You were still adding the last touches to the decor so there were tools, supplies, and different sized cardboard boxes scattered across the floor. You were able to direct him to a spot in front of the main counter where he could put the crates down—the one area clear of anything.

He placed them down gently before turning to face you. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat the moment his eyes met yours. Your pretty irises glimmered with sincere appreciation coupled with a soft smile that caused an unfamiliar warmth to spread through his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that. His brain has gone fuzzy, words evading him. Almost like a part of him that had been dormant for far too long was yearning for him to not break this gentle moment with you.  

You on the other hand were enchanted by the color of his eyes. A rich blue you tried to pinpoint through the catalog of flowers in your mind. Could the color be matched to a morning glory? A harvestbell? A brunnera? Forget-me-nots? Delphiniums? Hydrangeas?

The longer you thought the more you concluded no flower seemed close enough to the particular shade of blue that was looking right at you.  

“Thank you,” your voice was far too quiet for your liking when you broke the silence. You brought Bucky back to the present, yet not from the trance you had him in. He was particularly invested in the curve of your lips when you spoke and the way your eyes held his like you had known him all your life. 

Bucky cleared his throat, propping his arm on the counter in a nonchalant manner, “Not a problem—looked like you could use the help.” He topped his cool reply with a casual shrug and smirk that made it seem like he did this all the time. 

“Was it that obvious?”

“For a second there I thought those things would crush you.” 

Your sheepishness melts away into a laugh. The sound leaving your lips before you could stop it. You imagine what you must have looked like struggling with those heavy crates. The mental image of it is enough to fill you with mortified mirth. 

Your laugh elicits a soft chuckle from him—the first proper laugh he’s had in about a week or two. 

“‘m gonna go get the rest for ya…” he pushes himself off from the counter, but his voice trails off by the end when he realizes he never asked for your name. A heartbeat passes and with one quick lookover your frame a nickname falls effortlessly from his lips. 

“Tulip.”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest. You know exactly why he called you that. You were wearing denim overalls self embroidered with a multitude of small tulips adorning it in a range of colors. As if that weren’t enough tulips, you had two small pink tulip hair clips on either side of your head, pinning your hair away from your face. 

“I-It’s Y/n, actually.”

“Pretty thing like you—Tulip suits ya.” 

The nickname already had your heart fluttering, but the wink that followed his compliment had you weak in the knees. This man was handsome—deadly handsome. You had sworn off men for a whole year and counting—and now this man presented himself into your life tempting you to throw that oath away until it was nonexistent. 

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to help with the rest um…”

“Bucky. The name's Bucky. And I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry ‘bout it, Tulip.”

With an emphasis on the nickname he’s chosen for you, he makes a smooth exit, the smirk never leaving his face as he saunters back and forth from the pickup truck and carries in crate after crate for you. You distract yourself with miscellaneous tasks around your shop. Yet, your eyes drift to his form here and there greedily taking in his display of strength. 

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky notices, and every time he does he unknowingly straightens up his posture. Trying to make it seem as though the crates were as light as a feather.

When’s he’s all done—after ten crates in total—you’re behind the main counter, arranging a small basket of goods as he approaches you. 

“That’s all of ‘em. Mind me askin’ what’s in ‘em?” Bucky motions over to the crates at his feet with a nod of his head. You present him with a basket of sweet spreads encased in decorated mason jars—the covers all distinctly patterned with different florals. 

“They’re my homemade jams and honeys. As a thank you for helping me carry all those crates in here, I’m giving you one of each,” you hand him the basket and his features soften. His fingers hovering over the rim of the basket like he doesn’t believe he deserved such kindness.  

“Tulip, ya really don’t have to thank me for helpin’.” 

“I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry about it, Bucky.”

When you echo his words from earlier and use them on him he lets out a breath of a laugh, a grin of disbelief on his face. He didn’t expect that. Having his words used against him in a good way.

He was used to the opposite of that.

You were something else and Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot. Especially the way you said his name, it sounded sweeter falling from your lips. As if his name were made out of the same sugary sweetness the goods in the basket were. It caused a stutter within his chest he wasn’t used to. 

No one’s ever given Bucky butterflies this quickly–or maybe ever like this in his life.

For the next twenty minutes you both dove into small talk to get to know each other better. It started off as a pretext of a friendly conversation between two business owners, but it quickly became something more. You confirmed Bucky’s assumptions about you being a florist when you chatted away about your shop. Your outfit and the floral mosaic that decorated one of the walls—the one you told him your aunt had hand painted—was enough for him to put the pieces together. You learned that Bucky owned a bar a few blocks down, one that he ran with his childhood friends. He had served the military with a lot of them and even knew some of them since he was a young boy.

As if the leather jacket, the leather gloves, and the motorcycle parked outside wasn’t enough to tell you—he clearly was a biker. You knew as much when he had this passionate look in his eyes as he went on and on about him and his bestfriend Steve fixing up motorcycles since their high school years. He saw the same passion in your eyes when you told him the story of how your aunt had awakened your love for gardening. The very catalyst of events that led you to move into town and end up on this night here with him.

Both of you offered a part of yourselves in that conversation. An exchange that might seem small to others, but that to the both of you meant so much more. For you both had closed a part of yourselves off for quite some time. 

For entirely different reasons, but with a similar outcome nonetheless.

“Let’s make a deal. I get to keep callin’ ya Tulip and you can call me for help anytime ya need it,” Bucky offers this after you explain to him that your aunt had only been visiting you and left a few days ago. Leaving you to finish up the preparations for the grand opening of your shop in a few days time.

“Tempting offer…” you start, pretending to think about it and hiding your delight at the thought. In reality, you could use the help, and seeing more of Bucky was an added bonus that was hard to refuse. You wanted to get to know him better—you couldn’t deny that—and this seemed like a perfect place to start. 

Plus who were you kidding, you enjoyed being called Tulip. 

“Alright deal,” your smile matches his when you agree. Bucky was in the same boat as you. Not knowing where this could go, not dwelling on what the future may hold, but certain that he wanted to spend more time with you. 

Reluctantly, Bucky pulled away from the counter,“Well I gotta hit the road, the guys’ll be wonderin’ where I’ve been.” The vibrations in his pocket from his phone notifications told him as much. 

You hid your disappointment behind a grateful expression,“Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks again for the help, Bucky. Let me know what you think of the spreads!” 

Bucky grabbed a hold of the basket of sweets, and slowly walked backwards towards the exit as he wanted to keep his eyes on you for as long as he could. Every fiber of his being fighting to stay.

“Anytime, Tulip—and I’ll let ya know. Have a good night.”

“You too, Bucky. Drive safe!”

Bucky walked back to his Harley smiling like a teenager with a crush. His every step feeling lighter than earlier in the night. Whether he recognized it or not that day, it was all because of you. There was just something about you that was refreshing to Bucky, like the morning air after a night of heavy rain. The first rays of sunlight after a cold winter’s night. The cool breeze that brings you back to life on a hot summer’s day. 

That was you. 

You were the morning air, the sunlight, and the cool breeze. 

He didn’t know it yet, but in due time he would. 

In due time, you would be his Tulip. 

tagging some lovelies who asked to be tagged & others who seemed eager to read more ♡ ♡ ♡

@fanfictionreaderfan @nicksolemnlyswears @tilltheendofthelinebuckaroo @princessjellyfishlove @thewritergremlin-rae

(these tags were only for this fic and not for the full collection, so if you'd like to be tagged for the full thing let me know!!)

[sushiyuzu]

ohhh noooo the preggy fic is sooo cute, can I please request the same for zayne please 🥹🙏🏻

belly of love

warning: wholesome fluff — you're pregnant and soft!zayne is lending a helping hand by lifting up your heavy belly <3

a/n: ask and you shall receive 🙏🏻

sylus version

the soft hum of the evening settled over your cozy home, a calmness you had grown to love over the months. the familiar warmth of the setting sun bathed the room in a golden glow, highlighting the tender moments shared within these walls. you shifted on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, but the weight of your belly made even the simplest movements a bit challenging.

at eight months pregnant, your body felt heavier than ever. the curve of your belly, while a beautiful reminder of the life growing inside you, often left your back aching. it was a constant strain, and today had been especially tiring. you absentmindedly rubbed your lower back, trying to ease the tension.

then you heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and you smiled, knowing exactly who it was. zayne. your husband, always so attentive and caring, had been by your side every step of this journey. and despite how exhausting things had become, he made it all seem bearable with his gentle presence and unwavering support.

"hey, sweetheart," zayne’s voice was soft and affectionate as he came up behind you, resting his hands gently on your shoulders. "how’s my lovely jasmine doing?" he asked, his tone playful yet filled with genuine concern.

"feeling like i’m carrying a small planet," you replied with a laugh, trying to hide the discomfort, though you knew zayne could see right through it. he always did.

he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "i can help with that," he murmured, his voice warm and reassuring. without another word, he gently knelt behind you, his strong hands gliding down to rest on your hips. then, with the care only zayne could offer, he slid his arms around your belly, lifting it just enough to relieve the pressure.

the relief was immediate. a soft sigh escaped your lips as the weight lifted off your strained back. you closed your eyes, leaning into the sensation, feeling a wave of gratitude for the man who knew exactly how to ease your discomfort.

"better?" he asked, his breath brushing against your ear as he held you securely from behind, the closeness of his body providing not only physical relief but a deep emotional comfort.

"so much better," you whispered, your hands resting on top of his, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. it was moments like this that reminded you just how lucky you were. zayne had always been attentive, but during these months, he had gone above and beyond to make sure you were comfortable, constantly reminding you of how much he adored both you and the little one you were carrying.

he gently massaged your lower belly, his fingers tracing soothing circles. "you’re doing so great, you know that?" he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "i know it’s been tough, but you’re amazing. i can’t wait to meet our baby. they’re going to be so lucky to have you as their mother."

his words made your heart swell with emotion, and you leaned back further into him, savoring the closeness. "i’m the lucky one," you replied softly, tilting your head back so you could look up at him. zayne smiled down at you, his eyes full of warmth and love, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

he shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on your belly as he planted soft kisses along the side of your neck, making you smile. "just trying to make sure my two favorite people are comfortable," he said, a playful grin spreading across his lips. "anything else you need, sweetheart?"

you shook your head, though you couldn’t help but laugh softly at how doting he was. "you’ve done more than enough," you assured him, though you secretly knew he wouldn’t stop being the protective, caring husband he had always been. zayne was the kind of man who would lift the world for you if he could, and sometimes, it felt like he already had.

as you both sat there, the peacefulness of the evening wrapping around you, you realized how much this moment meant. not just the relief from the physical strain, but the emotional bond you shared. zayne wasn’t just helping you carry the weight of your pregnancy; he was carrying the weight of this journey with you, every step of the way.

"i love you," you whispered, feeling his hands tighten ever so slightly around you in response, his embrace like a warm blanket that made you feel safe and cherished.

"i love you more," he whispered back, resting his chin gently on your shoulder as you both gazed down at your belly. "and i can’t wait to love them just as much."

you smiled, closing your eyes again as the weight of your belly eased even more under his touch. with zayne by your side, you knew that no matter how heavy things might feel, you’d never have to carry it alone.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

Something tells me AK!Jason could be pretty much into cuddlefuck

⚠️ cw: softcore smut (⚤)

As long as the sex doesn't trigger his migraines, then absolutely.

He loves the intoxicating smell of you after you're spent: your sweat, your perfume, your pussy.

Loves the sticky warmth of your skin pressed against his as your bodies remain entwined after making love.

Loves the steady beat of your heart against his scarred chest—a coveted reassurance in his world of uncertainty.

Loves the softness of your breast gloved in his disfigured hand. A poignant contradiction you've taught him to ignore.

Loves the hardness of your nipple pressing into his drill-punctured palm, as if seeking the protection his calloused, violence-shaped hand can provide.

Loves how your legs remain locked around the curve of his back, as if you'll never let him go.

Loves how you still hold him deep inside you, even after you reached that apex together and your conjoined euphoria has ebbed away.

Loves how you occasionally press your heels down into his skin, encouraging languid, additional thrusts.

Loves how the wetness of your walls—coated in the cocktail of his seed and your still-flowing juices—engulf his now flaccid cock like a velvet glove.

Loves how you smile up at him, cheeks still flushed with pleasure, eyes still shining with want. His breath catches for a heartbeat as it hits him once again: she wants me, and that overwhelming rush of devotion to you surges up inside him, overtaking him like a tsunami, smothering all of his feelings of inadequacy, leaving him scraped clean. Becoming something new in your gaze.

Loves when you praise him for making you feel amazing once again, loves how your words tickle his belly as prideful butterflies take flight.

Loves to run his nose along the line of your jaw up to your ear, loves to bury his nose behind it and drink in your sweet scent. Loves to retrace his path with his tongue back down to your neck, tasting you until he finds your collarbone, then loves to dip his tongue in the hollow of your throat.

Loves to thread his fingers through your sweat-damp hair, to push stray locks behind your ear before pressing his lips to yours.

Loves when you wrap him up in your arms and hug him tight to your chest until you both drift off to sleep.

Loves that when your bodies are entangled, his nightmares can't seem to find him.

[pastryfication]

sleepy airports | loscar

pairing: oscar piastri x reader x logan sargeant

note: i’m trying to get better at poly fics, so please bear with me xx

in the airport, the bustling terminal is filled with the hum of travelers and the distant announcements of flight statuses. the excitement of your vacation is buzzing in the air, a bright spot in the midst of the usual airport chaos. it’s been a while since the three of you took a break together, just you, and the anticipation makes you giddy.

the three of you arrived early, giving yourselves plenty of time to navigate the security lines and grab a bite to eat. now, with hours to spare before your flight, you’ve settled into a quiet corner near your gate. oscar has claimed one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and is lounging back with a book, while logan and you settle on either side of him.

you notice logan’s head nodding slightly as he tries to stay awake. he’s always been an early riser, and the wait is starting to take its toll. you feel the same way, your eyes growing heavy as you finally sit down in a quiet place. it doesn’t take long before you find yourself snuggling closer to your australian boyfriend, resting your head against his shoulder. his warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing are comforting, and you feel yourself relaxing. as you close your eyes, you sense a gentle shift in the seating arrangement.

oscar glances up from his book and smiles. without saying a word, he moves to sit a bit more comfortably and gently wraps his arm around both you and logan. logan sighs contentedly and his head falls to rest on oscar’s shoulder as well. oscar’s eyes soften as he looks at the two of you, his free hand reaching up to lightly stroke your hair.

time seems to slow as you drift in and out of light sleep, lulled by the soft murmur of the airport and the comforting presence of your partners. it’s these small, quiet moments of togetherness that you cherish. the three of you are wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and love, a small, happy island in the middle of the bustling terminal.

when your flight is finally announced, oscar gently nudges you awake. you stretch and blink, feeling both refreshed and reluctant to leave the cozy nest you’ve created. logan stirs as well, his eyes slowly opening, and he smiles groggily at you. oscar gives a soft chuckle and stands up, offering you his hand.

“come on, sleepyheads,” he says. “time to board.”

as you all walk toward the gate, the excitement of the journey ahead replaces the initial grogginess. the flight is smooth, and the three of you settle into your seats. oscar sits by the window, giving you and logan the middle and aisle seats. you end up leaning against oscar’s shoulder again, while logan stretches out beside you.

you chat about your plans for the trip, the places you want to visit, and the food you’re excited to try. logan is the enthusiastic storyteller, recounting amusing anecdotes and trivia about your destination. oscar occasionally chuckles, his fingers lightly brushing yours as you share in the conversation.

the flight attendants come by with snacks and drinks, and you all take turns sharing bites and sips. it’s a small pleasure, but it feels special when done together. you look around at your partners—logan’s eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, oscar’s face relaxed and content—and feel a profound sense of gratitude fill you.

at some point during the flight, you drift off again. the gentle hum of the plane and the soft light filtering through the window provide a soothing backdrop. when you wake, the sun is dipping lower in the sky, casting a warm glow through the aeroplane. logan has shifted slightly, his arm now draped protectively around you, and oscar is still sitting patiently, letting you use him as a pillow. the two boys had been sharing a quiet moment, their heads close together above you in a comfortable silence.

as the plane begins its descent, you all share a look of excitement and anticipation. the vacation is just beginning, and you can’t wait to explore, laugh, and make memories together. the trip has already been filled with little moments of affection and togetherness, and you know that these moments will only continue to grow.

[dark-and-kawaii]

What do you think of cockwarming the tieflings? Just thinking of teasing them as you cockwarm them

‎‧₊˚✧ [ Warmth ] ✧˚₊‧

୨୧ — Pairings: Zevlor - Rolan - Dammon x F!Tav/Reader (Separately)

୨୧ — Content: NSFW - Cockwarming - Fat Cocks - Being A Good Cocksleeve~

୨୧ — Notes: Mmmm I think that it’s mighty delicious and I’d happily warm their cocks for as long as they asked ♡ ♡

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Zevlor:

Cockwarming him is a tender act of intimacy, a soothing embrace rather than just physical pleasure.

He’s a Hellrider… A soldier, it’s in his blood to protect and fight for those he cherishes. So there’s always the possibly of him facing death in each battle he fights. As he returns home to you, battered and bloodied, all he craves is the solace of your arms, the warmth only you can provide. While you help him strip his armor he places small kisses to your shoulder, whispering the tenderest of “I love yous.”

You know what he craves, but you hesitate for a moment, fearing that adding your weight to him may open his wounds… But then you feel how his much large hand reaches for yours, bringing it to his face to press a kiss into your palm, “You have nothing to fear my dear.”

As you slide down onto his cock, he lets out a strained groan from deep within his throat, seeking refuge in not only the warmth of your arms, but also the warmth of your cunt.

Once fully seated inside of you, the two of you simply lay in silence for a moment. The heat of your cunt soothes his aching muscles and the steady thrum of his heart against your very own makes you feel safe and protected. You sigh as you relax against his chest, “my Zevy~”

As the minutes go by, the tension in his muscles slowly dissolves. His arms encircle your waist, his hand rubbing up and down your back, while his other arm slides beneath your neck, holding you close.

The feeling of your weight atop him, the softness of your body, the scent of your hair, and the way you sigh as his hands roam over your body is the medicine he needs to heal his mind, body, and soul

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Rolan:

Cockwarming him is about teasing, he’s been so preoccupied with his work that he’s forgotten to give your needy little cunt attention…

He’s so engrossed in that damn spell book that he doesn’t even notice your presence, not until you slowly caress his horns, “Roooolan~” with a mischievous smile you slowly lower yourself onto that warm lap of his, feel that growing bulge you’re so addicted to.

Rolan tries to protest, to remind you of his work, “must you always be so needy and greedy for my tim-?” He attempts to finish his sentence with the deepest blush while looking you dead on, but you silence him with a finger to his lips.

You start off slow, grinding your hips against his clothed cock until it’s fully hard to your liking~ Dipping your hands into his trouser to spring him free~

It’s so adorable how Rolan’s eyes widen in surprise, he should know better by now. Dropping his quill he instinctively reaches to grip your hips as you guide his throbbing cock inside you- feeling the delicious sensation of him filling you up as you slowly rock against him till he’s fully sheathed within you.

“Don’t forget about me, Rolan~” you whisper, “I need your attention too~” your arms snake around his neck as you get comfortable, cockwarming him so nicely as he works~

His breath hitches as he struggles to maintain his composure, and you know that this teasing will have him begging for more once he's finally free to fully indulge in you.

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Dammon:

Cockwarming this tiefling is a means of punishment.

With shaky legs you climb onto his lap and position yourself over his veiny cock, “That’s my good girl.” Undoing his heavy apron with trembling hands before you’re allowed to sit on him.

Just as you remove his worn apron from him, Dammon's tail smacks your ass, causing you to bite your lip, “no noises, that will only prolong me from giving you what you want.”

The thick tip of his cock presses into your opening and you slowly ease down onto him, allowing him to stretch and fill you, but his rough hands grab your hips and push you down all the way to the hilt. The pain of his cock hitting your cervix makes your eyes water and you try to hold back a cry of pleasure.

His head falls back onto the couch completely ignoring you and just absorbing how good you feel, the perfect little cock sleeve.

You begin to rock your hips, grinding down on him, trying to find that friction you so desperately need.

“You're making it very difficult for me to enjoy this, my love. If you don't stop, I'll have to leave and find somewhere else to relax.” Dammon warns.

Whimpering, you still yourself and try to relax. Your pussy clenches around his cock and he inhales deeply, his fingers grip your thighs tighter.

It was quiet until his tail came down on your ass again, you bit your lip harder trying to keep your moans in. Dammon's mouth is parted slightly as he breathes in and out heavily, he's trying not to moan. He wants to give into the warmth of your walls but this is also your punishment, “Move, and I’ll leave you here on the couch, dripping wet, and I won't come back tonight. You'll go to bed alone, without a single kiss. Now be a good little thing and warm my cock.”

He smacks your ass, harder this time. The pain is more intense and the sting feels wonderful. He spanks you a couple more times, each one getting progressively harder, until you’re sobbing and begging him to fuck you... Your hips never once moving just like he ordered…

[xo-cod]

fluff with simon battling fatherhood. and he gets a lil sad reality check <3 :")

this was rushed but i love the idea of simon realising his family he had will never be able to see the family he's created 🥲🤍

"kids, hurry up" simon called out with a stern expression as he waited by the end of the stairs, strapping the baby carrier to his chest and placing his youngest inside gently. the small baby stirred softly, a sleepy mumble falling from her lips as she closed her eyes once more feeling the steady heartbeat of simon's chest

"comin' daddy!" he hears the thundering of small feet running down the stairs, bringing a soft smile of pride to his lips to see his girls

"c'mere munchkin" he bends carefully to his knees, mindful of the baby strapped to his chest, and helps hana with her ballet flats while amara places a headband in her hair lopsided as she looked back to simon again.

"where we goin'?" his 5 year old asks as she twirled a little to make her dress spin while she looked at simon with such innocence it makes him want to protect her forever from anything and everything

"amara you stepped on my feet!" hana, his three year old scowled as she pushed her older sister back with a huff. the other gasps a little in shock and then her small face crumples into annoyance as she huffed

"easy easy, none of that now, alright?" simon eyed his daughters with a firm look and they both sighed and nodded slowly

"where's mum?" amara looked around for you and simon clicked his tongue, fixing her lopsided headbanded to sit right on her tiny head once more

"mum's at a doctors appointment so you lot are comin with me to the supermarket" he responds, grabbing their coats from the side as he helps them in to it. he's already got snacks stashed away in the bag for when they start to get cranky halfway through and he hoped the shops wouldn't be an overly long trip

"who did mum go with?" kids and their never ending questions but it makes him chuckle a little at their curiosity, zipping up their small jackets to ensure their warmth

"she's gone with her mum, nana" he speaks again, standing back up carefully as he pressed a soft kiss to his baby on his chest. he just about grabbed his keys when one of his piped up again with yet another question

"oh... where's your mum daddy?" hana asks so innocently, it makes him pause. he could feel his heart beat heavily under his chest, picking up pace as he stares at his little girl again. her eyes hold so much wonder, so much interest it's so hard to answer

"she's... not here honey. she passed away years ago" he stroked her hair, reminiscing on the past for a few seconds as memories of his mother flew by in his head. from her helping him get ready for school to the doctors appointments to making him food, the memories hit him like a truck even years and years forward. memories of tommy and his wife flooding his head alongside his nephew. every milestone simon had ever reached was shared now to a grave instead of the warmth his family provided. every happy occasion, every huge goal was said in a soft prayer to the sky instead of being celebrated loudly.

having children was something simon thought wasn't possible not with the lifestyle he lived and the past he came from. but it happened, you entered his life and blessed him with three beautiful girls he cherished with every part of his heart. only him and tommy couldn't watch their children play together and grow together, there was no visiting simon's mom on the weekend as she cooked her famous roast for the family to share. those dreams died the day he buried his family 6 feet into the ground

"oh... m'sorry daddy" his girls have shifted their happy chatty demeanour to a more sad one as they notice their father lost in his thoughts. he's snapped out of his trance as he looks back down to the girls who barely come up to his knees with a soft chuckle as he sits down on one of the steps. cradling them in his arms in a gentle hug. he could see the sharpness of tommy's eyes in theirs, the placement of the soft dimple in their smiles just like his mothers. even if his family physically wasn't here, parts of them were always carried throughout

"nothin to be worry for, darling. i wish you could've met her, she would've loved you three" he chuckled fondly, his heart aching softly in his chest as he holds his daughters close. maybe one day when they get older, he'll explain the backstory of their late grandma and their late uncle but for now, he'll bear that burden alone

[macfrog]

jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

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[lazywrites]

nsfw alphabet w/ Cyclops aka.Scott Summers

Scott Summers x afab reader/ Minors please don't interact/ NSFW so please be aware

If tumblr blasts me for the art (which is made by me as well) i will repost it without the drawing

A= Aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

Scott’s aftercare is top notch, on the right occasion of course, Scott is a busy man but when he takes the proper time to be with you, his undivided attention is a gift within itself.

If this is a quickie kind of situation Scott will make sure you are okay first of all, get your clothes in order and wipe the mess he’s made on both you and the random couch he’s chosen for the occasion and make sure you both are inconspicuous enough when its time to leave the room, provided your legs are steady enough to leave, maybe he’ll keep you company until then.

If this is a warm spring night where you are both alone in your own space, oh boy, he’ll go all out with his aftercare, expect a cool glass of water and some pleasant conversation until you are ready to hit the showers with him, but if you’re not careful it might all lead to you needing some more aftercare.

B= Body part (their favorite body part and also their partner's)

It would be cliché to say ‘’your eyes’’ but to Scott it  is important to look others in the eye, he is a leader and his perception on every person he meets matters more than anything else, he can assess a threat to his Family just by looking it in the eye. And your eyes, so full of honesty and genuine love for him, he knows you and he can tell how you feel just by looking you right in the eyes even for a moment. But on another note, Scott’s eye is Always drawn to your cleavage, big or small, toned or soft, he’s gonna glance at it even if its just a sliver of skin exposed in the area and he’s instantly drawn to it when its exposed,laying his head on the softest parts of you, kissing and marking up your breasts with small hickeys, nothing too excessive, he doesn’t want anybody else to pay attention to you like that.

On himself, well, Scott is built like a God, he makes sure to keep up with a strict regime and stay in top shape always, it is important to his protection as well as your own. But i’d say he is very pleased with his shoulders, his intense training paid off, his shoulders are broad, Strong and dependable and you know it, and he knows that you know it, there is nothing better for him than having you on his lap, hands on his shoulders and nails lightly scratching them as you ride him. He enjoys being depended on enough but when you show your concern with him by rubbing the tension from his shoulders and back? He’ll be in cloud nine for a few moments, Scott has the weight of the world on his shoulders most of the time, but when you put your hands on him, he can’t bring himself to hate it at all.

C= Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

God, Scott can get messy with it, as clean and tidy as he wants to portray himself as, he is obsessed with your wetness and laps it up like his life depends on it, he’ll want to hear every wet noise he can produce from you before drinking it all up himself, as soon as he gets a chance he’ll dip his fingers into your underwear and drench his hand in your juices until its all damp enough that you’ll have to take it off for a while, that way you’ll just have to give him a taste.

Scott cums a lot on a normal day, if you haven’t done it more than once that day his orgasm is guaranteed to be long and satisfying, maybe it’ll help with the tension for a while until the next problem comes along. Takes a while to make Scott cum for the first time, but after that if you have enough time to tease him, he’ll be more sensitive to your touch and cum faster, but it all depends on you, quantity wise its plenty, thick and messy too, as messy as Scott will make it that is, he loves to get your body sticky with it, be it your chest, your face, or your underwear sticking to your thighs all day.

D= Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret or their's)

He’s very discreet with it, but you know him well enough to know, he’d love to have you at his mercy, cuffed or tied up so he can take as much pleasure as he wants from you for hours and hours, until your body is sticky and sore, eyes full of tears of pleasure. He never vocalizes his desires in an overt way but it is noticeable to you especially when he takes your wrists into his hand and pins them above your head, if you decide to allow it and just let it happen you’ll see the change, on his breathing, on his expression. Becoming just a little more desperate than it was before, on the way his hips smack forcefully into your own, harder and faster, and you know you got him, or maybe he’s got you.

Scott is sort of a voyeur, he loves to watch you and thinks about it constantly, to the point of riling himself up just thinking of it, the visage of you pleasuring yourself right in front of him, just for him to watch is burned into his mind and he goes back to that moment constantly. Scott is having a boring conversation? He’ll keep nodding and humming pretending that there is not a ghost of you right behind that person, looking right at him and teasing him like some hyper-realistic hallucination, he’ll do his best to contain it (or ‘’you’’) around any known telepaths though, he is trying to be discreet after all.

E= Experience ( how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

He does have plenty of experience, even while he was younger he’s been around, had a fair share of girls and some boys waiting for him, asking for dates and sending valentine presents, Scott is and has always been very popular, even with non mutants. But he won’t just get with anyone of course, he’s taken his time to intimately know every person he’s been with and they have friendly relationships to this very day, as messy as his relationships can get they have taught him a lot about intimacy and trust, and all his experience is put to good use between both of you.

F= Favorite position (No visuals this time, sorry, tumblr will probably kick me for the visual right above anyway)

Good old Missionary and we all expected it, might be cliché but its common for a reason, and as much as he loves to try all he can think of with you, Scott can get all the benefits from this position he could possibly want, he can plant both his hands on your knees and spread you as wide as you can go just to look at the mess you have both made, as well as go back and forth between watching your blissed out expression and his thick cum leaking out of you, and tease you for it with his little smirk, of course.

In second place is a mating press, the intimacy of it, being pressed up tight against your softness, face to face so he can know how much the pressure of his body on yours is affecting you and hearing your desperate hums and moans while he presses up against your soft spots, all the way inside almost balls deep from the weight, there’s just something special about it to Scott, and he always promises himself to do it more often.

G= Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Scott is not very goofy in general, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a sense of humor, he is more charming than goofy though, he’d rather leave the comedy for later, but in compensation he will tease you, he’s good at getting a reaction out of his partners and enjoys a bit of banter before things heat up too much, that is, before you become completely incoherent.

H= Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is not very hairy in general, it would take him a lot of time to have a proper beard, Scott likes to keep himself clean and tidy all over, most of his body is either clean shaved or has very sparse hair, and that results in a light and dusty happy trail with very well trimmed hairs.

He likes to think it makes it easier to dress up in his spandex suit, slides easier or whatever.

I= Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Scott is a gentleman most of the time, he is very considerate of you and your needs and makes sure that he won’t be selfish, not like that is much of a worry though, your pleasure is his own and he could get off just watching you enjoying yourself and having your orgasm.

He might not be declaring himself over and over but things always get romantic between both of you, even with his glasses on the way Scott loves to press himself against you, your forehead on his own face to face during sex, he also loves to rest his head on your chest and just enjoys the feeling of your body on his own so much he can hold you tight against him for hours, his favorite thing after he cums is just holding you to his chest and feeling your warmth, he’ll rarely say but his in these moments his heart also feels warmer than before.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’d rather not be apart from you if the option is available, but as i’ve mentioned your ‘’ghost’’ is always haunting him throughout the day and making him feel all sorts of dirty, he can keep his urges under control pretty well most of the time unless you are there to ruin his composure and leave him hanging, he’ll try to will away his erection to be able to at least wait until you’re back, but at some point it becomes obvious you’ve got him unravelling completely and he needs to get his body under control, he’ll just have to give in and make himself cum without you, shame.

If its a long mission taking you away from him or him from you he’ll try to focus on his duties as team leader to keep the ghosts away, the harder he Works that day the bigger the urge to see you becomes until he has to fish out that old picture you gifted him as a ‘’reminder’’ not to stop thinking of you no matter where he is, he knows what you want him to do with it and he tries not to, checking around the blackbird for the thousandth time and trying to strike up some innocent convos with his team, but the picture, its just calling out to him, one peek won’t hurt, right?

K= Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Scott won’t outright tell you what his kinks are, even if you ask he’ll say he never really stopped to think about it, but its very well established he has a thing for bondage, not hardcore bondage, but Scott loves to be trusted and thrives with admiration, knowing that you trust him completely with your body does Wonders for his ego inside and outside the bedroom. He’ll be very pleased to receive a package only to check and see the beautiful red ropes and blindfold, your way to invite him for a night out, just the two of you.

Like all heroes Scott can appreciate a good spandex suit, spandex and leather are his go to if you asked him about it, the skimpier on you the better, and if you are creative enough to whip up a Cyclops cosplay borrowing one of his glasses and some blue and yellow lingerie you found on some themed sex shop he’ll be very very curious about it, and concerned, concerned enough to throughly check if your uniform is up to code...

You cannot convince me there aren’t superhero themed sex shops.

L= Location (favourite places to do the do)

Scott has a mostly pristine reputation, and he worries about it, as much as he loves to fantasize about fucking you in every place you are both together he knows its impossible with anyone else around and there are plenty of people around the manor most of the time, sadly the only place he can guarantee you are alone is the bedroom and a few sparse rooms here and there in specific times of the day, Scott takes all the precautions he can, locking the door every time things get heated between him and you, he would be absolutely mortified to be caught.

M= Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

For Scott, having sex is a good way to unwind and be close to you at the same time, one thing facilitating the other, you are his comfort most days when things get hard, you’re always there for him providing support and he will take you everywhere he goes if possible. And you know Scott Summers is a man ready to take responsibility all the time, he is a trusted leader and people look for him every time there is a problem and for mutants most days there are problems, he’s always in action, so every time you can both relax and take comfort is each other is very beneficial to him.

After a long day, he can feel the effect your body has on him, the good it does to him, and it makes him a little emotional that you always know how to support him and be there for him, sometimes even a bit of a heartache, he might feel as if he’s not doing the same for you, but of course you’ll be there by his side always to reassure him that your heart belongs to him just as much as his to you, you’ll both struggle together to pull each other up.

N= No (something they wouldn’t do)

He won’t take off his glasses or blindfold around you and refuses to degrade you, he’s seen enough degradation for a lifetime and doesn’t want it to be with you, never you.

Scott is fine with light spanking, but of course will never hurt you or bruise you, he’d be absolutely mortified if you got hurt enough to bleed in any way, he just wouldn’t enjoy sex in that kind of way and would be constantly worried.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Scott will eat you up like a man starved, he’s sloppy with it too as much as he denies it he likes to get messy with your pussy and you better be ready for it, every time he pulls the same old move of feeling you up under your underwear and getting his fingers coated in you he’s absolutely going to taste you on his own hands once he’s done, sticking out his tongue and licking his fingers like they’re a lollipop, putting on an unintentional show, and most of the time, of course its not enough and he needs more of you straight from the source, kneeling before you, on the bed or you sitting on his face, either way he’s getting what he wants without complaints, Scott’s tongue seems to have a life of its own in those times, he’ll move it like he’s truly thirsty for you, taking a few moments in between to kiss and lick at your clit, enjoying the softness and making out with you in a way you didn’t think it was previously possible.

You, of course, need to return the favor in kind, and as much as he likes to pretend to resist and say its not needed, his resistance is futile and he’ll fold almost immediately, laying back or sitting in bed or in a couch he’ll let you lick and suck at him as much as you want, depending on the ocasion you will see Scott Summers fully relaxed for a moment, and its beautiful, those are the times where he pretends there is nothing wrong in the world, nothing to worry about and simply enjoys the pleasure you give him, he’ll try to contain his groans and moans as much as he can but soon his focus will be pulled from that too. Scott’s inner thighs are surprisingly sensitive, you found, and of course you leave plenty of marks on his beautiful thighs, dangerously close to his balls, he won’t be in the state of mind to complain anyway.

He knows you can get shy, but he loves to see you take his cock in your throat or kissing and licking at his tip, he’ll sneakily stop throwing his head back to look at you when he thinks you’re distracted.

P= Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

Scott can keep it very steady during sex, impressively consistent too, but thats just his unwavering sense of discipline and with some effort his pace will change up depending on what you do or say, if you tease him and get him desperate his thrusts will be noticeably faster and more sloppy, but if he’s teasing you he’ll go slow and you and try to get you desperate for it, desperate enough to beg him and stroke his ego a little bit, just how he likes it.

But of course you can change things up and take him by surprise, he’ll be impressed if you decide to be on top and will take time to worship your body and just observe you, he’ll run his hands up and down all over you and when his hands are not enough to satiate his needs he’ll worship you with gentle kisses and licks all over your throat and chest. Some days when he’s pent up he might decide to take you a bit more forcefully than usual, holding you tight so you can barely move and moving his hips with a force that leaves you rattled by the end of it, he’ll try and apologize but there is nothing wrong with a little roughing up sometimes, you’ll say.

Q= Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often)

You’d think a man so busy would not have much time for quickies, but Scott is surprisingly easy to entice, and you know his ticks, its child’s play to you.

If you tease him a little bit through the morning, just a little, enough for the team not to say anything, even that will get him a little overwhelmed and you can take pride in knowing thoughts of you will be tormenting him throught the day, that familiar ghost is back to haunt him even when you’re not there. You can meet back with him on the afternoon and a just a little light quip from you will be enough to break his resolve, he’ll find an excuse for the others and call you to a room he knows is empty at the time just so he can say he’ll give you what you want (its what he wants really,we all know it) but he can play shy all he wants, you know what you did and you won’t regret it in the slightest.

R= Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks)

He’s not much for risk, i’m sorry to inform, his life is basically pure adrenaline and he likes to feel safe with you as much as possible, not to say he won’t try any kinks you suggest, he’s open to new things as long as they’re not dangerous or painful for either of you and will do his best to satisfy you while keeping you safe.

S= Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

Depends on what he’s been doing before honestly, Scott is always up and running its no wonder his energy is limited, but he’ll always have one or two rounds in for you, he would absolutely refuse to leave you unsatisfied, but these one or two rounds are pretty amazing and more than enough for you, of course. On better days where he’s rested he can go pretty much all night long with you, there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend the whole night worshipping and being worshipped by his love.

T= Toy (do they own toys? do they use them?)

Scott doesn’t own any toys himself, well you can gift him that rope and blindfold but they don’t really count as toys, Mr.Summers is too serious and important (embarrassed) to be seen in some downtown sex shop or ordering toys online, so i’m sorry, that task will fall to you and you don’t mind much, the sex shops are fun but he will make you keep your new toys hidden or locked up in a drawer, he’s scared of anyone finding them for some reason, honey its okay, no one’s looking.

He’s open to using them on you and watching you use the toys on yourself, perhaps you can even convince him to let you use them on himself, he’ll deny a bit but you already know you can easily convince him, just put on a little show and he won’t resist.

U= Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Scott doesn’t tease much, he’d rather see your blissed out face for as long as he can but that doesn’t mean he’ll never tease you, but those instances are rare and honestly that just turns you on ever more, you understand his innuendos pretty quickly and it’ll work even better with you if its in public, the fact that he went out of his way just to tease you in public, being who he is, is enough to have you ready to go.

He’ll do a bit of verbal play during sex, mostly just fishing for compliments, he might just stop halfway, cock still inside of you and fish for a few compliments before getting back to railing you into the matress, this time with renewed motivation.

V= Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Scott is honestly not very loud, what he doesn’t have in volume he’ll unconsciously make up for in quantity, unless you’re not in an entirely safe place. He’ll groan and moan for you right in your ear, in the beginning he was embarrassed to do it, it was mostly involuntary at the time, but now? He knows you love it and he won’t deprive you from it unless you deprive him of your own pretty moans and goddamit does he sound good, raspy groans right from the back of his throat and light airy moans once in a while, its almost angelic to hear him like that, such a pretty song just for you.

W= Wild Card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Our mr.Summers is not very jealous, but he is pretty territorial over you, he’s not jealous in the classic sense and won’t think much of other people interacting with you, you two are a two in one deal and most people realize that, so if he realizes someone has a crush or is sweet on you he won’t do much about it nor say anything about it to you if you are not as observant as him, especially if your interactions with such a person are entirely innocent.

But if they’re not and such a person starts making more overt advances towards you, well, he just has to make himself known, he’ll be more affectionate in public, deliberately, sometimes even looking the person in the eye (not that they’d know, he’s always wearing glasses anyway ehh) which does not work, he won’t follow you like a puppy, but he will make it known for all others that he’s your guy, you get a bonus of more handholding, public affection and of course, more sex, he’s not doing it out in the open, but he’s noticeably more passionate with you, he’ll hold you tight against him and give you very noticeable hickeys that are somewhat difficult to hide, he’ll apologize a little after, so you won’t notice he’s doing it deliberately, so that person sees and knows he’s active with you, naughty naughty, but still is going to be embarrassed if anyone on his team comments or jokes about it, men are contradictory creatures.

X= X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Scott is a big man, as such i’d put him at a good 20 to almost 21 centimeters, about 7 inches in total, and that is pretty big in my book, it is the reason why he keeps a consistent pace and insists on being gentle with you, he’s bigger than average and knows that it can hurt if he's not careful.

But his cock is a thing of beauty in your eyes, circumsised , fairly thick and with an almost red rosy blush all around, soft balls that feel so good in your hand, almost like velvet really, it also leaks a fair bit of precum that you love to take in your mouth whenever you can, its heavy and always feels perfect for you, as you love to remind him once in a while.

Y= Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

The man yearns, he yearns for you when you are away, not even necessarily for sex, he just feels incomplete without his lover by his side where you belong, and of course you won’t leave him alone even in his thoughts, whenever he’s distracted there is a fair chance he’s thinking of you, of your beauty as well as your kindness and your pussy of course, but he yearns mostly for the connection you two share, he’s never bored with you, sex is more than just a stress relief it is a connection he shares with you and a way to feel the bond both of you share physically, thats what it is to him, the love you both share brings him bliss.

Z= ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Scott might be tired and a bit worn by the end of the day, but he can share a bit of conversation with you before sleep, if that is what you desire he’ll make an effort to keep his eyes open as long as he can and offer some semi coherent commentary once in a while, however, when you lay and cuddle up to him under the sheets, especially if you allow him to rest his head on the softness of your chest, he’s a goner, won’t last more than five minutes awake, but that’s okay because its cute.

i can't believe its over, took me about 15 hours of nonstop work for my first true writing post, depending on the feedback this might become a series, i have lots of ideas in mind especially for the art. So please let me know what you think, feedback is very important and i will remind everyone who reads requests are open with me, so yeah, thanks for reading!

[matchingbatbites]

Steve proposes to Eddie during DND.

He's played about a dozen times since the Vecna ordeal three years ago, just one-off stories with no real consequences, and while it took him a little bit to get a feel for the game, he's finally reached a point where he doesn't feel totally out of place.

It helps that Eddie absolutely lights up every time Steve agrees to play, that his boyfriend tends to go a little easier on the rest of the table because they all help Steve half-fumble through the mechanics. It's worth it when Eddie beams at him for figuring something out first, for suggesting a dumb play that has the table screaming when it works.

It's the summer after the kids' senior year, and when Eddie offers to run an all-day one shot to celebrate their graduation, Steve instantly starts planning. He talks to Robin, who absolutely gushes over his idea, and along with Dustin they plan it all out.

He learns the premise of the one-shot from Eddie - there's a big bad who's been taking people from the kingdom, and the king is finally forced to do something when his own son, the prince, is also taken - and Dustin helps him make a character, a fighter who is the personal guard of the prince, whose goal is to find and bring him back safely.

Eddie seems pleased with the character when Steve explains it to him, even more so when Steve suggests the idea that they've fallen for each other and have been lovers in secret. "You're such a romantic, sweetheart," Eddie says before kissing him, and Steve knows it’s a tease and a compliment, knows that Eddie loves how soft he can get over things like that.

The game happens about two weeks later, and Eddie wasn’t joking when he called it an all-day affair.

They get started at about ten that morning, Steve and Eddie, their four boys, and Erica all crowded around the little dining table in Steve and Eddie's little apartment, with Robin, El, and Max entertaining themselves in the adjacent living room.

At Eddie’s insistence, they take a break every couple of hours so everyone can get up and stretch and use the toilet, with slightly longer breaks for lunch and dinner (sandwiches and pizza, respectively, both provided by Steve and Eddie).

The big bad is defeated at around nine that night, and everyone is elated as Eddie takes them through the aftermath, letting each player character have a short moment to reunite with their stolen friends and loved ones.

Robin and the girls have moved to sit on the nearby kitchen counter to listen, partly because El always enjoys these soft moments in the story, and partly because Robin knows what’s going to happen soon.

Steve stays quiet, letting the others have their moment as he fights down the sudden anxiety that sparks through him, knowing what he’s about to do. He looks up when Eddie says his name, takes a steadying breath, and asks "Do I see the prince?"

Eddie nods, says "You do."

"I go over to him."

"He sees you approaching and he rushes to you, meeting you halfway. As soon as you're close enough, he throws his arms around you and says 'I knew you would save me, darling.'"

Steve smiles. "I say, 'I always will, my love' and then I kiss him."

The teens hoot and holler a little as Eddie grins. "He kisses you back, and for a moment it's like everything else fades to the background. All that matters is him, back where he belongs, safe in your arms."

Steve nods, and before he loses his nerve asks "Can I do something?"

Eddie quirks a brow, curious. "Of course,” he says, and Steve takes a breath to steady himself.

"I take his hand, and then I drop to one knee."

A couple of the teens give little 'ooh's as Eddie looks at him, clearly a little surprised, and Steve continues before he can say anything.

"Three years ago, I took my place by your side as your personal guard. I swore to care for you, to protect you from anything that would want to hurt you, and somewhere along the way, we fell in love."

Steve swallows, knows he's blurring the line of character and person as he speaks, staring at Eddie across the table.

"The last three years have been everything to me. Any time I'm not with you, you're the only thing I can think about, and every day spent with you is a fucking gift, because I know just how close I came to losing you."

The sudden urge to touch Eddie becomes overwhelming and he stands, watches Eddie's shocked face as he rounds the table and drops to a knee in front of his lover. Eddie's eyes are wide and he gives a soft "Steve?" as Steve takes a slender hand in his own, remembers the words he had practiced over and over with Dustin.

"I don't want to be just a fighter anymore. I want to be a paladin, set on a righteous path, and if you'll let me, I want to make an Oath of Devotion. Not to any god or angel, but to you, the love of my life."

Steve pulls the ring from his pocket and offers it to Eddie. It's very much not traditional, and at first glance seems to be just another chunky ring that blends in with Eddie's current selection. But Steve had to get it, the shield molded onto the band and the new 'beloved' engraved on the inside repeating what Steve always says, I'll protect you, I love you.

Eddie is in tears as Steve stares him down, as he gently asks "Eddie Munson, will you marry me?"

For just a second, Eddie is completely still, save for his shaky breathing. Steve doesn't get scared, he knows that sometimes it takes Eddie a second to register things when he's overwhelmed. He waits it out, and after a few seconds Eddie blinks rapidly before jerking forward, dropping to his knees as he throws his arms around Steve. "Fuck yes! Of course I will!"

Cheers erupt through the room, and a flash goes off when they meet in a kiss. Eddie looks over to see Robin with a camera in her hand and tears streaming down her face. “Don’t mind me,” she says, a bit choked up even as she beams at them, and Eddie’s head whips back to Steve.

“You planned this!” he yells, unable to stop his own tears from falling, and Steve laughs. “Of course I did!” is his reply as he takes Eddie’s hand back so he can slide the ring onto it, and he ignores the second flash from where Robin sits.

“Wanted it to be perfect,” Steve says softly, stroking his thumb over the ring, now at its new home on Eddie’s finger. “Wanted you to know how much you mean to me, and I figured something nerdy would hit all the right buttons.”

“I helped with the nerd stuff!” Dustin calls from his seat, and Eddie laughs wetly as he scrubs at the tear tracks on his cheeks. “I should have known something was up with you, Henderson. You’ve been bouncing off the walls for weeks.”

Steve stands up from the floor before helping Eddie up, and they both grunt as Dustin practically slams into them for a hug, quickly followed by a more reserved El. They hug each of the kids in turn and accept their congratulations, and after a few minutes Eddie is put together enough to actually finish out the one-shot.

Later that night as they're getting ready for bed, Eddie presses up behind Steve, one hand sliding to rest on his stomach and the other opening in front of them, revealing a simple, gold band.

"You beat me to it, you dick," he says with so much tenderness, and Steve laughs as he takes the ring.

"You can still do your proposal, if you want," Steve replies, heart swelling as he looks over the band, sees the little 'sweetheart' engraved on the inside.

"Nah, there's no way I can top what you did for me."

"I dunno, you normally top me pretty well," Steve teases, just to hear Eddie's delighted little cackle.

He turns and hands the ring back to Eddie, asks "Put it on me?" and Eddie smiles. He takes the ring and slides it onto Steve's finger, his thumb brushing over shiny metal, and Steve feels so fucking happy as they meet in the middle for a kiss.

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - I Love You, It's Ruining My Life

Summary - Caught between her lover's acceptance and her brothers' relentless cruelty, she struggles to reconcile her intense love with the torment it brings. The boundary between love and pain blurs, leaving her to confront a relationship that both saves and destroys her.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!), mild language, violence (very slight)

Word count - 2360

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

I love you, it's ruining my life, I love you, it's ruining my life.

Being the sister to brothers like Aegon and Aemond was increasingly frustrating, especially with the way they acted towards the only person who provided me comfort in our train wreck of a family. 

Their constant belittling and antagonising of Jace drove me to the brink of despair.

"Bastard," Aemond murmured, laughing quietly. I sighed in frustration, a sense of nervousness and fear settling in my stomach.

"Do tell me why you spend so much time with him?" he continued, sitting down opposite Jace and me in the library. 

Our comforting silence was shattered the moment my two miserable brothers stumbled in.

"Why are you always with him, sister?" Aegon taunted, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "Isn't our company good enough for you?"

"Leave it alone, Aegon," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just go."

"Not until you answer me," Aegon insisted, stepping closer. "Why him?"

"Because he's kind to me," I replied, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation. "Something neither of you seem capable of."

Aemond chuckled darkly, leaning forward. "Kindness? Is that what you call it? He's a bastard, unworthy of your time or affection."

"Shut up, Aemond," I snapped, my patience wearing thin. "You know nothing about him."

Their words cut deep, and their mocking laughter echoed around us. I felt a surge of anger as they continued to hurl insults and call me names for choosing to spend my time with Jace. 

Things escalated quickly, Aemond's sneers turned to taunts, and the tension in the room became unbearable.

"You're nothing but a disgrace," Aemond spat, his eyes filled with contempt.

My patience snapped. Before I knew it, my hand flew across his face with a resounding slap. Aegon's reaction was immediate and violent. He slapped me back, the force of it stinging my cheek and bringing tears to my eyes.

"You dare hit him?" Aegon growled, his face contorted with rage.

"You dare hit me?" I retorted, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and pain.

Jace, seeing red, moved to retaliate, but I grabbed his arm. "Don't, Jace," I pleaded, my voice urgent. "It's not worth it."

"But they can't treat you like this," Jace argued, his eyes blazing with fury.

"I know," I said, my voice softer now, filled with pain. "But please, let's just go."

Aegon sneered. "Running away? How typical. Always hiding behind your bastard."

Aegon’s smirk twisted into something more sinister, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer. "You think this ends with just words, sister? You have no idea how far we'll go to protect what's ours."

Jace took a step forward, his fists clenched. "Say that again, Aegon. I dare you."

Aemond stood, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "This is entertaining but remember, sister, you chose this path."

"I chose to be happy," I shot back. "Something neither of you will ever understand."

I dragged Jace away, my heart pounding in my chest. As we walked, the reality of the situation weighed heavily on me.

By the time we reached his chambers, Jace was seething with anger. He slammed the door behind us, pacing the room with clenched fists. I stood by the window, watching him, feeling the intensity of his emotions radiate through the room.

"They have no right to treat you like that," Jace fumed, his voice low and dangerous. "No right at all."

"I know," I said quietly, my own anger simmering beneath the surface. "But what can we do? They won't change."

Jace stopped pacing and looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and something else, something darker, more possessive. "I won't let them hurt you," he said, his voice rough.

Before I could respond, he crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed me by the shoulders, his grip firm but not painful. "I can't stand seeing them treat you like this," he said, his voice intense. "I can't stand it."

His words were a mixture of fury and desperation, and I felt a surge of emotion rise within me. "Jace," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I know," he said, his grip tightening. "But I can't let you go. I need you."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I looked into his eyes, seeing the storm of emotions swirling there, and felt my own resolve crumble. 

"I need you too," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Without another word, he pulled me into a fierce, possessive kiss. The anger and frustration of the evening spilled over, turning into a desperate, consuming need. His hands roamed over my body, rough and demanding, and I responded in kind, matching his intensity.

As his lips traced the curve of my neck, a tear slipped down my cheek, lost in the frenzy of our passion. 

I wanted to hold onto him, to lose myself in his touch, but a part of me was screaming to stop, to pull away before I lost everything I had left.

We moved towards the bed in a blur of motion. His touch was both comforting and maddening, a reminder of the love that bound us and the pain that came with it.

Jace practically ripped off my clothes, the fabric tearing in his hands as he exposed my skin to the cool air. There was a wild, almost primal urgency in his movements that I had never seen before, and it ignited something deep within me. 

His kisses were fierce and demanding, his hands exploring every inch of my body with a hunger that left me breathless.

He pushed me down onto the bed, his eyes dark with desire and anger. There was no tenderness, no hesitation, just a raw, powerful need that drove him forward. He entered me with a force that made me gasp, the intensity of his thrusts taking me by surprise. 

"Jace," I breathed my voice a mix of pain and pleasure. "Oh, gods, Jace."

"You're mine," he growled, his voice low and rough. "No one else gets to have you."

It was unlike anything we had ever shared before, a blend of fury and passion that left me trembling beneath him. His thrusts were brutal, each movement more intense than the last. I clung to him, my nails digging into his back, leaving marks on his skin.

The bed creaked heavily under us, each thrust sending it closer to the breaking point. My hands clawed at the sheets, trying to find some anchor in the storm of sensation. His pace was relentless, his thrusts deep and powerful, and I found myself revelling in the intensity of it all. 

It was as if we were trying to exorcise the demons that plagued us, using our bodies to find release from the torment of our lives.

"I can't take it," I gasped, my voice strained from the intensity.

"Yes, you can," he muttered, his breath hot against my ear. "You can take it. You're mine."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, the possessiveness in his tone sparking something wild within me. He grabbed my throat, his fingers tight but not painful, forcing me to look at him. His thumb slipped into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue, making me feel completely at his mercy.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough and authoritative. "I want to see you."

I obeyed, my eyes locking onto his, the intensity of his gaze making my pulse quicken even more. The tension within me built to a fever pitch, a fiery knot of pleasure that grew tighter with each passing second.

Without warning, Jace shifted his position, pulling out of me roughly. I gasped at the sudden emptiness before he guided me onto my hands and knees, the shift in position making my heart race even faster. 

He held my hair in a tight grip, pulling my head back slightly so I had no choice but to look at him over my shoulder.

The angle made each thrust feel even deeper, the intensity of his movements sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain through my body.

"Take it," he growled, his voice harsh and filled with a raw, primal edge. "You're mine, and you will take every bit of me."

I moaned, my voice muffled as I buried my face in the sheets. The sensation of him taking me from behind was overwhelming, his thrusts driving me to the brink of madness. My hands clawed at the sheets, trying to hold on as he continued to pound into me with a brutal intensity.

"Jace, please," I begged, my voice a desperate whisper. "I need you."

"Need me?" he growled, his pace never faltering. "You need me to claim you, to make sure everyone knows you're mine."

His words, combined with the force of his thrusts, pushed me to the edge. Each movement was a fierce assertion of dominance and desire, and I found myself lost in the chaos of it all. My body shook with each powerful thrust, my moans filling the room as the intensity built to an unbearable peak.

"I love you," I gasped, the words escaping from me in a desperate, trembling cry. "Even if it's destroying me."

"I love you too," Jace murmured, his voice rough but filled with a fierce tenderness. "And I'll keep you, no matter what."

I stared at him, my heart aching with a mix of love and dread. 

"Every time I look at you, I feel this unbearable weight on my chest. I love you so much, but it's like a poison, slowly consuming everything I once was. Every smile, every touch, is a reminder that I'm losing myself in you."

His eyes searched mine, the intensity of his gaze softening for just a moment. "But I can't let you go," he said, his grip tightening as if afraid I'd slip away. "I need you."

With a sudden, firm motion, Jace flipped me onto my back. I gasped in surprise, my body exposed and vulnerable. He hovered above me, his eyes intense with a mix of anger and desire. 

His hands were assertive as he began to trace my skin with his lips, leaving marks on my neck and chest.

"You're mine," he said, his voice a low growl as he pressed a hard kiss against my collarbone, sending a shiver through me.

His lips moved downward, exploring the curve of my breasts. His touch was rough, his hands squeezing and pinching, eliciting gasps from me.

"Jace, please," I moaned, my voice trembling with the combined intensity of his actions. "It's too much."

"Too much?" he snarled, his grip on my breasts tightening. "You can take it. You're strong enough."

He continued his actions, his mouth and hands marking and claiming me with an almost frantic urgency. His touch was brutal, each kiss and bite a declaration of his possession. 

The bed creaked violently beneath us, and I felt every jolt of his thrusts reverberate through my body.

The pleasure was overwhelming, a tangled mess of pain and ecstasy. I clung to him, my breathing ragged and uneven. The intensity of his actions drove me to the brink, and I could feel the tension within me reaching its peak.

As we reached the climax, the intensity of our connection reached a fever pitch. The room was filled with the sounds of our desperate, frantic union, the walls echoing with our cries and groans. 

We were lost in a storm of passion, our bodies entwined in a chaotic dance of need and desire.

Finally, as the waves of pleasure subsided, Jace collapsed beside me, his breathing heavy and laboured. He pulled me close, his grip tender yet still possessive as if trying to ground us both in the aftermath of our intense connection. 

The outside world felt distant and unreal, leaving only the two of us entwined.

In the silence that followed, the room felt colder, emptier. I traced the marks he left on my skin, wondering how much longer I could endure this... how much longer I could pretend that our love wasn’t tearing me apart from the inside.

"I'll never let you go," Jace murmured, his voice a tender promise against my ear. "We'll face everything together."

I nodded, my heart still racing, and clung to him with a mixture of desperation and relief. The raw intensity of our moment left me shaken, yet comforted by his presence.

As he held me close, whispering promises of never letting go, a shiver of dread settled in my bones. I knew, deep down, that this love was a ticking time bomb, and when it exploded, it would obliterate everything in its path, including us.

"I love you," I whispered, my voice trembling with a bittersweet edge. "I love you, but it's ruining my life."

Jace's expression shifted, a pained look crossing his face as he processed my confession. His eyes softened, reflecting the turmoil that mirrored my own.

"Being with you makes everything else fade away," I continued, my voice breaking. "But it also makes everything so much harder."

Jace searched my face with a level of tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of our earlier moments.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly. "Did I push you too far?"

I looked up at him, my eyes brimming with a mix of relief and lingering confusion. "I'm alright," I assured him, though my voice wavered.

Jace's brow furrowed as he gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch soothing. "I never wanted to hurt you. I need to know you're alright."

"I'm alright," I repeated, struggling to steady my voice. "Just... a little overwhelmed."

He sighed, his expression softening as he pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. "I apologise if I pushed you too hard."

The warmth of his embrace was a balm to my troubled thoughts, but the complexities of our love remained. Even as I held onto him, the echo of our conflicting reality lingered, a constant reminder of the dual nature of our bond.

Our love was both a sanctuary from the chaos and a source of pain. In a world rife with cruelty and turmoil, our connection was both a refuge and a curse.

"I love you," I said again, my voice breaking under the weight of my emotions. "I love you, and it's ruining my life."

A/n - If the title didn't give it away, yes, this one is indeed inspired by Taylor's song and I promise I've got some Jace fluff written too, some sweetness to balance out all this intense drama.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hiii!! I saw your requests were open & was wondering if you could do a hurt/comfort vi x f!reader (romantic but could be platonic I don’t mind). Reader could be from the undercity and have similar experiences w vi so they relate and understand each other on that level. Not rlly sure what the angst could be but there’s a lot of canon to work from (like maybe vi sees smth that reminds her of her time in prison? Or smth idk), and reader is there to like, comfort/ground her. Like overall vi has a shitty time but has someone in her corner to listen/comfort her and maybe give her a hug yk? Anyways tyyy!

Sure I can! Enjoy!

To Be Loved

Vi hadn’t seen you in so long, at least, that she can remember. The alcohol did that.

All she remembered now was the shame of you finding her in the cramped apartment, after seeing her brutal pit fight.

The blood coating her knuckles, the makeup and black hair dye. But under it all, it was still your Vi.

Your hands cradled her off the floor, and she couldn’t understand why, but the feeling of your hands on her skin once more, brought tears.

“Oh, Vi…”

“I’m- I’m so tired, (Name)…I can’t-“ Vi cried, snot rubbing onto your shirt as she sobbed and gripped onto it with all the strength she could.

“I couldn’t protect her- I let him down… I let everyone down.” Vi insisted. It was unspoken of the people she spoke of, their names were never said out loud but it was practically screaming.

You told the stories, shared the memories and the pain, but never said their names. It made it real. It seemed like it was barely hitting Vi just now…

That her life would never be the same. Powder wouldn’t come home after playing with Ekko, Claggor and Mylo wouldn’t be clambering around on the floor, and Vander would never call them for dinner in The Last Drop.

Ever again.

Her family was gone.

The realization made her ugly sob into your neck, the sound crackling throughout the room as you held the back of her head and rubbed her back as you both sat on the ground.

The ring was her way of punishing herself. To feel the pain in her mind she had caused Powder, caused Jinx and Vander and Mylo and Claggor, even Ekko.

“You didn’t fail them.” You insisted, shaking your head as you shushed her cries and holding her to you. She tried to rebuttal, shaking her head but you simply pulled back.

You cradled her face in your hands, the look on her face so similar to seven years ago.

You mustered up your best smile and shook your head as you wiped her tears and she stared and cried at the feeling.

“You were a kid, Vi. Nothing was your fault.” You whispered gently, pressing your forehead to hers. Your lashes almost tickled her cheeks, almost mixing with her tears as she sniffled.

“Vanders proud of you. Powder…she’s not dead. She’s still here…” You whispered softly, your hand faintly ghosting over her heart.

Even if Powder changed, no matter how much she rebutted her name and past, grew her hair and grew taller, she couldn’t rid herself of the prescrnse you and Vi had on her life. She was still Powder. Just different.

“I hurt her.” Vi stated, trying to avoid your gaze. You frowned, looking her over for a moment as you saw the shame. She never wanted to hurt Powder.

“You love her.” Was all you could offer, pressing a gentle kiss to your loves forehead as she closed her eyes.

Everything inside her hurt, everything was aching and she hated herself. She felt guilty for indulging in your comfort, in taking it.

But even if everything was falling apart, her home, you, was still standing.

Your soft hands cradling her, your lips ghosting over her cheeks, her nose, her lips, her forehead and brows and lashes…she couldn’t help but drown herself in it.

She held onto you. Gripping your shirt and fisting it between her fingers as she hid herself in the comfort you provided.

In your comfort, Vi knew she would be okay.

The steady beat of your heart just made it all the more real. The hands that cradled her made it all the more real.

And you sealed it with a kiss.

[whackk-kermitt]

Confessing Your Love

Genre: Headconons

Warnings: Cursing(Brok..)

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Kratos

“Hmm,” followed by a slow nod.

He wouldn't say anything immediately.

He will just kind of look at you, studying your eyes.

He doesn't want to take chances.

Man has trust issues!

Telling him you love him will make him so happy yet so scared.

You wouldn't be able to tell.

Eventually you'd hear, “I love you, as well.”

He'd immediately ask you to move your things to his home if you haven't already.

He loves you, so you need to stay close so he can protect and provide for you!

He'd start to find more excuses to touch you and you'd laugh telling him he doesn't need them.

Eventually, he will be comfortable enough to walk up to you just for an embrace or smooch.

Mimir

Before his head got..you know.. His first instinct you be to turn to you completely.

“Really, Las? An old man like me?” He'd laugh but he'd offer to do something romantic.

Smartest man alive, but he never saw that coming.

Either way he’d swear his loyalty and heart to you.

Anything you want, he's on it.

After his head…

He'd probably hesitate to return the sentiment, no matter how genuine it is.

“I- I can't offer you much, Las.” He’d frown.

He'd feel inadequate, and undeserving- he's just a head after all!

What could he give you in terms of love and affection?

After telling him his company is all you desire then he'd probably think you've gone mad.

But after a while of talking about it he'd smile and say it back.

You'd carry his head on your belt during travels throughout the realms after.

Giving him kisses on his cheeks and forehead.

It's simple and innocent devotion and its loves that he's enough for you.

Atreus

Telling Arteus you've got a crush on him would probably make him completely freeze and go red.

I'm talking his fathers tattoo red!

Lots of stuttering and blushing while you guys talked about it.

He wouldn't really know what to do or say afterwards.

But no doubt he'd eventually be able to get it out that he likes you too.

He's never done any of this before, so he'd probably go to Mimir or Freya for advice.

If and when you ever hold his hand or hug him his palms get sweaty and he gets nervous.

But he's happy to oblige!

He thinks your so cute.

Talks to his dad about it.

He's shy, but after a while of spending more time hanging out with you he’d get cocky and try to show off and impress you more.

Half of the time he’ll be trying so hard he just ends up looking silly or just straight up stupid.

But you laugh it off and tell him how cute and sweet he is.

He's whipped.

Freya

No matter how comfortable she is around you, no matter how safe you make her feel, she'll hesitate.

As soon as you tell her you're in love with her, she'll need room away from you.

In every relationship so far, she's been to much or not enough.

The woman is hurt and healing.

She's scared its not the truth, like with Odin.

Or if it is, and you truly love her, then what if she messes it up?

What is her love is to much for you and you leave her?

Or what if, out of fear of being too much, she’s not enough- and you leave her? 

Freya can't take another heartbreak.

But after seeing how understanding you are of her past, and reassuring her worries that you're not going anywhere she's willing to listen.

You'd tell her that it doesn't matter if she loves you the same way, or another, as long as your with her its enough for you.

And hearing that would be enough for her.

You'd have to take things slowand steady with her.

But she is so very much in love with you.

She will make sure you both set boundaries to keep her from going to far and pushing you away.

She doesn't wanna lose you too.

Brok

“Well it's about fucking time!”

He's so cool and sure of himself on the outside, so he'll play it off like he know you loved him.

But really he's surprised.

He's not the most romantic man, but he'll give it an honest try for your sake.

He’ll get flowers and sweets for his lady.

Most definitely start bringing about you to everyone he meets every chance he gets.

He's very standoffish when it comes to affection.

So any time you give it to him he'll stutter just slightly and awkwardly reciprocate it while he gets used to someone being infatuated with him.

Very defensive and protective is anyone makes comments about you two.

“Mind your business, you unfuckable drauger-looking bastard!” 

Very confident on the outside, very unsure on the inside.

He's worried he's not doing it right but all he needs is you smiling at him the way you do and he'll be just fine. 

Sindri

Congratulations, you broke him.

His initial reaction is giving O.O

Wide eyes, red cheeks, mouth open.

He'd stutter for a response and get frustrated with himself for losing his voice for a moment.

Give him some time and words will just start spilling out.

He loves you, that was no secret to anyone!

He’ll tell you all about it when the air come back into his lungs.

He’ll go on and on about how pretty you are, and amazing, and how much he likes your smile.

Lots of nervous chuckles and shy grins from this man.

He hates when people touch him, sorry to say you're no exception.

But you figured you wouldnt be; at least for now.

However he is willing to hook his pink finger to yours every now and then as a very small step in the direction of hugging you.

Having you love him really makes him frustrated with his thing with germs and dirt.

He’s never had a problem with it before.

But now he wants to hold you and be held by you and the thought of it makes him shiver in disgust.

It's a fear he's willing to conquer if it means one day he'll get to see the smile on your face when he holds you with out gagging for the first time.

You know better then to take offense; it's nothing personal.

He gags at everyone. 

Tyr

He didn't see it coming.

But he had hoped..

It was a happy surprise when you blurted it out while spending time with him while reading.

He gave you a soft smile after the shock settled and returned the sentiment .

Not much had to be said between you two after that.

The only thing that really changed in the relationship were beginning to sit closer together and a lot more gentle touches.

He'd rest against you while you braid his hair, and he'll braid yours.

His eyes have always laid on you softly, but there's something more in them when he looks at you now.

Contentment.

He’s happy to share any moment a with you that he can. 

Heimdal

He knew.

He knew you loved him for a while.

He knew you wanted to say it.

The cooky little shit just waited and waited until you did.

He wanted to hear it.

But when you approached him and said you loved him it felt different then he imagined it would.

He knew you, and he saw in your head that you truly meant it.

He knew you loved the good, the bad, and the ugly in him.

He knew that unlike the other people who have claimed to love him, you didn't think ‘i can change him.’

He saw the unsure insecurities in your head and body language that he wouldn't feel the same way.

After all, he reads minds, and he knew what you felt all this time and never addressed it so clearly he wasn't interested, right?

To be honest, up until that point he hadn't really considered your feelings despite knowing them.

You had told him you loved him, but you had only said it so he would tell you what you believed he would- that he doesn't care.

You had only said it so he could break your heart, and you could get closure, and hopefully move on.

It twisted his gut that you were walking into this fully believing you would be turned away.

He saw in your head that you had already been crying over it.

But that's not what he wanted, so instead being sarcastic or rude like he would be with literally anyone else he smiled at you.

“I know.” He said softly.

Thor

“Good for you.”

He's not really interested.

Plus he's still married.

So piss off.

Not proof read.

•Kermitts Masterlist•