#low motivation SUCKS I hate it

[stereos-dumb-page]

can you draw the cantaloupe. i want more of him NOW

I'M SO SORRY TO THE PERSON WHO REQUESTED THIS, low motivation hit me like a brick and now I only got a tiny bit of motivation so please take an eepy old fruit as an apology.

[justwannabeskinnii]

motivation to lose weight

skinny girls always look good in pics

wont have to suck in

prettier

less insecure

fit into old clothes

wont have to buy new clothes

fit into brandy better

bf can throw me around

not be the biggest in my friend group

when i eat ppl think its cute and not fat

no chafing

ppl turning their heads to look at me

hearing "you lost so much"

proving everyone wrong

being skinnier then girls i hate

thin hands

to be able to say " i did it"

to look cute and not fat in baggy clothes

not being embrassed of my weight

excited to clothes shop

skin tight tops

LOW WAISTED JEANS

to hear "how did u do it"

my belly button peircing will look cuter

trophy wife/ rich guys like skinny girls

sit on someones shoulders

the cute insta pics

lower BMI

thigh gap

not have to worry about my arms/legs doubling in size when i sit/press my arms to my body

be able to wear my skinny friends clothes

before and after pics

nice ass

tighter body

run without everything jiggling

CROP TOPS

to look cute in workout sets

to see my hourglass waist

skinny face

how i look in certain angles

fat rolls showing when i sit down

ppl will believe im actually struggling and no one will think im a wannarexic

bf clothes to be oversized on me

collar bones

skinny thighs

less sweaty

to look slutty

to wear whatever i want

[kamoism]

AMERICAN PSYCHO.

pairing: sukuna x black fem!yn

synopsis: you know that one scene from american psycho where patrick looks at himself in the mirror while he’s fucking? yeah, well sukuna does that too.

word count: -1k

author’s note: quick little drabble of this yummy man before i change my profile LMFAO

content warning: true form!sukuna, degradation, back shots, breath play, he’s a cocky little shit lol, cervix kissing, probably some typos

as much as you loved fucking sukuna, you hated it too. you hated how good he made you feel, the kinds of noises he pulled out of you with little to no effort, and how wet he made you from doing barely anything. you only hated it because of how cocky he was. it didn’t phase you anymore though, already used to his degrading words and how he’d tease you for being “a pathetic cockdrunk whore.” every time he slapped his tip on your leaking cunt.

it was the usual scene going on, your face smashed into a pillow as one of his 4 arms kept your head there as he was digging you out from the back. the other 2 arms were gripping your waist with a force that was bound to leave bruises the next day, dragging you back relentlessly on his monster cock each time you tried to run away. “stop fuckin’ runnin’ from me.” sukuna’s threat was low and gravelly in your ear, a mean scoff coming from his throat as you only cried out in response. “what’d you say? can’t even use your words, dummy.”

your hands reached back towards him, long nails scratching at his mouth-stomach that only smile at you sadistically while you tried your best to garble out a snappy insult, yet nothing came out. sukuna already had an insult ready for you at the tip of his tongue, setting his back straight as he moved from your ear, but he caught sight of him in the mirror next to him.

sukuna looked good. his dual toned hair was all over the place, sweat was running down his neck and back, and his muscles were flexing with every subtle move he made. you felt the pressure from your head ease up, gasping out in a loud squeal at how his tip bullied your cervix like he fucking hated you. only 2 of his hands remained on you, his sharp nails threatening to dig into your soft flesh the faster he thrusted inside your gummy walls.

this was unusual— no, this was peculiar for him to do. sukuna almost always kept your head in the pillow because he liked muffling your cries and moans as it gave him more motivation to break your pussy in. you turned in curiosity, bonnet luckily still on as your face of pleasure turned into a scowl.

“are you — uhn! — fucking kidding me?!”

and there he was. ryomen sukuna, the king of curses, checking himself as he flexed effortlessly with his upper 2 arms. your complaints fell deaf to his ears, not one of his 4 eyes sparing you a glance as he focused on himself in the mirror and kept up his brutal pace on your pussy. he had the audacity to bite his lip with a smirk, admiring how he effortlessly made your ass clap against his lower waist. your cream was building up on his pubic hair and around his base, creating strings that connected his to your ass each time he slid out your hole that kept trying to suck him right back in.

“you arrogant motherfuc- mm!” your head was suddenly pushed back in the pillow with one of his hands, hearing a subtle teeth suck come from the curse above you as he came to hard stop only to slam himself back into you.

“y’talk so fuckin’ much, shut up.”

© all rights reserved to @kamoism. do not plagiarize, translate, re-upload on another platform, or use AI on my work. likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[jaimeslanisters]

the pawn in every lover's game (part fifteen)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King’s Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 10k notes: spite is genuinely the greatest motivator. i had plans to make this longer but i genuinely felt i would die if i didn't post right now so! enjoy (:

The dance ends all too soon. You wish it had lasted longer. You wish it had never started to begin with. You hate every passing second and you can’t pull yourself away. There’s an ache, deep in your chest, as you watch Aegon and Helaena finish. There’s a final note that the bards play, one final mournful strum of the harp, and the two of them unfurl from one another, the space growing between the two of them as they pull away. At the last moment, Aegon captures Helaena’s hand, bowing his head as he brings it to his lips. Helaena closes her eyes, her free hand coming up to clutch at her chest, and, in the multicolor glow of the candles, it looks like a hazy memory, like something you’ve dreamed of and have only just remembered.

It looks like a song.

Next to you, Floris sucks in air sharply, completely enraptured by the show in front of her, and you’re struck with the memory of your cousins whispering and giggling about their dance during the opening feast. The Targaryens are beautiful - you know this as surely as you know that you are a Lannister with all that that entails - but their allure goes beyond that. It’s intoxicating. It’s overwhelming.

There’s almost a sense of relief in knowing that you aren’t the only one to be pulled in by them.

Aegon releases Helaena from his hold and, together, the two of them walk back to the royal table, a careful space between the two of them. As they pass, all the nobles rise to their feet and you join them, your hand shooting out to support Floris as she stumbles slightly on her way up. She tilts into you, seemingly content with you supporting her weight, but you don’t pay her any mind, your gaze locked onto the newlyweds.

Aegon looks straight ahead, fixated, but Helaena spares you a glance and she smiles, her whole visage melting into something softer and sweeter. You smile back even though it feels wrong on your face, your smile stretched out too thin, but she doesn’t begrudge you for it. You wish she would. You wish she would push back at you for your inability to swallow this pain easily because that would mean that she was pushing back on something. You could bear that burden - you could bear anything for her - but she would never. She doesn’t need it regardless. You need it. You crave her anger at you like you crave absolution.

The two of them walk together to the dais at the front and, once they reach the shadow of the Iron Throne, they turn to each other. Aegon bows low at the waist while Helaena curtseys, nearly brushing the stone floor with her knees, officially signaling the end of the first dance and opening the floor for everyone else. A cheer breaks from the waiting nobles and, when the pair of them rise again, the waiting crowd breaks and moves to a dance floor, a moving wave that’s unstoppable. At your side, the silent Baela breaks away from you, pushing through the crowd toward where you last saw one of her Valeryon cousins. A part of you wants to follow behind her, see if you can’t coax her into speaking again, but the rest of you just wants to find Helaena and Aemond.

You turn to look up at the dais, in time to see Aemond rise from his seat, his eyes locked on you and you heave a sigh of relief as he nods when he notices his gaze, motioning for you to stay still so he can come find you.

Floris teeters closer to you, reaching up on her tiptoes to speak in your ear, stumbling closer by mistake so that her lips brush your earlobe in a move that has you shivering. She wobbles dangerously and your arm shoots out to gently grab her around the waist so she has some semblance of support. You belatedly realize that this is the closest you’ve ever been with someone who wasn’t a member of your family or Helaena and Aemond. “Is your prince coming to dance?” She aims to whisper but instead she practically yells in your ear, oblivious to your open wince.

You pull away from her, smiling in spite of your discomfort. “Are your sisters nearby?” You ask in lieu of responding, hoping that you could dump her on one of the other Four Storms and make her someone else’s problem. You’d feel bad about pushing her away except it’s hard to even conjure up the desire to. You want to spend the night in the company of Aemond and Helaena, not minding a girl you’ve just met - a girl who is seemingly completely uninterested in detaching herself from you.

She straightens up, craning her neck to try and scan the audience. She suddenly points in excitement, shouting “Maris!” in absolute glee, and you follow her pointing finger only to teeter back in shock.

Maris Baratheon is a tall, skinny girl with pale skin and a sea of freckles across her face. Her pitch-black hair is pulled tight against her scalp and, where Floris is soft and sweet, she is severe and sharp. She looks like a storm personified, thunderous and bold, a Baratheon through and through.

And she’s standing right in front of you, frowning at her youngest sister wagging her finger just in front of her nose.

“My lady,” you rush out, your curtsey coming out more like a short bob with the way that Floris leans her entire weight on you. “My apologies for not noticing you. I wa-”

“Have you no shame?” Maris hisses, plainly ignoring you in favor of narrowing her stormy blue eyes at her younger sister. “Mother didn’t let you come just for you to embarrass yourself in front of the royal family.”

Floris frowns tempestuously and it slowly dawns on you that, in spite of appearances, she may be just as stormy as her sisters. “I don’t see the princes or the princesses around.”

“Aye and what is she?” Maris shoots back and you startle to realize that she’s turned her dark gaze on you. You open your mouth to insist that you are no princess or anything resembling royalty but the elder Baratheon girl doesn’t even offer you the chance to. “You should have minded yourself. Controlled yourself.”

Floris turns her nose up, rolling her eyes. “Lady Lannister wasn’t bothered.”

Maris huffs. “You idiot. You essentially held her hostage. She couldn’t escape you!”

“Maybe it’s hard for you but I can manage to befriend people without offending them at every step!”

“This isn’t about me! This is about yo-”

“Oh is it? Are you s-”

“Yes! For Gods’ sake, you always d-”

The two Baratheons start screeching at each other, their words overlapping until you’re sure they’re speaking as one, leaning closer and closer in until you’re trapped between the two of them, pressed tight in the middle, and you start to wonder if storm is too small of a word to describe the pair of them. They’re hissing and vicious and you know they must be seconds away from throwing punches and trying to land blows and you start to pray that you’ll be able to slip away in the chaos when an all too familiar voice cuts through the din.

“If I could,” Aemond starts, hands tucked behind his back as he stares down at the trio of you with barely concealed amusement. “I’d like to steal away Lady Lannister if she’s available.”

There’s a beat of silence where you try to express your gratitude with your eyes and Floris begins making a sound like a captured mouse before Maris snorts, distinctly unladylike even as she bows her head in greeting. “I’m surprised you’re asking, my prince. I doubt you offered Victor Florent the same choice.”

You laugh, startled and too caught off guard to keep it in, while Floris’s squeaks take a particularly high pitch. Aemond’s smile turns sharp and he hums noncommittally, tilting his head as he peers down at Maris Baratheon. To her credit, the lady doesn’t quail or shrink away, merely turning her nose up.

“This is why Mother wants to send her to the Silent Sisters,” Floris hisses to you, her voice, again, far too loud to be counted as a whisper.

At that, Maris visibly flinches and her face flashes with annoyance - whether it’s at herself, her mother, or Floris you’re not sure - but she backs down, bowing her head once more. It’s unfitting for her, you think. Self-pity doesn’t suit her - it sits wrong on her features - and you feel a quick flash of pity. The Silent Sisters was a harsh punishment - only the Night’s Watch could compare and even then, at least those men were permitted to talk and had more than enough freedom to break their other vows up in the frigid North, far from even the Starks’ eyes.

You glance at Aemond and, when he notices your watchful gaze, he flicks his eyes upward in exasperation before fixing his stare back on Maris. “The Lady Lannister was offered no choice when Victor Florent presented her with his crown. I simply returned the favor.”

Maris doesn’t respond, simply nodding her head in agreement, her expression the same smooth mask, but Floris lets out a soft ‘oh!’, sounding as delighted as if Aemond had just personally handed her a bouquet of the prettiest flowers. You flick your gaze up towards her and she’s gazing at him, starry-eyed and flushed, and you feel a sharp lance of annoyance shoot through you.

Has she forgotten you’re the one thing keeping her standing?

“Well,” you trill as pleasantly as you can, straightening up and tightening your hold on her waist to hoist her up with you. She moves readily enough, making no complaint when you squeeze her, and you find with no small degree of displeasure that she’s taller than you, tall enough that she’s level with Aemond’s eye. “I really must accompany the prince. I-”

“Oh,” Floris chirps, grinning widely when you look up at her. “I’m sure you’re eagerly awaiting the first dance!”

You’re most definitely not. Aemond has not danced since before Driftmark, back when he and Aegon had been your and Helaena’s partners in your dancing lessons. He’d never been fond of it though he had never complained - not like Aegon who seemingly could not whine enough about being forced into lessons even if he had enjoyed more than Helaena and nearly more than you. You’re not planning on telling the Baratheon girls that but, before you get the chance to come up with some excuse for not joining in on the imminent first dance, Aemond steps forward, grabbing hold of your elbow and gently pulling you from Floris’s grasp. Maris moves up to steady her, swearing at her sister as she does, utterly immune to the way Floris flops on her affectionately like a dog cuddling up to its master.

“The first dance is starting soon,” Aemond says in lieu of explaining and you hide a smile as you tuck his hand close to you, curling your arm around his.

Maris hums, clearly disinterested in your reasons for leaving and also clearly pinching her sister with one of her hands hidden from view if the way Floris twists away from her is any indicator. “I thank you for watching my wayward sister, my lady.”

You nod, flashing her a pleasant smile. “It was no problem.” It had been. “It was a pleasure to meet your sister.” It hadn’t been. Not towards the end, at least. Not with the annoyance and jealousy coiling in your chest like a snake preparing to strike out and bite.

Floris leans out of her sister’s grasp, beaming up at you and Aemond. She hasn’t even approached sobering up - the longer she’s been without her drink, the more her last drink seems to sink into her. “I hope to speak to you soon, Lady Lannister. It’s been so lovely speaking with you,” she grins toothily, looking more girly than ever, and you force a smile, bowing your head in gratitude.

She turns her pretty smile on Aemond, her flushed cheeks turning even more pink to your watching eyes. “Prince Aemond,” she breathes out, her big gray eyes wide. She looks starstruck and sweet, a perfect gentle lady. “If you’re not too tired after your dance… No one has claimed any dances from me…” Her hand reaches up, hesitantly and slowly, as if she’s going to reach over and grab his sleeve and your vision flashes red.

You sharply exhale, all eyes snapping to you. “My lady,” you say, letting concern seep into your voice. “Would you be alright on the dance floor? I would hate for your sister to have to hold you up during a dance with the prince.”

Floris blinks at you, her cheeks burning an even brighter red.

Aemond hums next to you and you can feel the rumble of his chest against your arm, his amusement nearly radiating off of him.

You reach out to her, keeping your arm looped around Aemond’s but using your free hand to brush her own arm that’s wrapped around her sister’s. “Perhaps some water would suit you well, my lady, rather than a dance.”

Maris laughs, the sound more like a bark than anything, and she eyes you, defensiveness sharpening her gaze. “You’re rather bold in your assessment, my lady.”

You smile, squeezing Floris’s bicep before letting go. “If I am in the presence of storms, I must be bold to weather it. It’s just friendly advice, Lady Maris. I’d hate for your sister to shame herself.” More than she already has, at least.

The elder Baratheon girl gives you a tight smile. She knows you’re right and that she can’t refute it. Be it Storm’s End or King’s Landing, the rules are all the same. Ladies do not ask for dances from Targaryen princes. Ladies do not cling to strangers they’ve just met, let alone hang on them through a royal feast. Ladies do not drink themselves to the point of being unable to stand unassisted.

A harsher person would point this out in front of a bigger crowd than just her sister. A cruel person would spread it. You’re being helpful. You’re being generous.

Even Floris’s wounded deer performance can’t sway you to more than mild pity.

You glance over your shoulder, eyes scanning the crowd until you find your target. Your cousin, predictably, is surrounded by fawning ladies and laughing lords, his grin wide and endlessly charming. “Once you’ve found your legs, I’ll see if I can’t persuade my cousin, Ser Tygett, to come and offer you your first dance. He would be honored to be dancing on the arm of a beautiful maiden such as yourself.” You smile at her as gently as possible.

“He won the archery event,” Floris says after a moment, her voice soft. She doesn’t look at you, eyes glued to her feet. She wobbles damningly and Maris makes an annoyed noise. “I-I… You’re right, my lady. Thank you for… for saving me from embarrassment.”

You nod. “Of course. The capital can be hazardous for young ladies unused to such a large court. I only aim to help you, Lady Floris.”

Floris nods again and Maris scoffs lightly. Your eyes snap to her and you half expect her to be glaring at you. You’ve embarrassed her sister - in front of royalty nonetheless. You’d be fuming if anyone had mocked your sisters in front of you like you had her. But she’s not looking at you at all.

“Seems I’ll have company with me when mother ships me off to the Silent Sisters,” Maris says, not even bothering to drop her voice to a whisper as she stares down at her sister. Floris flinches and looks up, her gray eyes blazing, and you know you’re seconds away from witnessing another row.

Aemond, once again, saves you from that particular indignity. “Enjoy the feast, my ladies.”

He pulls you away and you give them a final smile, one that you’re sure they won’t see - not with the way they’re glaring at each other.

Aemond leads you around the edges of the floor, carefully skirting the groups of noblemen cloistered together, all of them eagerly gossiping and debating each other about the merits of the ladies. Most of the floor is already occupied by couples standing across from each other in two neat rows, ladies separated from the lords, all in preparation for the first dance. Aemond stops just short of entering the actual floor and he looks down at you, a question plain on his face.

“First the tourney and now dancing,” you muse out loud, smiling when he looks skyward. “Please don’t tell me you’re about to ask Ser Criston to knight you as well. I’m not sure I’d be prepared for your family’s reaction.”

Aemond hums in agreement. “I had planned to have this first dance with you, my lady, but it is a mixer dance. I’m not sure I can guarantee the safety of any partners I’d have after you.”

You sniff. “I’m perfectly civil. Your partners would remain untouched.”

He laughs out loud, quick and sharp, and you huff. “I must admit, I’m rather tempted to walk right back and ask Lady Floris for a dance if only to see how you’d tear into her.”

“I’m afraid Floris Baratheon would not be my only victim if you did that,” you say, frowning up at him.

His eye flashes, a distinct hunger sneaking into his features. “Would you sink your teeth into me, my lady? Would you dig your nails in and tear me apart?”

You want to, consequences damned. You imagine biting him, scratching him, burrowing as deep into him as he had into you. You want it all. You want to possess him completely. You are his and he is yours. He had torn his mangled scar up and put your sapphire in it, had filled it with you. What else would he let you take? What else would he let you claim?

You wonder how people can bear this desire - surely you’re not the only one. It’s more than carnal. It’s all-consuming. It’s absolution. It creeps around constantly, haunting every thought. Surely you can’t be the only one who has ever felt this complete burning.

“Perhaps I will, my prince,” you murmur, meeting his eye, wishing he didn’t have the eyepatch on so you could see him completely. “I may not be a dragon but a lion still has claws.”

He smiles, a sharp edge to his expression. He’s hungry. He’s starving. “I’ve known that truth about you since I first met you. Only being a Targaryen saved me from your wrath when you spilled that water over yourself.

The memory flashes in your mind and you think you can almost feel the phantom pain of the needle going through your finger, feel the cool water soaking the front of your gown. You had snarled at him. Briefly but it had been there. The moment had passed so fast that even you had barely registered it. Anyone else would have let the moment pass, counted it as a quick flash of emotion that meant nothing else.

Not Aemond.

He had seen the truth of it. Try as you might, pretend all you will, but there’s no hiding the truth of it - you’re a Lannister. You’re a Lannister to your bones with all the ambition, all the cunning, all the greed that it entails. You’re a lady, yes. Gods know that you’ve dedicated yourself to your etiquettes, to your embroidery and your songs. You did it not just because you had to but because you wanted to. You were a lady but it did not mean that that blunted your edges. It did not make you soft or gentle.

You had told him that truth in his bedroom in Driftmart, in a whispered promise over a gift, but he had already known. He had known from the very first moment he had seen you.

A slow grin spreads on your face. “It saved you the initial moment,” you reply. “Then it was because it was you. Do you remember when you snapped at me after the Dragonpit? I asked you a silly question about the Baratheons and you had just come back from the Dragonpit, from Prince Aegon and the Str… and your nephews.”

Not even your treasonous near mishap stops the downward curling of Aemond’s mouth. “I wasn’t at my… best after the Dragonpit in those days.”

You laugh, more cheery about it now than you had been back then. “I can recall, my prince. You called me a nosy bitch. I wanted to strike you across the face for it. I nearly did too.”

“I apologized,” Aemond grouses, sounding like a little boy again in his annoyance and embarrassment. It’s a far cry from the starved man he had just been and you laugh for the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“I know,” you reply, smiling. “That’s what I was trying to say; I was prepared to apologize to you. Not because you were a Targaryen but because you were Aemond. I didn’t care that you were a prince in that moment. I just cared that you were my friend and I didn’t want to hurt you like you had me.”

Aemond stays silent for a moment, studying you closely. His eye trails across your face, searching deep into you. He’s looking for any sign of deception, any tiny crack in your honesty, but he won’t find it. Not with you. Not with him.

Eventually, he sighs, looking away. “I was terrified I had pushed you away that day,” he murmurs, softly as if he doesn’t mean for you to hear. “I was convinced you were about to demand your return to Casterly Rock and it would have been all my fault. Helaena would hate me for losing her her closest companion. My mother would skin me for losing Lannister support.”

“Were alliances the only thing that kept you in check?” You ask, tilting your head at him, exaggerating a confused expression.

He scoffs lightly, more out of exasperation than annoyance. “No. I didn’t care that you were a lady of House Lannister in that moment. I cared that you were you. My… My friend.”

Distantly, you register the first dance beginning and a small part of you regrets that the two of you hadn’t gotten to join, even if it had meant that you would have had to watch him with other ladies of the court. The rest of you, however, is focused on Aemond, on his words.

You laugh after a second, softly. “So we both spent that night thinking the same thing. Capable of hurting most everyone except each other.”

Aemond hums. “You were the first person I had ever apologized to - outside of the apologies my mother would drag out of me whenever my brothers and I fought or on the rare occasions Helaena and I would argue. The only person I ever apologized to because I wanted to.”

“Don’t worry, it came out very naturally. Not practiced or rehearsed at all,” you reply, grinning when he shoots you a droll look, only the tiniest of movements at the corner of his mouth letting you know he’s amused by your teasing. “Come. I’m sure Floris is beyond herself now that she’s realized we didn’t leave her to go dance the first dance. Let’s find Helaena before she can come to demand her turn.”

“You’ll have to find your cousin as well,” he reminds, following easily enough when you tug on his arm to lead him up to the raised dais where his sister stands, pressed up arm to arm with Aegon, as their mother speaks to the pair of them. “I may have escaped a turn with that particular storm but you did sacrifice Ser Tygett in my place.”

You wince. “He’s not going to want her to be his first dance in case she thinks this is a show of his interest. I’ll have to dance with him for that particular favor,” you say, slightly wishing you hadn’t made that promise. You enjoy dancing but you find you have little interest in it if your partner isn’t the man you’re leading through the crowd right now.

He glances down at you. “I’d ask to have your first dance then, my lady, before you ask him.”

A surprised smile breaks through as you look up at him. “You meant it then? You do mean to dance tonight?”

He nods, looking as serious as he had when he entered the tourney grounds, as if he hasn’t spent this week turning all the expectations you had of him on his head. “Perhaps not a mixer dance so we can ensure that every lady wakes up in the capital tomorrow with their hands still attached but I do intend to have your first dance if you mean to take a turn with other partners.”

“Other partners?” You ask, blinking, realizing belatedly that dancing with him would open you up to dancing requests from men who weren’t him. “So the ladies of King’s Landing can keep their hands but the lords will get to have breakfast with Victor Florent tomorrow?”

He snorts softly. “More that the men of King’s Landing are at least aware of what could happen and will endeavor to make sure the same does not happen to them. I’m afraid the ladies are, as of now at least, ignorant of the true danger.”

“The true danger?” You ask, laughingly, as the two of you reach the foot of the throne, right before the steps of the dais. “I can’t swing a sword, my prince, nor do I have a dragon to send after my enemies.”

“Don’t you?” He tilts his head, smiling when your cheeks flare with heat, as you join the small circle of his family.

Helaena notices you first, always attuned to you, and she smiles at you brightly when she sees that you’re still arm-in-arm with Aemond. Aegon, predictably, already has a goblet of wine in his hand and, judging from the way that he’s downing it as quickly as possible, deaf to his mother’s scolding, he’s not planning on leaving this wedding feast close to anything resembling sobriety.

“I’ve done my part Mother,” Aegon grumbles, his lips stained a deep red from his drink. “You can’t ask for more from me. Not tonight.”

Alicent sighs, wringing her hands together. She seems blind to you, completely oblivious to your presence. She’s focused on Aegon for now. “I just ask you don’t shame yourself. Please just control your habits for this feast at least.”

“I’ve already done what you asked,” he grumbles before he spots you. His eyes brighten and he gets that all too familiar grin on his face, the one that promises trouble. “Here’s your true crowning achievement in your matchmaking skills. Perhaps you should concern yourself about Aemond’s marriage bed instead of mine.”

You don’t react, simply meeting his gaze steadily, but Aemond tenses next to you.

“Enough,” Aemond rumbles and Aegon barks out a laugh.

“Enough? Enough?” He hisses. “It isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough for Mother.”

“Aegon,” Alicent hisses, her eyes flashing with an anger you’re unused to seeing on the Queen. It makes her look so much younger. A sister arguing with her brother than a mother of four. “Finish your drink then. Drink your heart out. Do as you always have for tonight then. But you will do what you must tomorrow. For the rest of your life, you will do your duty.”

“And what is that Mother?” Aegon says, his voice soft.

She looks at him, disappointment warring with grief on her face. “What is necessary, Aegon.”

There is a moment suspended, where they stare at each other, blind to the rest of the room. The music fades, the chatter of the room ceases. All that matters is the two of them.

You think Alicent wants to say more. You think Aegon wants to fight. They’re both hurting for it. They both want to make the other bend to their will, make the other understand, but there’s an insurmountable chasm separating the two of them. Nothing could bridge it - not unless one of them caves to the other and that could never happen. You think neither of them would even want it.

Alicent breaks first, sighing as she looks down at her hands, her fingers clasped tightly, her thumb digging into the cuticle of her other thumb. “Enjoy the feast. All of you.” Her voice fades slightly, cracking on the final word.

You bow your head, murmuring your thanks, but your voice is the only one that answers. When you straighten up, Helaena is looking down at the floor, looking lost in her own mind, while Aemond watches his mother. She gives him a wan smile before she brushes past, her perfumed scent lingering in the air as she moves into the crowd, melting into it.

There’s silence. Even in the loud, busy room, there’s silence in the shadow of the Iron Throne.

Then Aegon scoffs. “Of course. Of course.”

He sounds angry and you look up, your hackles rising as you want to snap back in defense of Alicent.

But he has tears in his eyes. He’s angry. He’s spitting. If you spoke, he’d find a target for his rage, someone to pin all of this anger and rage on. He’d say unspeakably cruel things.

But he has tears in his eyes.

Your fury dies in your throat.

It feels pointless.

He doesn’t linger. He leaves quickly, pushing through the crowd, the crowd parting around like a ship through water. All of you watch him go, the air thick with unspoken grief.

Helaena breaks the quiet first. “The broken emerald ring,” she murmurs. “The ruby shattered.”

You look over at her but she’s already shaking her head, knocking her head clear of the words she had just said. She meets your gaze and smiles. “The feast went well.”

You pause for a moment, registering her words, before nodding, trying your best to smile. “Your announcement went perfectly. I’m sure there’s already smallfolk singing your praises outside the keep.”

She makes a face and your smile turns more genuine. “I mean it Helaena.” You slip from Aemond’s grasp to get closer to her, wishing that you could reach out to her to pull her close. “How are you feeling?”

Helaena doesn’t say anything for a while, looking down at her fidgeting hands before looking up and meeting your eyes. She doesn’t smile but she nods her head. “I feel the same. Things have changed but… Not everything has.”

You nod. “You’ll remain here at least. With your brothers and your mother.”

“With you too,” She reminds, a smile finally flickering on her face.

You nod again, stronger, confident. “With me too.”

She gives you a final fond look before she turns her attention to Aemond. She looks at him, her eyes openly roving over his face and body. She’s looking for something, you think, but you don’t know what. You know Helaena as well as you know yourself. She’s so tied up into your own sense of self that you don’t think that, if you ever felt even the slightest desire to, you could ever cut her away from you. Her roots are deep in you, curling tight around your heart and soul.

But her mind can be as secretive as her prophecies.

“The iron crown,” Helaena says as she looks at her brother, her eyes bright. “The throneless king.”

Aemond doesn’t say anything but when you look over at him, he’s tilted his head up, gazing down at his sister with satisfaction glowing in his eyes.

He covets the crown. How could he not? He could have listened to his father and gone to Dragonstone to try for one of Syrax’s hatchlings or taken one of her eggs. Instead, he had claimed the largest dragon in the world - the Queen of All Dragons. He had lost his eye for that prize, had forever damaged his standing in the view of his father. His ambition knew no bounds and could not be satisfied in remaining as only a second son. Only his love for his family, the loyalty to his brother, kept his fanged desire caged behind his teeth. But he couldn’t keep it down. Not forever. Not in moments like this. It would always bubble to the surface, always threaten to break free.

You watch him, tracing the proud jut of his chin, the tilt of his head, and his overconfident pride.

He should wear a crown. He suits one - far more than Aegon.

You suit a crown. If you were born less than two centuries earlier, you would have had one. If Aemond had been born first, perhaps you would have still gotten one.

You quash the desire as soon as it rises up in you. If Aemond had been born first, he would have married Helaena more likely than not. Even now, if something were to happen to Aegon, the question of what to do with Helaena’s marriage would arise. If they were to have children, the matter would only complicate.

You were willing to do a lot of things. You were willing to bloody your hands, willing to burn bridges and move your family about like they were nothing more than pawns in this game you were playing. You were willing to do much.

But you’re not willing to sacrifice Helaena. You’re not willing to risk anything that would bring her harm.

There’s no use wishing and longing for a crown that just wasn’t your’s. That could never be yours. Perhaps if you played your cards right, a daughter of yours could one day grow to wear one on her head. Your grandson could one day sit the Iron Throne.

But not you. Not if there was Helaena and if you had it your way, you’d rip your plans to absolute shreds if you could ensure that she would remain safe through it all.

You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands. Even the thought feels treasonous, feels like a betrayal.

The soft call of your name pulls you out of your thoughts and when you look up, both Targaryen siblings are looking at you, their eyes both gleaming in the same way underneath the multicolored candlelight. An apology bubbles up in your throat and it’s only at the last second that you remember to apologize for what would make sense rather than what you really want to apologize for.

“Sorry,” you say, laughing slightly. “My mind left me. What were we discussing?”

Helaena is gracious even if Aemond narrows his eye. “I was asking if the two of you really mean to go dance or if you’re going to spend all night hiding with me.”

You frown slightly. “If you want me to hide with you.”

She snorts, so unladylike that you can’t help but to smile. “Absolutely not. If you hide with me, Mother will notice that you haven’t taken to the floor with Aemond which means she’ll notice I haven’t taken to the floor and she’ll make it her mission to make sure I dance with at least a few lords.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t force you,” you try to defend her, your resolve weaker than it would have been before - now that you’ve witnessed her demands of Aegon. Still, it seems impossible that she would ever ask the same out of Helaena. Helaena was her only daughter, her only girl. She was sweeter and softer with Helaena.

Helaena nods her head, his smile only flickering a little. “Still, I wouldn’t want to push my chances.”

You watch for a beat longer, wishing that there was something you could say or do to make it easier, but eventually, you heave a sigh and nod.

“You needn’t look like you’re marching to your doom,” Aemond murmurs under his breath as he comes to stand next to you, offering you his arm once more.

You ignore him for a moment, giving Helaena one final look, letting her know that if she needs you, she need only call and you’ll come to her side but she waves you off. You focus your attention back on Aemond only to see him eying you with a small smirk.

“I should refuse you the dance,” you warn. “You only asked so you could beat my cousin to my first dance.”

He laughs. “Would it please you if I declared my intentions again - In front of all? What prize would you like this time? Another crown?”

“Perhaps the head of another Florent,” you reply, catching sight of the familiar shade of blue on the other side of the crowd, only visible as the two of you still stand on the dais. Erren Florent stands alone once more, dark and moody around the edges of the room. His son and good daughter stand by his side, subdued but preoccupied in speaking to well wishers as they approach. He speaks to no one, choosing to only stare at the pair of you.

Aemond hums. “My mother was almost a Florent. She told me earlier this week that the Hightowers once debated betrothing Grandfather to a Florent lady. They eventually decided on Lady Alerie Redwyne and she was convinced that was why the Florents chose to insult us by their repeated badgering of you and their less than subtle animosity towards us.”

You blink, letting the information settle in, before peering up at him. “So in another life, Victor Florent may have been a cousin or something of sorts. You’d have been a kinslayer.”

“There’s one in every line,” he replies, his eye glinting knowingly. He’s referencing the library, your debate about King Brandon and the night’s king all those years ago, but your mind races to the carriage ride here with your father and uncle and what you had said about his own uncle and sister. There were kinslayers in every line.

What would one more be?

You smile at him, suddenly pleased by the turn of his conversation. “The next dance will be a waltz,” you remind him. “It’d be terribly bold if our first dance was a waltz.”

“Bolder than crowning you?” He asks and your smile only grows.

“No,” you agree. “Not bolder than that.”

He begins leading you down to the dance floor and, when the two of you arrive, the mixer dance ends. Some of the floor dissipates but the majority of the crowd stays, people finding their partners and a free space for the two of them to claim on the borders of the floor. Some people slink on, grabbing partners as they go, and you and Aemond do as well, heading for a spot close to the center.

People greet the two of you as you pass and you smile and greet them all back, playing the kindly lady to Aemond’s aloof prince. You spot your father in the crowd, Lady Tyrell on his arm. You can spot Ser Edwyn Sand, a charming smile locked on his face as he leads a blushing lady of House Crakehall onto the floor. You can even see Baela towards the back of the room, laughing with someone who can only be one of her Velaryon cousins.

The two of you slow to a stop, settling in a spot next to an unsmiling Stormlands lord and his quiet wife. You turn to face Aemond, him copying your movements, and two of you wait for the rest of the room for the bards to begin their songs.

It takes a moment or two, most of it filled with the soft sounds of people chattering or the repetitive click-clack of peoples’ heels on the smooth stone floor.

But then the soft twang of the harp filters through the air, over the low brass of the pipes, and you curtsey deep to the ground, in unison with the other ladies in the room, as Aemond bows in response.

He reaches for you first and you respond in kind, lifting your arm high to settle on his shoulder while he grips your waist tight. The two of you spin slowly, the skirt of your dress flaring through the air, but the dance picks up, your feet never once taking a pause as the memories of your old lessons start reawakening.

At first, no one in the room speaks, as if there’s a spell cast over all demanding silence, but eventually the splatters of the conversations break out in the watching audience, spreading slowly and surely to the dancers in motion.

“You’ll have to forgive me, my prince, if I miss a few steps. It’s been years since I’ve actually studied the dances,” you start, more to open conversation than to actually apologize.

Aemond snorts. “I’m sure you danced your fair share back in Casterly Rock during the feasts for your brother’s birth.”

You immediately shake your head. “The feasts were a mite different there than they’ve been here. Tyshara and I mostly preoccupied ourselves with ensuring everything was going smoothly as our mother entered her confinement. I didn’t have much time for dancing. More to the point, I think the lords were rather scared to approach me after a time.”

He looks down at you as he dips you low and your heart flutters a bit in your chest without your permission. When he pulls you up, he pulls you closer than he ought but you don’t have it in you to push him away. “How so? Had they heard there was a Targaryen awaiting your return in King’s Landing?”

“I doubt it though I’m sure some suspected,” you reply, holding down a laugh. “No, they were all rather put off by me after I castigated two lordlings from House Clegane and Tarbeck for mocking my sister.”

“They mocked her?” He asks, raising an elegant brow. “Were they allowed to leave with their tongues?”

“I’m not your kingly father,” you mockingly scold. “I’m a Lannister. I wanted to toss them in with the lions my family keeps in the bowels of the Rock so they could see if they found their joke as funny as they did.”

“What was the joke?” He asks as he spins you out.

When he pulls you back, you take a half moment to catch your breath again, suddenly gratefully that Aemond was meant to be leading this dance since you’ve forgotten how you’re supposed to move relative to the rest of the floor. Thankfully, he has not or, more likely, all his years in the yard have taught how to read his opponents’ body language and he was just naturally inclined to move in response.

“They called her Cerelle the Almost Heir,” you say once the pair of you have settled in the new movement of the crowd. “I’d applaud the rhyme if it wasn’t for the fact that that name was meant to hide the fact that any of their houses would count themselves lucky to have Cerelle as their heir. She spent her entire life preparing for that possibility. Every waking moment was spent getting ready for the chance that she might become Lady of the Rock. Little Loren kept her from that but, if she was to be Lady Lannister, the true Lady Lannister, she would have been the fiercest in our history.”

“Did she want to be the Lady of the Rock?” Aemond asks after a moment and your eyes dart up to his. “Does she regret having it taken away from her?”

You know what he really wants to ask.

Does your sister sympathize with Rhaenyra Targaryen? Does she, like the Princess, resent the younger brother born to take it all away from her?

You had asked yourself that very question in the lead up to your brother’s birth. When the two of you, along with all your sisters, would make the trek to the golden sept in your home and kneel on the floor, letting the incense burn your noses and eyes, as you had all prayed fervently for a boy to be born, did a part of her pray for another little sister?

When she had cried in the birthing chamber, when she had whispered to you about buying a thick cloak for her journey north, were her tears ones of joy or loss?

How would you feel, you had dared wonder in the sanctity of your mind, if what had been yours was ripped from your hands by a mere babe? A baby that you had in equal parts prayed for and dreaded?

How would you feel if you were the Almost Heir?

You release a sigh, faintly aware of Aemond awaiting your response, faintly aware of the music reaching its crescendo. “She knew what would happen to us if Loren had been a girl,” you say in lieu of answering his question. “Our bannermen were already lying in wait to push their sons onto Cerelle in hopes that their boys would get to be the next Lord of the Rock, Warden of the West. House Lannister survived it once in our history, when Queen Leila was the only child born to King Gerold III. Our vassals’ hunger has only grown in size and ambition since.”

Aemond hums in response. “As hungry as they may be, their ambition is outpaced by the one inherent in Lannisters. Your sister herself recovered the title lost. She might not be Lady of the Rock but she is Lady of Winterfell now.”

It’ll sound natural eventually, you reason to yourself. Soon, the name Cerelle Stark will be as familiar to you as Cerelle Lannister is. Decades in the future, she will have spent more time with her married name than she ever had with her maiden one.

But it is not now and, in this moment with only Aemond patiently waiting for you, you do not have to pretend.

“I should have been there,” you murmur, voice soft as to not be overhead though you doubt anyone is listening and, if they are, they can hardly hear you over the constant hum of the crowd. “It was my idea. My plan. And I sent her there alone.”

“You were that invested in a trade contract with the Starks?” Aemond asks, with only the faintest hint of humor in his tone telling you that he knows damn well that the earlier lie that you maintained, the current lie you’re maintaining in the court, was just that. A lie.

A lie you want to dispel - at least with him.

“I was that invested in soldiers,” you reply softly. “In blood alliances. In oaths. Lord Cregan Stark is my good brother now. He has a line to the Lannisters as steady as the Rock. Which means he has a line to the Targaryens. He has an investment.”

The humor leaves Aemond’s face quickly and he looks at you as seriously as he had in the sanctified Dragonpit. “There’s never been a Stark who has forgotten a vow,” he murmurs, a hint of warning entering his voice. Not a warning of anger or rage but rather a reminder. It was for naught, he tries to remind you. You’ve lost your sister for no prize at all.

You smile again, confidence laced through it. “What’s an old vow to a wife’s warm embrace? What’s an old promise to a blood tie to the next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms? Lord Cregan is loyal, yes, but he’s pragmatic. He understands that for his people to survive, he needs to do what he must. His father’s vow was to the princess but he swore no vow. His vow is to the rightful heir and the rightful heir is supported by the house that helped him to his claim, the house that his lady wife is of.”

Aemond doesn’t say anything, looking at you over, only leading you through the dance out of sheer memory.

“You said earlier that you couldn’t swing a sword,” Aemond finally says as the dance slows to a stop, as he bows to you again and you curtsey in response. This time, his voice is firm and loud, loud enough for people to overhear. He wants them to hear this. “A sword would not be a strong enough weapon for you, my lady. You yourself are fiercer than any knight, more dangerous than any battalion.”

You don’t have time to bask in his compliment - not when another voice chimes in.

“Yes, the Lady Lannister is fierce. Fiercer than most know,” Erren Florent says, a cold smile plastered onto his face when your eyes jump to his.

Aemond and you rise up, the prince stepping in front of you slightly so you’re tucked behind his body, but Erren Florent’s smile does not flicker.

If you thought his soft countenance was a cover before, it is a grotesque death mask now. His gray eyes are bright but empty, utterly soulless as he keeps his smile firmly on his face. His skin stretches tight around his skull, as pale as any corpse now. If you hadn’t met him before his son’s death, you would swear that he was no human. No, you’d say, no human can look like that - as if they’ve peeled someone else’s face off and are wearing it as a mask, as if their own body is not your own.

Aemond is tense but he can afford to be tense. His weapon is a sword. His weapon is the largest dragon alive.

The only tool you have at your disposal now is your courtesy.

You smile brightly at him, as sweet as any lady could ever be, pushing down Aemond’s arm slightly so you can peer around him more easily. “My lord,” you greet, bowing your head, keeping your grip on the Targaryen firm. You’re here, you’re safe, you want to remind but you can’t, not with Lord Florent watching you with his dead eyes, waiting for any chink in your armor. “I meant to meet with you but time got away from me. As the Maiden in the wedding party, I was kept well occupied until this feast. I wish to pass along House Lannister’s, as well as my own, condolences. The loss of Ser Victor was a tragic one, one that will be surely felt in the City Watch for years to come.”

Erren bows his head, keeping his head down even as Aemond echoes your words, passing along the Crown’s sympathies. When he looks up, the first hint of emotion has broken through his closed expression.

Cold rage dances in his eyes.

“It’s a loss I will feel until the Stranger comes to claim me,” he says, his voice soft like a whisper. “A loss that will haunt my every waking moment.”

There’s nothing you can say to that. No words you could conjure that would make that blow any easier, would make him hate you any less.

You don’t want to. You don’t want to soften the blow. You want him to feel every moment of his grief. You hope that the pain of his loss will remind him of what his son had forgotten.

You are a Lannister, a daughter of the Rock. Your blood is old, the blood of kings. Even without Aemond, you are above a Florent even if their line stretches back as far as your own. A lion could not be caged by a fox, no matter how hard it might try. A lion could be caged by no one.

Not even a dragon.

“I pray you will find comfort, my lord,” you finally say, stepping out from behind Aemond, walking closer to Erren Florent. The old lord does not step back to accommodate you, letting you get within arm's length of you.

If he wanted to, he could reach out and strangle you here. He could pull a knife out and push it deep in your heart and not even Aemond would be able to stop it. If he wished it, Erren Florent could kill you as easily as you draw breath and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

But he can’t and that pain must be equal to the loss of the son. To have the reason for Victor's death, the true reason and not just the means through which it was delivered, so close at hand and being unable and unwilling to do anything.

How hateful a scene. How horrid.

You step closer, a smile dancing on your lips.

“May you find peace, my lord,” you murmur, your words intended for only you and him.

“May I find justice,” he snarls back, his mask slipping even further, his face twisting in his vengeance. His hot breath washes over your face, burning and awful, and you can taste the sharp smell of wine on your tongue.

Aemond steps closer, his chest pressing against your back, but you don’t move, not even to accommodate his touch. You stand in front of Erren Florent, smiling as innocent as a lamb.

“Justice, my lord? You found it. Your son earned it. The debt is paid,” you say, voice serene and calm. “But if you wish to seek further satisfaction, you are welcome to it. I could hardly deny it.”

You step closer, your expression never slipping.

Your smile grows, hunger sharpens it. “I pray you do, in fact. I pray you aim for more than your station affords you, just as your son did.”

“Why? So your prince might drive a sword through my throat?” Erren growls, all pretense of civility gone from his face.

You lean closer. “So that I might.”

There’s a moment where the two of you stare each other down, when the rest of the room including Aemond fades and it's just the two of you in the room together.

All he wants is to wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. He wants to break your neck. He wants to smash your head against the stone floor, crack it open like an egg and spill your brains out for all to gawk at.

Try it, you want to whisper. Try it and let me loose the hounds of war. Let me rip your house out by root and stem and seed. Let me wear your carnage and gore as a crown. Let no one utter the name Florent as anything but a warning. Try it and let me pay the debt.

The moment passes. The opportunity fades.

His anger festers. Your hunger grows.

He steps back, his mask sliding back into face.

“My lady,” Erren says, bowing his head.

“My lord,” you reply, dropping into a curtsey.

He leaves as quickly as he had come. You watch him go, slithering through the crowd towards the large doors of the throne room.

“I was his purpose,” you say softly but Aemond is close enough that he hears you.

“You are his purpose,” his voice is low and harsh and fierce and you turn to look at him, your skirt moving around you in a flurry. His eye is locked on you, concern sharpening his features into a fury. “He only lives now to seek his satisfaction. He won’t rest until he has your head mounted on his wall. ”

“It is a nice head, I’ll grant him that,” you laugh, your heart still pounding fast in your chest. “But it is mine and I have never been one to share.”

Aemond takes in a sharp breath, closing his eye. When he opens it, his worry is tempered by growing anger.

“You should carry a dagger,” he murmurs, his voice low, his tone leaving no space for disagreement. “I am your sword, I will always rise to defend you, but I cannot be everywhere at once. There are places that I cannot follow, places he will go to seek his vengeance.”

Your smile drops slightly. “I don’t know how to wield one. I’m more likely to stab myself than do anyone any real harm.”

His hand reaches out to touch your face, only pausing in mid air when he remembers himself. He drops his hand, clenching it into a fist at his side.

He’s angry, his brow furrowed tight with an anxiety you haven’t seen since Driftmark, since he was helpless and defenseless.

Your hands itch with the desire to smooth out the tightness in his face and you wish you were alone with a fierceness that threatens to tear you in half.

“I’ll show you,” he insists, his eye flickering all over you as if he’s already imagining what you would look like if Erren Florent had his way with you, as if he can already see imaginary wounds littering your body and even the mere thought of them is too much for him to bear. “I will show you and you will keep yourself safe when I cannot. You say you’re not one to share - I’m not either. I won’t be forced to suffer the loss of you. I’ve killed one Florent for you. I’ll kill another. I’ll keep slaughtering them until I’ve bled their house dry and even then, I won’t stop until all threats are gone, until you are safe in this new world that I will build for you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “And if there’s no end to the enemies you’ll make?”

“Then I won’t stop. I won’t stop until it’s just you and me left.”

You stare at him but nothing in his face flickers, nothing flashes. He is serious. He means what he says and you feel the weight of his devotion come crashing down on you. It is the heaviest thing you have ever felt. It knows no bounds and it crushes you completely, consuming every last bit of you and leaving room for nothing else.

And you relish it.

You’re not alone in your all-encompassing thoughts. Your hunger, your aching, raw desire, has its match, its partner, in him.

The enormity of it steals your breath from you, filling your lungs.

You’re not alone. It is complete ecstasy. It is utter bliss.

He stares at you, anger and worry fading away into anxiety, when he sees you’re not responding. Try as he might, hide as he will, but he cannot escape the little boy he once was, the boy desperate to be seen, the little boy desperate to be accepted, to be taken in.

“You are mine,” you say, the words leaving your mouth as easily as air enters your lungs. He sways towards you when he hears the weight of your voice, the adoration, the worship. “You are mine and I am yours.”

His eye grows wide and he stares down at you, his mouth dropping open slightly, looking as if you couldn’t have affected him more than if you had hit him over the head with a wooden beam, and you smile finally, feeling tears prick in the back of your eyes.

You had imagined saying it differently. You had imagined the library, had imagined being alone with none to disturb you.

But somehow, you can’t imagine it any different than this, any better than a stolen moment at the edge of a dance floor.

You reach out and grab his clenched fist, wrapping your hand around it as you bring it up to your mouth, pressing a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

“With this kiss,” you say, feeling almost delirious in your desire to do this. To prove yourself. To say something that can match his endless devotion. “I pledge my love. I pledge my life. I pledge my strength.”

It’s not enough. It won’t be enough. Not until you die in service of him.

But you need it. Oh gods, but you need it.

You drop his hand when you hear Daeron’s voice call, when you hear Alicent say his name right after.

You drop his hand and you smile at him, swallowing the thick tears down.

And he smiles back.

[veritas-scribblings]

lip gloss - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,171 [explicit / NSFW]

James would like it on record that he did not have an ulterior motive. It was a little bit of innocent fun. His curiosity had got the better of him. So when Sirius said, ‘Can I do your make up?’ James had eagerly replied, ‘Sure!’

Sirius had gone through this stage while back at Hogwarts, see. He called it his ‘cheek and chic’ stage, in the spirit of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury. Glam rock. Flamboyant and larger than life, much like Sirius himself. Kind of rock and roll, but with a heavy dosing of glitter and sparkles. 

And make up.

Because Sirius is a rebel. He had spent years trying to find himself, trying to define himself, and he can never do anything quietly. These days, Sirius is more subdued—there’s less glitter and sparkles involved—but he’s still an artist at heart and every once in a while, he likes to dabble. Dip his toe back in.

That’s how they ended up here, with Regulus pinning James to the couch, his gaze fixed, charged. 

Regulus runs his hands through the hair Sirius had so meticulously styled, kisses, licks, sucks a pathway up James’s neck. He’s unbuttoned James’s shirt, pushed it open, so he can get his hands on every square centimetre of skin exposed. 

James wants to ask Regulus what he wants: what can I do, what can I give you, what do you need? But Regulus’s movements are determined, hungry, desperate and soveryintentional that all James can do is gasp, hiss through his teeth, grip Regulus’s silky locks in his fist. And then carefully, he releases them, pats Regulus’s hair back down in apology because he knows that Regulus hates it when James pulls. Gently, James cards his fingers through a few times, biting back a deep moan. 

It’s just that Regulus hasn’t said anything to him yet since he walked through their front door, spotted James on the couch and all but attacked him. Now, James is laying on the couch, Regulus straddling his waist, the friction against James’s arousal overwhelming, and he keeps dodging James’s attempts to kiss him. 

Preferring, instead, to tend to James’s chest, rubbing the pad of his thumb over James’s sensitive, hardened nipples. He leans down and takes one into his mouth, gently licking, sucking, grazing his teeth over it, swirling his tongue around it. James cries out, the sensation washing through him like a wave, knows that he’s swearing. Because Regulus is a menace, an absolute menace. A beautiful, beautiful menace. He rocks in James’s lap, swivels, rolls his hips in sharp thrusts and deep grinds, all but riding James.

The movements pull ragged, breathy moans from James. Gripping Regulus’s waist, he curses, slamming his head back against the couch cushion in frustration. Certain that Regulus is trying to kill with sosomuch and notnearlyenough. James tugs frustratedly at Regulus’s shirt as Regulus’s hips reach a tortuous, merciless pace. With the sweetest of smiles, Regulus pulls his shirt off, giving James a wide expanse of flushed, milky skin to run his hands over. 

‘Reggie,’ he warns, low and shaky, ‘keep it up and I’m going to finish in my pants before we get a chance to actually do anything.’ 

Regulus leans back, hands gripping James’s thighs, fingers scratching at the fabric of his trousers. ‘Are you wearing make up?’ he demands at first, then quickly changes his phrasing. Because it’s not a question. He knows James’s hair, James’s eyes, James’s cheeks and lips and colouring intimately. 

And, oh…oh, is that it?

‘You’re wearing make up,’ Regulus says.

Regulus takes James by the chin, tips his head to the left, to the right. With a quizzical expression, he drags his thumb over James’s lips, a pink nude colour, Sirius had informed him. His lips are sticky, James knows, and he can tell that Regulus isn’t so sure about that part. That Regulus has been weighing the pros and cons of kissing him.

That being said, Regulus does appear to be quite the fan of the other parts. 

‘Careful, dear,’ James says between laboured breaths. ‘You’ll smudge me.’

Regulus just frowns and leans back again, swivelling his hips, eliciting a chesty groan of, ‘ohshitohshit,’ from James. Regulus’s expression darkens, his movements pooling straight through James so he’s that much closer to teetering on the edge of his orgasm.

And then where would they be? Because ever since Regulus had walked through the door and all but tackled him onto the couch, James has known exactly what he wants, and that’s to get Regulus naked and to worship his magnificent body. But what James also always wants is to give Regulus what he wants, and what Regulus really seems to want right now is to pry an orgasm directly from the depths of James’s soul with how very into James he currently seems.

And James can never not give Regulus what he wants, so here lies James: conflicted

When Regulus plants his hands on James’s shoulders and rocks again, James hastily rushes out, ‘Fuck, Reggie, stopstopstop, just wait.’

Regulus diligently stops. Waits. He shuffles backwards so he’s no longer seated directly on top of James’s achingly hard erection, and then has the audacity to give James the sweetest, most innocent of smiles that James can’t help but smile back. James closes his eyes, because looking at Regulus all flushed and incredibly turned on and slightly mussed and shirtless is doing nothing to stem the pleasureblissarousaldesire rushing through his veins. 

‘Just give me a moment,’ James says, breath heaving, heart racing marathons in his chest.

‘Then we continue.’

‘Yes, then we continue.’ James groans, has to grab Regulus’s hands, which have started to trace a pathway to the waistband of his pants, and warns, ‘Don’t touch me if you want to continue. Don’t even look at me.’

Regulus laughs quietly. ‘I like the make up,’ he leans over and whispers by James’s ear. ‘You should wear it more often. You look so lovely.’ To his credit, he’s being careful not to touch James, hovering over him, James left feeling somewhat bereft, but…fuck.

James moans, grips the couch cushion beneath him, hips jerking up into the air. Regulus’s words have hit James straight in the groin, and he shudders, twitches. Feels the energy of Regulus’s words like static, electric, a buzz in the air, on his skin.

‘You’re so pretty like this, Jamie, so beautiful,’ Regulus whispers by James’s ear, his breath warm, ghosting against James’s skin. ‘Did you do it for me, Jamie? You did, didn’t you. You’re so good like that. So good for me. I love you like this.’

James whines, teetering now. Teetering so close, and when Regulus finishes with a quiet, ‘I love you,’ James’s eyes roll back and he’s seeing stars, seeing white, the full force of his orgasm hitting him so intensely that he is lost to the world for a moment. 

When James comes to, Regulus is kissing him. Regulus pulls back, brushes James’s hair from his forehead, studying him with an expression so enamoured that James’s heart flutters in his chest. Distantly, James thinks that Regulus may be right. And that maybe make-up should come with some sort of warning label.

‘I love you too,’ James murmurs drowsily as Regulus lays down, humming, so they’re chest-to-chest. ‘Just give me ten minutes to recover and I’ll get you back.’

[sexydoffyman]

I'm so glad I found your blog 😭 tysm. Could I request some Fluff/Smut headcanons for shanks and mihawk (seperate if that's okay) X male reader? And can it be a Dom or top reader for the NSFW parts? If that's too much or you aren't interested please don't worry at all!

FLUFF AND SMUT HEADCANNONS

navigation

genre: fluff, smut

characters: Dracule Mihawk, Shanks

A/N: Gocha! I feel like I'm gonna throw up. 🪰

SHANKS

SFW:

He scratches your back with his beard. (You can't change my mind)

He has magic touch.

If you are in pain, he will just rub that place (A leg for example). His touch is so soft.

And for some reason, you get so much relief from the pain.

He gives off warm energy.

He likes to walk in the rain. It feels comforting to him. If you want to walk with him he will give you his coat.

He takes long ass showers.

He feels the need to cuddle with you at any given moment.

You guys will be at the bar with your crew. When he gets tired, he walks up to you and puts his head on your shoulder.

Hugs from behind.

He will fall asleep on your legs.

Dog person.

NSFW:

He loves oral in any way.

He will plead to you to get rougher with him.

He also won't hold back when sucking you off.

He is addicted to ass. Just looking at it.

He will beg you to ride him.

You can hear every sweet little moan that comes out of his mouth.

He will act all flirty and teasingly, but he falls to his knees when you touch him.

Type of dude to bark.

He loves it when your chests rub against each other.

Sleepy sex with him🔛🔝

OK, hear me out when I say marking kink.

He wants to make you his territory and, he wants to be your territory.

DRACULE MIHAWK

SFW:

He is really fond of his personal space, but you can invade it anytime.

Just let him do whatever he is doing.

If he's reading just cuddle up into his lap.

But don't you dare to take his attention off his book.

He won't admit it, but he likes it when you take care of Yoru (His sword)

He likes to do the chores with you.

It just gives him motivation when he sees you working so hard.

He put a small black heart on your transponder snail.

He has memorized everything you like and hate.

Is actually kind of cuddly.

He will lay his head on your stomach and take a nap that turns into a sleep (You don't have the heart to wake him up)

NSFW:

He is full of surprises, especially when he shows you how vocal he is.

You couldn't even recognize him from how submissive he became.

Even tho he wants to have all of the control of his body, he wanted to experiment.

Is definitely soft and has low pain tolerance.

He doesn't talk, he moans.

He will just look at you with teary eyes.

He looks so serious around other people, but with you, he is just as adorable as you.

[riki-riks-chick]

can you please write about bf!hoon or bf!jake letting the other one fuck you and they watch or even join in😖

Three's A Crowd ┃P.SH & S.JY

I honestly HATE this. I had no motivation 😫

smut! threesome, kissing, cuckolding, voyeurism, exhibitionism, oral! (fem rec), fingering! (fem rec), orgasm denial, edging, jealous hoon.

sunghoon gets jealous and makes jake fuck you.

═════════════

Third Person POV~

Today has to have been the most annoying day of your life. You'd been out with Sunghoon all day, and his best friend, Jaeyun. It had to have been excruciating. 

Sunghoon decided today of all days to test you by making you wear a vibrator. He was enjoying seeing you struggle in front of his best friend, a person you'd become very close to since you and Sunghoon started dating.

You'd just come from lunch and it was terrible, the pressure of sitting down made the vibrations worse and Sunghoon wasn't helping, changing the setting from low to high at the most random times.

Now you were in a jewelry store, and Sunghoon had decided to turn the vibrator to it's highest setting. You had immediately gripped Jake's arm, biting your lip as you held back a moan.

 "Are you okay?.." Jake glance between you and Sunghoon, cheeks going red as he noticed the smirk on Sunghoon's face. You had let go of his jacket, apologizing before glaring at Sunghoon.

"I'm fine..." You had stood up straight once Sunghoon put the vibrator back on a lower setting, sighing as you glanced at Jake, hoping he wouldn't notice. 

By the stupid grin on Sunghoon's face, you could tell he probably did which made you more embarrassed than you already were. "Sunghoon, can I talk to you?..." 

Sunghoon simply nodded, following you out of the store, leaving Jake puzzled. "Hoon, I really can't keep doing this. Jake is suspicious already.."

 "Okay, and?.. He's not gonna say anything.. He's too scared to." He smiles, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "Unless you want him to fuck you.." He smiles, pulling you closer as he cups your jaw. "Stop smiling so hard around him and maybe I'll go easy on you."

He then walked back into the store as you sighed, gathering your composure before following behind him.

 "You guys good?.." Jake asked as Sunghoon nodded. "She's great." Sunghoon mumbled, his tone coming off slightly aggressive as you apologized to Jake. By the heightened vibration you could tell that was a bad idea.

Eventually you'd all left, heading back home as you dragged Sunghoon to his room. "I literally hate you." You'd sat on the bed, running your hands through your hair as Sunghoon laughed. "Mad you didn't get to cum?"

 "No.. I'm mad because you kept embarrassing me in front of Jake." You argued as he scoffed, pushing you to lay down, his hand wrapping itself around your throat. "Why the fuck do you care about what he thinks?.. Do you want him to fuck you that bad?.."

 "No, what the hell are you on about?" You ask, gripping his wrist as he sighed. "We'll see about that.." He slides his hand up your bare thigh and then beneath your skirt, rubbing your clit through the wet silk of your underwear. 

 "Fucking whore.." He smiles, sliding your panties off of you as he spreads your legs. "So pretty, baby.." He smiles, removing the vibrator that had been leaving you on edge all day. He tossed it across the bed before sliding two fingers inside you. "So tight.. Just like I like it baby.."

 "Sunghoon.. Please.." You whine, gripping his wrist as he levels himself between your legs. "Shut up." He gripped your wrists, pinning them down as he went down on you, licking into your heat. His tongue pressed flat against your clit as he sucked on the sensitive skin, his free hand sliding in and out of you as he finger fucked you.

He had momentarily pulled away, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he placed it in your hands. "Text Jake, tell him to come to my room."

 "Sunghoon, no.. Please.." You glanced at him, noticing how serious he was. "Since when do sluts get a say?.. Do what I fucking told you to."

"Sunghoon, I don't wanna fuck Jake." You mumble as he chuckles, sitting up properly. "See.. I never actually said I was calling him for that. So you must have some desire to fuck my best friend."

"I never said that.." You mumble as he smirks, leaning down towards your ear. "Well I wanna see it.. You'll do it for me, won't you baby?.." He asked as you sighed. "Okay..."

You had opened his phone, texting Jake as instructed as he smiled, leaning in to kiss you as he slid his hands up your shirt.

The door had opened swiftly, and Sunghoon smirked against your lips, pressing himself further against you.

Jake on the other hand was stunned. All he could see was you pent beneath Sunghoon, your silk underwear hanging on your ankle, and you and Sunghoon engaged in a heated makeout. 

All the heat from his cheeks just seemed to rush down to his dick. "S-Sunghoon.. Why'd you text me?"  He stuttered out as Sunghoon pulled away from you before getting off of the bed. 

 "I wanna watch you fuck my girlfriend." He said plainly as Jake's eyes widened. "What?!" He yelled as Sunghoon sighed. "I didn't stutter."

"Sunghoon.. Why would I fuck your girlfriend?.." He asked as Sunghoon scoffed. "You've been eye fucking her all day. Let this be your one time to fuck my girlfriend."

"Sunghoon.. I don't know..." He seems unsure, but on the other hand.. Fucking you is better than getting off to your moans on the other side of the wall. 

It takes a second to think before Jake is sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. Sunghoon is sitting in his desk chair just a few feet from the bed, watching contentedly.

"Can I touch you?.." Jake asks, wanting to make sure your comfortable as you nod silently, watching his hand trail up your thigh. He moves, sitting between your legs as leans down to kiss you, his lips pressing eagerly against yours.

You had gasped against his lips, only giving him more access to slot his tongue into your mouth as he gripped your waist, his hands sliding up your torso to cup your breasts through your bra. 

Sunghoon crossed one leg over the other, watching as you finally gained the courage to touch Jake, tugging on his shirt.

Jake pulled away to pull his shirt over his head, toned torso on full display as he pulled your shirt off as well, trailing wet kisses down your neck and chest.

"You can fucking ruin her for all I care, but if I see a single hickey that I didn't leave, you're both screwed." Sunghoon voiced as Jake simply nodded. He gave you a short kiss before pushing your skirt up once more. His fingers immediately moved to teasingly press against your clit before pushing into your wetness. It was like you could feel every vein as he fingered you, his fingers moving in slow drags that only made you more needy.

 "Jake.. Please.." You were eager, and Jake was wanting as well. He took one more glance at Sunghoon before sliding his sweat pants down his hips, his underwear following.

You watched his dick hit his stomach, tall and erect, dripping at the tip. He wasn't as big as Sunghoon, but he was still big. He glanced you again, looking for any sign of discontent before turning towards Sunghoon.

 "Do you have a condom?.." He asked as Sunghoon shook his head. "She likes it better without." He answers as you sigh. "I'm on birth control, can you just hurry up?"

Jake had only nodded, pressing his against your hole as he pushed in slowly, only stopping when his hips pressed against yours. Both of you had let out a satisfied moan as Jake began to move his hips slowly, gauging your reaction which was nothing short of a turn on.

Jake had never had feelings for you, you're Sunghoon's girlfriend, but he can't say that he's never had a sexual thought about you. Especially since he can hear the Sunghoon talks to you through the wall. He feels desperate everytime he's using his hand, but thinking of how Sunghoon fucks you. But now, he's the one fucking you and it feels unreal.

"Jake.. Faster.. Please." You let out a whiny moan as Jake quickens his pace, spreading your legs further to watch himself slide in and out of you. 

Sunghoon almost gets jealous, undoing his belt as he climbs onto the bed, kneeling by your head. "Aren't you having fun.. You slut." He laughed, freeing his dick of its restraint within his pants, pressing his tip to your lips. "Suck it."

You had immediately obeyed, moaning around him as Jake continued to pound into you, his tip reaching deep inside you. 

 "I'm gonna cum..." Jake is moaning, fucking you harder as Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "Don't cum." He orders as Jake slows his thrusts,groaning when you clench around him. "Sunghoon.. Please." He asks as Sunghoon shakes his head. "You're fucking my girlfriend by my rules."

Sunghoon forces his dick further into your mouth, watching you struggle as you squirm, gripping Sunghoon's thigh.

He pulls out, cupping your cheek. "Good girl... Wanna cum?.. Hm?" He asks as you nod. "Please, hoonie?.. I've been so good."

 "I guess you have.. You're much brattier with me." He scoffs as Jake muffles his own moan, his hips stuttering against yours. "Fuck.. I'm gonna cum." He whimpers almost as Sunghoon smirks, rubbing your clit. "Should I let him cum, baby?..."

You nod, wanting to climax yourself. It's mostly because you wanna see how Jake's face twists when be orgasms, but you also want this whole thing to be over.

"Okay, you can cum. But make sure to pull out." Sunghoon edicts as Jake nods regaining his pace. The combination of Jake fucking you and Sunghoon rubbing your clit leads you through your orgasm. Eventually Jake pulls out as well, his cum littering your stomach in spurts as he reaches his peak.

You're already tired, but the sudden switch of Sunghoon and Jake tells you that you're no where near done.

"Wake up, baby.. We have so much farther to go.. You didn't think it was over yet, did you?..."

[gunnerfc]

Misa Rodríguez NSFW Alphabet (18+, minors DNI!)

A: Aftercare

Misa after sex would give someone whiplash, she can go from degrading and edging you to whispering sweet things in your ear as she cleans you up

B: Body Part (their favorite body part of themselves and their partner)

Misa’s favorite body part is her thighs because she loves when you hold on to them when you’re sucking her strap off

Her favorite body part of yours is your chest, she loves sucking and nipping at your skin, leaving countless hickies on your breasts

C: Cum (anything to do with cum)

She’ll have you suck her strap clean as she fucks your throat

D: Dirty Secret 

Misa loves the sight of you on your knees sucking her strap off and she had videos and pictures from her point of view that she looks at constantly

E: Experience (Are they experienced? Do they know what they are doing?) 

Misa is experienced and she proved to be way better than your last partner right away

F: Favorite Position 

Either you bent over something or on your hands and knees

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous?)

Misa is so serious during sex, but after she’ll loosen up a bit and crack jokes

I: Intimacy (How intimate are they during the moment?)

The intimacy is usually after sex when you’re calming down because, during sex, Misa can be really mean because she knows you love that from her

J: Jack off (Masturbation HC) 

She’ll not to and that if you need to cum then she can do it for you but sometimes you don’t listen which always results in some sort of punishment for being a brat

K: Kink (One or more of their kinks) 

Misa loves blindfolding you because it heightens your other senses

L: Location (Favorite place to have sex)

She likes your shared apartment just because she doesn’t have to hold back but she doesn’t care about the location when she needs to fuck you

M: Motivation (What turns them on?) 

Simple things like you sitting on her lap, straddling her while making out with her drives her crazy

N: No (Something they wouldn't do)

Misa doesn’t want to share you with anyone, she hates the idea of someone else making you feel good the way she does

O: Oral (Preference on giving or receiving)

Giving, she loves tasting you and feelings your hands in her hair as she fucks you

P: Pace (Fast & Rough? Slow & Sensual?) 

Fast and rough all the time, it’s why you usually feel sore the next morning which always serves as a reminder of what happened the night before

Q: Quickie (Thoughts on quickies) 

She doesn’t mind them, she loves making you cum so they happen often but they hold her back

R: Risk (Are they open to experimenting) 

She’s willing to try anything you bring up

S: Stamina (How many rounds) 

You two go for many, many rounds until she’s fucked so much you’re whining about being too sensitive

T: Toys 

She has two different straps that she uses, she also has a vibrator that she edges you with when you’ve been bratty

U: Unfair (Do they like the tease)

Like is an understatement, Misa loves to tease and degrade you

V: Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make) 

Misa isn’t super low, but she’ll make a few low groans when she’s railing you

W: Wild Card (Random HC)

One of Misa’s favorite videos she has in her camera roll is you on your knees, gagging and crying as she fucks your throat with a double ended strap

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

So high, she can’t get enough of you

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Misa stays up for a bit after sex and you always end up falling asleep before her because of how exhausted you are

[tomurawr44]

Can you do a part 2 to the grocery worker Tenko AU? Maybe where he finally talks to the reader it where she asks him out?

A/N: i never knew the grocery worker one would want a part two! this is great and i will be cooking, yes this can have unlimited parts and just keep asking and I'll deliver🙏

Warnings: quirkless!au, creep!tenko, no tomura :(, maybe, maybe a little bit of angst, Shimura family alive and well, his dad still sucks, HANA!! MON!! uhm our boys a lil dirty...BUT LIKE NATURAL I SWEAR, reader has a pet, little cliff hanger cause i do want to do a little bit of a timeskip, this is technically part 2.5 only lol

he lied restless and awake on his bed, he had dinner and didn't really feel like playing a game, not like he had anyone to play with, really. all his pings from online groups were either server announcements or just desperate attempts to get the server alive again. he laid on his side, thinking about the girl from the grocery, while he did genuinely find her infatuating, she was also infuriating. was she just a cruel joke on him? why else would she come in every day and only ask him for assistance? all his coworkers were available, but she only ever came to him. it made him feel special but also made him hurt because he knew that it could never be, he'd be stuck people watching attractive girls for the rest of his life because why would any of them choose him of all people? he self loathed for a little while longer as he heard the clock tick, he had a last shift and it was friday, a few more weeks before college started and he'd be juggling both of those headache inducing things.

he hated it, he hated alot of things, but there was just one thing he couldn't possibly bring himself to hate. her. she was kind to him, she never made fun of him, she always made an attempt to steer and make the conversation about him, he felt seen, heard. whenever she'd speak to him he felt bad because most of the time he got a boner, but he just couldn't control it, he really couldn't. she was pretty. and she was giving him attention. he wondered if it would scare her away if she found out how he felt about her. he wondered if she'd stop coming to see him, insult him, all of the horrible things girls usually do around him.

he doesn't mean it, he really doesn't but he just feels..empty. his big sister, Hana is the pride and joy of their family, meanwhile he was just..stuck. stuck being a man-child and stuck in her shadow. he got good grades, a scholarship even, yet that was never good enough for father. mother would try and ease him but he knew it wasn't good enough for her either, so why in the world would he ever be good enough for someone like you?

the clock ticked around one in the morning, he had a shift to work soon, he shouldn't stay up dwelling on silly things that he already knows the answer to. he closed his heavy eyes but his mind was so noisy. he eventually did fall asleep, but even then it felt like he was just lying down with no actual rest to it. when he woke up his body was aching, he could feel the familiar sensation of a dry mouth and the taste of morning breath mixed with whatever energy drink he pounded last night before going to bed, it felt like motivation just wasn't with him today, last night he couldn't even find the motivation to jerk off, one of his usual routines so he doesn't blow a fuse at work or at dinner with the family. his eyes ached even when he shut them, and he let out a groan.

He didn't even really want to shower but going into work feeling all sticky might actually make his shift a miserable hell. he could see mon sleeping at his feet, the one good thing in his life in the current moment. when he sat up he could feel his back crack when he twisted himself, a low groan leaving his lips as mon woke up and tilted his head at Tenko. wondering if he was alright. he lazily grabbed his phone off the nightstand, no new notifications. as per usual. his contacts so empty he couldn't even scroll, it was just 'dad', 'mom', and 'hana'. no new messages from them either. his fingers went to reach for his neck, a small sigh leaving his lips as he got ready.

when he got into the shower he bathed with hot water as usual, honestly just blanking out as the water cascaded down his scarred body, his eyes unfocusing on the several bottles of shampoo or bodyscrub Hana used. before he finally snapped out of it, scrubbing his hair in with the 3-in-1 he usually gets from the grocery he works at. he scrubbed his head down, no matter how hard he scrubbed like what mom said he could never stop dandruff from forming on his head, he's stopped caring about it awhile ago but he still wonders from time to time.

his fingers ran through his black hair so he could gett he last of the shampoo out, letting out a small sigh while he thought back to you. he remembers a scenario, you and him, not doing anything inherently sexual, just holding eachother under the hot water. he wondered if you liked it hot, or maybe a nice warm. he could imagine himself holding you, pressing you against his chest while you two didn't exchange any words. just the silence, the intimacy and the tenderness of it all would usually have him grabbing for the shampoo and pumping it, but today he just..wasn't feeling it.

when he put his uniform on, mon was used to the usual routine so he barked a little, wanting a bit of pets before Tenko started his shift. he went down for a bite of breakfast, he made sure that his shift starts almost exactly when father leaves for work but much to his unpleasant surprise, his father was still there, eating breakfast with hana, mom and his grandparents. he guided mon down the stairs to follow behind him as he tried to sneak by and not draw attention.

"Tenko, come, let's have breakfast, and mom has to tell you something." hana called out, smiling at him. she's been trying to get closer to her little brother, ans Tenko's taken notice but what he could assume was that she wanted something. so much for sneaking by.

"I'm fine, i have to catch the metro, I'll be late for work." he huffed, sliding his beat up red shoes on and giving mon some pats, cupping his fluffy cheeks and muttering a small goodbye to mon, only mon as he shut the door behind him.

Kotaro sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he couldn't actually remember the last time this family had a complete dinner together, and he was getting more..worried wasn't the right word. nor was concerned. dissatisfied, disappointed fit what he was looking for. "do you even think he's actually going to work?" took a sip of his water, feeling the usual exhaustion creeping up on him as Hana grit her teeth.

"He's trying, Kotaro. he's doing his best." Nao defended, although Tenko wasn't exactly living up to expectation, she acknowledged her son's hard work. "Give him a chance, dad." Hana butted in, hoping to give Tenko some good word in their father's eyes. "I passed by the store he works at, he's working, he's helping customers and restocking stuff." she sighed. "Work that won't ever mean anything."

Tenko stood outside the door, his ear pressed against the wood as he listened into the faint conversation. a frown growing on his face as he took in their words, he was used to hearing his father's disapproval, neglect or just straight up insults about his life choices, but hearing it from behind his back made his chest twist a little tighter.

whatever, he didn't have time for this. he put his hood up when he saw slight drizzles falling onto the front lawn, hands in his pockets as he began walking, 'Work that won't ever mean anything'. is what he thought about. he was trying, he really was. he was doing good in school, but dad stopped caring when Hana won her 3rd competition. he tried getting atleast a better more stable corporate job, like Hana, she was working with dad in his company. but he was always denied, something about his youth or bullshit like that. his english was good, great even. but he knew by the way his employers looked at him it wasn't that.

he was so lost in his thoughts he barely registered the honking to his right, before the car gently bumped against his hip and the driver began yelling at him. he simply growled at the obscenities and went on his way, he's heard worse online. he minded his business and went to work, that was until-

"Oh, you're..Shimura, right?" she spoke up, tapping onto his shoulder, she'd recognize this outfit anywhere. when he turned around he was faced with you but you were actually wearing casual clothing this time, nothing too extreme nothing too tight or revealing. just a simple shirt and oversized pants. "are you..on your way to work?" you were buying pet food and some simple groceries to make it for a few days and managed to bump into him, mystery guy. well, not really mystery if you actually went out of your way to ask his coworkers what the creepy cutie in the back's name was.

if he wasn't feeling it this morning or last night, he was definitely feeling it now.

—Ake 2024

[t0ast-ghost]

Hmmm mmmmmm I have so many boys thoughts and since I’m not sleeping tonight I guess I’ll write them down:

(Spoilers for the Boys season 4. Don’t cry over spoiled milk show! Go watch it for yourself)

- Truthfully I didn’t like Hughie in the second episode they just made him (super forcefully) bring up his mom. I did really like all his other bits though especially the stuff we’re getting into with a-train (really hope they actually go through with giving him plot, since he’s supposed to be the main character and all that or whatever)

- every time a character got close to another I legitimately asked if they were gonna kiss

- butcher is my wet cat sad puppy murdering babygirl, he’s slaying this season by actually communicating and I hope it stays that way

- This is the second time I’ve seen Jeffrey Dean Morgan play a horrible person willing to weaponize children for their cause… and he’s good at playing that part (I feel they gave his character a lot of what Butcher was in the comics)

- I really do like what they’re doing with A-Train

- I really do hate what they’re doing with Annie and Firecracker, I get they have to have personal conflict but this feels shallow and although it’s believable that this grudge would last I think there should have been more thought put into the stakes of their relationship (Curry and Moriaty’s acting was so good for the bit where Firecracker threatens her but the stakes are so low and the hatred in the writing doesn’t feel built up enough for her to have that big of a reaction to the threat)

- Going back to Hughie and his mom, I think Quaid’s acting for the bits with his mom were phenomenal, I could relate to his frustration and his sadness was palpable. I think a lot of their moments didn’t feel great and I couldn’t put my finger on it but the conversation about how her depression lead to her leaving felt like the truth finally came out and now it’s hopefully going to feel a bit more like things are moving forward for them

- I’m a little surprised they actually had a character like splinter. Simply because he felt straight out of the comics, and I know how much they’ve veered away from the comics. I really liked the scene where Butcher got to take out a bunch of them simply cause he got to be good ‘ol Billy Butcher

- Homelander has me on a roller coaster because I was going to write a post while watching about how they write him really well in a mindfuck kind of way because you slowly start realizing you’re relating to his character and you can understand his actions, and right before I wrote that post he told the deep to suck off a train and I stopped dead in my tracks. I was legitimately scared in that moment because that also felt like something out of the comics but the difference is that the tv show wouldn’t or at least didn’t go through with it

- Homelander this season is even more brilliantly acted, and seeing him with Sage is a new interesting experience. I was trying to figure out Sage’s motivations and I thought I knew but really I didn’t know because I was trying to say she was fighting for a cause. That is wrong. She is constantly manipulating the people around her but it is solely to benefit herself and her happiness. Yes, she helps Homelander and is honest with him because that is the best way to keep herself happy and alive. She’s smart enough to know that manipulating him or trying to agree with everything he says will be a dead end. She’s still trying to please him and is ultimately playing by his rules but she’s the smartest player because she knows being inauthentic will only end up losing you power, and if you’re on the end of two hot glowing red orbs anyway, why not at least have an actual say

- The gore is going well so far. I’ve appreciated it. Especially the beetlejuice-esque scene where Kimiko has her face torn off and you only see the back of her head and the reactions

- Ryan has so many good scenes. His scenes with Homelander are punctuated by quiet, you can hear every thought screaming through, but what would saying any of it actually accomplish? His scenes with Butcher are so heartfelt, I’m glad they’re finally able to talk. But Ryan still dealing with his grief and guilt is heartbreaking. And on top of that him thinking that the closest person to his mom seemingly hates him and would never want him adds so much to the emotional confusion that he’s experiencing. He obviously needs to leave Homelander, but he still doesn’t want to leave his dad which makes sense because this is currently the only source of love he has from anyone and it was promised unconditionally (even though it is very conditional)

- Frechie’s gotta tell that guy that he killed his family but I was really glad they gave him a boyfriend. I forgot that him and Kimiko weren’t a thing so I got really excited that Frenchie was getting to be awesome and polyamorous. I am glad that Kimiko has asserted that they are friends tho

- I am so intrigued by the brain worm

Thoughts upon second rewatch:

- Opening could’ve been bloodier or more horrific. They toned it down :( but the flesh and blood melting off that guys face was pretty good. And the Todd scene is pretty horrific.

- The way Ryan and Homelander speak in unison about people being ants is so telling, and makes sense with the later context of Homelander wanting Ryan to be an exact replica of himself

- The way that Ryan in this season is so focussed on fear, because he is scared but the people around him won’t admit to that, so when Butcher finally communicates with him and tells him that he’s most afraid of dying without making amends I think that finally gains Ryan’s trust back

- They really are changing Butcher’s character, he’s not just ‘do thing to get thing and it’s justified by the end result’ he’s finally thinking about the people around him and considering them even if the results aren’t fast. He doesn’t give the info to Vick, he doesn’t drug Ryan, and he’s really trying to help even if he is still being a shit about it

- The talk between Vick and Homelander in the opening is sooooo good cause of HL’s little voice crack, he’s losing it

- KIMIKO PAINTS HER NAILS!!! they’re blue :)

- I feel like Hughie’s hatred towards Vicky is forced upon him. Like I guess he hates that she lied to him (but if he thought about it he’d realize that it’s reasonable for her to want to hide her powers especially since she’s been shamed about them for most of her life) and I get they have very different views with her under vought’s thumb and all. But since they’re recruiting A-Train I’m wondering if there’ll ever be a bit of a redemption for her cause I feel like wanting supes to be allowed to live like normal people is not a bad thing, it’s just that she’s working with people who view supes as superior

- “He killed that poor cunt in broad daylight, and they fucking cheered.” Alongside Homelanders “I save people, they cheer. I fucking kill people, they cheer.” is like, they both understand this fact. Homelander will get what he wants no matter what and Billy wants to take him down a notch. Same as always and yet so many changes.

- I missed that the acid that Hughie threw on Vick was Frenchie’s creation the first time around. Also missed Hughie’s failed pep talk, I love that loser. I didn’t miss that no one else is able to understand Kimiko, which sucks

- I want Karl Urban and Simon Pegg to be in the same room again but that’s just my star trek fan talking

- Is that the first time Hughie and Butcher properly hug in the series?

- There’s a weird obsession with phones this season. Especially with hanging up on people. Also an obsession with “no/yes, sirs” which I think is them upping the show of power dynamics

- I thought that octopus sounded familiar. It’s Tilda Fucking Swinton.

- “He always knew he was destined for greatness, because he came from greatness.” Good job guys. I see your little joke

- I did not notice that all the guys setting up Firecracker’s stage were splinter who is played by Rob Benedict (Chuck in Supernatural)

- One of the background noises at the Truthcon mentions an “Alex Jones look alike contest”

- When Ryan throws Koi against the wall in other shows that would be his turning point. The point in which there’s no going back for him. So I’m really glad that it’s just the point in which he needs to talk to someone, that it really does upset him. Unfortunately he goes from one horribly emotionally repressed man to a slightly less emotionally repressed man who is dying

- I hope whoever that person that Kimiko knows turns into a new found family member

- M. M slowly realizing why Butcher was such a bitch to everyone on the team. And it’s because no one listens. Ever. Unless you’re actively threatening them in one way or another

- I don’t know what that bloody metal rod in Sage’s room means even after a rewatch. So I guess I’ll find out.

- Closing thoughts; bring in more A-Train and Hughie moments (also get people to call him Reggie so I don’t have to write A-Train every time)

Hughie has weed in his desk

If y’all wanna talk about this with me (especially after reading all that) feel free to do so

Uhhh more thoughts here

[miquellah]

⚜️ SOTE Impressions Survey Results ⚜️

Earlier, I cycled around a survey to get opinions on the story of Elden Ring's DLC, and 101 respondents answered!! Following through with my promise, here are now all the results as recived.

Most all of these responders are likely from Tumblr, with potentially just a few from Twitter. To my knowledge this was never posted anywhere else, so these results can likely be best considered the thoughts of a good chunk in the Tumblr sphere of players!

I've done my best to make everything sufficiently readable, but there's still quite a bit in length here, apologies. The text on the actual charts may or may not be difficult to actually read, but I've given small summaries after each question to try and mitigate this.

First, the basic demographic questions:

These two were optional, but almost entirely filled by all respondents nonetheless. It’s a pretty good split between gender! I half wish I’d made it more specific just for curiosity, but eh. Age range is primarily 19-25, with 26-30 second place.

A question to determine how familiar players were with Fromsoft’s soulsborne genre and writing. Most respondents are indeed Fromsoft regulars.

Most respondents fully expected Miquella to be Morally Grey before DLC release, with only a somewhat smaller amount expecting True Good over True Evil.

These speak for themselves. Base game lore has consistently high scores, whereas while DLC lore still has high peaks, there’s still much more of a spread haha.

Despite it all there’s more people saying the DLC lore coheres with base game more than not??

Have you changed opinions on the DLC's lore at any time since it's release? If so, how?

No (no elaboration) - 18 No change, i feel negative- 15 No change, i feel positive- 10 Yes, I feel worse- 2 Yes, I feel better now- 18 Yes (no elaboration)- 6 N/A- 7

And wherever there’s nuance it’s usually a lot of “yeah I see the vision, but some execution could ultimately have been better.” In hindsight this is also a question I should’ve made multiple choice…

A very high chunk of people were spoiled to any degree beforehand!

This question was due to all of the comparisons to Miquella as being similar to Griffith/initially expecting that of him before DLC. I think Berserk is a bit more popular in the Twitter/Reddit circles of fans, though.

Primarily high impressions of Marika, with veeeryy low levels of believing she’s justified. Only a sliver of hate.

VERY high opinions of Messmer! Very small justifications of his actions, much in line with his mother.

Very high impressions of Mohg overall, with a small slice of dislike, a tiny sliver of hate. People largely feel his actions are nuanced, with a small slice of more justified than not.

Miquella is by far the most divisive character! Albeit he still has some good chunks of Like and Love. Justification scores are much the same as Mohg, primarily complicated/nuanced.

More people feel Miquella is a child only in body, with a near-equal chunk feeling it’s open-ended/nuanced.

Surprisingly, most respondents do NOT believe in Mohg having sexual misconduct with Miquella… though perhaps some people felt this meant just with Mohg as a perpetrator, and not that there wasn’t iffy stuff at all? Nonetheless, this headcanon seems pretty prevalent in the community as a whole, but maybe that’s just due to all the loudest people with the crass jokes.

How do you feel about the writing choice of Radahn as Miquella's chosen king and consort?

Okay rather than try and take the stats for this one, I’m going to try and summarize the bulk of responses best as possible:

The least generous replies say this sucks ass. The most generous usually say “yeah, I see what they were going for, but the execution of this feels very flawed nonetheless.” One respondent states that the emphasis of Miquella’s plotline seemed to be on his choice of consort entirely, rather than his actual motivations or journey to get here.

Many people lament Malenia’s lack in things at all within DLC, past a single mention. A notable amount of people note that they would’ve been more accepting of the consort if it had ended up being Godwyn instead, because of the amount of weight he seemed to have in the base game lore alongside Miquella. At least one respondent laments the disservice “done to monsterfuckers everywhere” that we didn’t even get a physically  monstrous boss in the end.

There’s a couple of people who go “oh yeah this makes sense for the both of them and/or I saw the signs along the way”, but they never go on to elaborate… the longest responses are always from people who are most unhappy, or are fairly understanding, but still ultimately unable to end up terribly pleased with this plot point.

Overall the reception to this plot point is decidedly poor, with the main grievances being how little foreshadowing or apparent basis there was, and how it changed the context of things in base game– such as Radahn’s first boss fight, the battle of Aeonia itself, Jerren’s wishes, and the sacrifices of all the soldiers between both armies. Even any concerns over implications of incest are honestly low priority here.

By far my personal favorite response is “I couldve written a better plot twist with three hoyrs of sleep and a coca col”, so shoutout to that one.

(Bonus) Optional because she's not relevant in the DLC. How do you feel about Ranni as a character and her actions?

I’ll be honest, this one was just because I think people’s thoughts on Ranni are a great judge of narrative comprehension. HAHAHA. But out of 91 responders to this one, most everyone cleared!

The bulk of responses are ultimately “yeah what she did to Godwyn was fucked up, but ultimately I understand it”. A few respondents note her narrative of female autonomy, and state their own reflection in this. Several note that she is selfish, but some aren’t particularly condescending with this and say that by all means, she’s just like the rest of the demigods if not still better than them.

A small handful also note that Ranni and Miquella are essentially foils to one another, where Miquella gives up everything for the sake of his Age of Compassion, but Ranni finds a means to keep her soul. It’s noted that even with his well-intentioned ambitions, he still ultimately fails as a reflection of Marika, whereas Ranni cuts herself from the cycle entirely.

A good handful of responses are little more than “hell yeah girlboss” and “fuck yeah that’s my wife” lol. On the other end, there’s a couple of responders who talk about how much they hate how she’s waifu’d, some disliking her purely because of this. Only about 2-3 responses in here are ones I’d truly consider character hate (without any seemingly justified reason) though.

Overall she’s more praised than not, with most everyone acknowledging her motivations, complexity, and role in the story. She’s often noted for her foils with Miquella, her goals of autonomy and the subsequent sympathy here from cis and trans female responders alike, with many acknowledgments that she is still by no means a saint.

And that's all! Thanks again to all of those who responded, and once more to those who've now read all the results. I still have the individual responses saved, so if I wanted I could go through and try to discern if there's any patterns related to how certain outcomes in opinion happen... but I'm tired!!! Hopefully if nothing else, this survey was a nice way to reflect and to sate some curiosity ✨

[strawbabysimp]

Pistol-Whipped || Sub!Hisoka x Reader

Genre: Smut

Category: Sub!Hisoka x GN!Dom!Reader

Warning(s): Anal Fingering, Cum Eating, Dacryphilia, Degradation, Face-Fucking w Object, Gun-Play, Hate Sex(ual Acts), Spanking

Request(s): "Could you do gunplay with Hisoka?(Mean reader pls <3)"

A/N: I haven't been motivated to write anything that's not rough, emotional, or dark TT but I'm enjoying it nonetheless :) Thank you for the request!

You draw the barrel of the pistol across his lips, his eyes remaining low and tantalizing as his mouth parts for his tongue to wrap around the object. You can tell he's amused, the lines of his mouth morphing into a lewd smile. "You enjoy it, don't you? You're so sick." Low, wanting moans agree with you, begging you to push the game between the two of you further.

You had pulled the weapon out angrily, showing your boyfriend the means you had gone to protect yourself from not only those who targeted Hisoka but also the man himself. A life with the magician was one of insecurity and that's what you had been screaming at him before his perverted mind had twisted your rage into fuel for his lustful delusions.

"I love it when you're aggressive, Y/N."

He taunted you from his position on the couch. You had him beneath you, your bent knee leaving you stuck between leaning against the cushion and crouching.

"I really hate you," you hissed at him, the gun sliding deeper into his mouth. His eyebrows raised slightly, looking pleased. You felt sick playing into his hands like this.

You both fed off of each other, the tense energy making your thighs clench and your breath come heavy. Within moments that felt immeasurably long, you were on him, pushing him back to slide further across the couch.

"You wanna be inconsiderate? Fine. I can do that too."

Hisoka allowed you to flip him over - everything you did was only what he allowed. His ass taunted you from beneath the flattering material, muscles rounded yet firm in your grip.

Quickly shoving the material down you didn't give him the chance to remove the item fully, only giving yourself access to his sensitive areas.

Neatly shaven balls pressed tightly between his muscular thighs, his hole puckering a few inches above. You couldn't resist dragging the gun down the crevice of his ass before bringing it back into his mouth.

Wetness from his previous ministrations glistened across the fluttering orifice, providing lube for your next desire.

Without warning you plunged a finger into the tight confines of your boyfriend's body, reaching as far as you could into his unprepared hole. Despite the suddenness, Hisoka was pleased, thrusting back against the digit in desperation.

Not a minute later, another finger had been added. The burn of the two twisting along his insides had his cock leaking out against the furniture.

Hisoka released the gun from his hollowed lips with a loud 'pop.' Small coughs left him, lightly so as not to upset the sensations you were bringing him. Finally being able to take free breaths flooded him with relief, but the man already missed the weapon's weight on his tongue.

A hard, cut object found itself against the magician's cockhead, he could feel his precum smearing across the rough lines. He couldn't see what was happening but when the barrel of the gun once again pressed against his lips, this time smearing a salty and slightly sour taste along the surface of the plump skin, he poured out more.

Hisoka sucked his cum from every crevice, slipping his tongue inside and out of the opening to satisfy his cravings.

Quickly ripping your hand out of him, you slapped your palm against the cusp of his ass. "I didn't say you could come!"

The sound of flesh against flesh filled the room, his screams of pleasure mixing with pain as the skin darkened in shades of red and even some slowly forming purple.

"You just need to be filled up, don't you?" Your voice took on a nurturing tone, a surprising shift from a minute ago.

Metal slammed against the back of Hisoka's throat, his tongue flattening to accommodate the intrusion. His body sputtered out coughs from around the pistol, but he never moved away, in fact, you bet if it was more malleable he'd have it halfway down his eager throat.

You brought your pre-used fingers back to the magician's mouth, pulling at his cheek, dragging along the tongue held down by your gun. Anything perverse garnered you a drawn-out, low moan as Hisoka enjoyed the physical degradation.

This was you being kind, wetting your fingers before you sunk 3 into him without preamble, twisting and scraping against his smooth walls.

Hisoka gagged on the gun as your fingers curled into the most sensitive part of his body. The sounds coming from him were constant and loud now, his body wracking with every thrust of your hand. He moved in tangent with you, taking the barrel deeper into his mouth every time your hand slid further out of him, only to lap at the tip as you rammed into him once again.

This went on for a while. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and his eyes were stuck wide from the overwhelming sensations.

You continued until his sobbing began to worry you; you made sure to make a mental note to have him drink more water tonight.

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

You pressed deeper against his prostate when you spoke. "It's okay, you can come now. I'm done with you."

Whiteness poured out of his cock in pulsating convulsions of the worn-out muscle, pink and flushed against his dewy skin when he collapsed forward into the couch.

His words were rough and broken from your treatment.

"This is all I've ever wanted you to be."

[goggles-mcgee]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well! Do you have any head canons about your felinette stories (Moving on, finding home; The haunted Bride, The not-so phantom…) and Marinette, the Rolling Stone? I love all of your stories, specially daminette 😈

Hi! Of course I do! But since you're grouping them for the Felinette, I will focus these headcanons on the felinette aspects a bit! Also I am so sorry for the very late reply. Motivation has been very low 😔

Moving On, Finding Home:

•As Marinette starts to work with Amelie, Amelie decided they should go out for lunch along with Felix, but when they got to the cafe she suddenly had some business to take care of and rushed off. Felix took this as an opportunity to really talk to Marinette and apologize for his behavior last time he was in Paris.

•At first she's skeptical but as he went into detail about why he did it, she feels for him. He told her about the loss of his father and that he knew it wasn't an excuse but he had been hurt and angry. Especially at Adrien and his Uncle. He was surprised when she didn't immediately jump to Adrien’s defense.

•Since he was so willing to be vulnerable and he seemed genuine in wanting to start over with her, Marinette told him everything that had happened at school. At first she had just wanted to explain that her and Adrien weren't friends anymore but once she started talking she couldn't stop.

•After this talk, things work a lot smoother, and Felix actually tags along with his mother when she goes to meet Marinette. Somehow them having lunch became a routine as well, but neither teen complains.

•Amelie adores Marinette and has a hard time not spoiling the girl but she can't help that her love language is gift giving and look...if Marinette is going to be taking on as big a project as she is then of course she needs a new design desk...and tablet since her old one had a chip on the corner...and a new mattress because her little designer needs the best sleep to dream up wonderful designs!

•Felix does try to reign her in, but it's hopeless.

•Tom and Amelie are two peas in a protective-parent-pod. They love talking to each other about their respective child and all they do in the name of that love, like the time Tom threw Marinette’s birthday cake in the trash several times in a panic because he didn't want to spoil the surprise. Tom and Amelie basically become bestie with a fond Sabine watching over.

•Amelie being a Petty Betty and allowing paparazzi to take pictures of her, Felix and Marinette when they are out together (with permission, of course) all so she could show off how cute Felix and Marinette are together but also to rub it in the face of her brother-in-law that she nabbed the very talented designer before him.

•Felix does become the new Chat Noir, but he changes his name to Grimalkin and Adrien, who starts not-so-vague posting on his Chat Noir account on social media that the name sucks and nitpicks about everything of the new Cat Hero.

•The class start to think the reason Marinette has "changed" so much is because of Felix, and they start trying to include her in things again in an attempt to lure her away from the "problem" Lila hates this and tries to intervene but it never works out for her.

•Gabriel is having a rough month, what with Lila Rossi being herself, the Dupain-Cheng girl getting snatched up by his dreadful sister-in-law right before he was going to open an early-experience type of internship so he could keep her close and figure out how to akumatize her but also she did have great talent and it would be a waste if he let her slip through his fingers, then Adrien reveals he and Mlle Dupain-Cheng aren't on speaking terms and to top it all off!!! There is a new cat hero who is actually competent, and that is making being a super villain very hard.

The Haunted Bride:

•Marinette had for as long as she remembers, been obsessed with the Culpa Mansion. Her parents thought it was cute and funny at first, but when she still spoke about it and even spoke about details, she couldn't have possibly known, but when she overheard her parents talking about taking her to a professional or something she stopped talking so in depth about it.

•But she dreamt of it almost every night and keeps a dream journal where she drew a lot of things from her dreams. She has it locked and hidden because she fears if anyone found it, they would think she was crazy, especially her parents.

•Hawkmoth is defeated and in jail, but Adrien did somehow get through it all without being suspected of aiding his father. Nathalie is the one taking care of Adrien since Gabriel took the fall for everything.

•Marinette as Ladybug, decided against Ladybug and Chat Noir revealing their identities to each other. Something just told her not too but she did promise that if Chat found her, she would let him know. Her and Adrien dating kind of happened out of nowhere to her, but then he kept making cat puns here and there, and well Marinette came to the conclusion he was Chat and hat found her. So she made her own subtle references.

•Adrien does not know that she is Ladybug, but she thinks he does. He just started dating her because she reminded him of Ladybug, and while he did start to like her, he was still very much in "love" with Ladybug.

•Marinette starts to realize he actually doesn't know who she is, and it kind of opens her eyes to how he tries to manipulate her. She doesn't think he is doing it maliciously or anything, but she can see how much he values the class and keeping things happy, and she sees that he's doing it kind of subconsciously so he can keep his perceived normal and happiness. It's why he never breaks the peace, even if it's the right thing to do.

•When she wins the trip to the Mansion, Marinette actually exchanges letters with the owner of the Mansion, who happens to be her age, and she thinks that's cool. They become pen-pals and friends, and Marinette is just so happy to get to rant to someone just as obsessed with the mansion as much as her.

•When she and her class go to the mansion, she is already trying to break up with Adrien but that's kind of hard to do when he won't spend any time alone with her like a boyfriend should. She finds out that Lila is the one manipulating him in hopes that he would be charmed by her and fall for her. The girl squad (some of them) are helping her.

•Marinette is almost always somehow left alone, and during those times, she meets with Felix, and they just have a fun time hanging out, and Marinette finds herself falling for him. She only ever meets him at night though but it's when she's with him that she feels the happiest and most clear headed. He keeps her grounded.

•But while staying in the mansion, her dreams come back in such vividity that she starts having trouble determining what reality is and what is a dream.

The Not-So Phantom of the Théâtre du Châtelet:

•Felix is not scarred, nor does he live underneath the theater. The Phantom is a character he plays to manipulate and scare those who seek to hurt the theater and the owner, his mother. He doesn't mind the rumor. He plays into it in the name of protecting his mother and the theater she loves. He also does not care nor mind hurting others to do so.

•He works as a permanent stage hand and sometimes a stage manager since he knows the theater better than anyone. Yes, he did build hidden trap doors and such to help with his time as the Phantom.

•But what started as him protecting his mother and their theater kind of morphed into punishing those he thinks deserves it and if you're thinking his mother would not approve of this or not know what her son is doing, nah. She knows and supports her troubled little man.

•When he first meets Marinette, he immediately realizes what potential she has and is charmed by her almost immediately. They become friends as costume designer and stage hand. But when he sees the treatment of her from her ex-boyfriend and the lead actress, he will do anything to protect her.

•Marinette didn't believe in the Phantom until all these strange events started happening, and she keeps getting roses left in her workshop. She doesn't know how she feels about everything and thinks that makes her an awful person.

•She does have a crush on Felix, and they connect so well, but she also can't help but be drawn to the Phantom when they keep having encounters.

Marinette The Rolling-Stone:

•Marinette meets Felix after her big move to London when she goes to her new private school. Yes, Jagged and Penny enrolled her in a private academy because they feared what people would do if she were in a public school, given all that happened and what was televised.

•It's a school that allows her to work from home sometimes. The excuse that was given was that it was due to her adopted father's work schedule, but in actuality, it was because Marinette told Jagged and Penny about being Ladybug and the Guardian and they agreed she could home-school on days she needed to be in Paris.

•She got adopted into the Quantic Kids group by surprisingly Felix. He just felt like she needed friends, and she reminded him of himself before he became friends with his friends.

•It takes a while for her to trust them, but when she does, she cries over how much happier she is. When she starts getting feelings for Felix she's scared but Jagged and Penny help her through it.

•Felix doesn't know when he fell for Marinette, but contrary to what his friends think, he didn't freak out or get angry or anything like that. To him, it made sense, she made sense...they made sense. So no, he isn't scared of his feelings and is more than determined to prove himself to Marinette.

•Her friends find out she is Ladybug and convince her to let them help. Of course, she doesn't want to, but things are getting worse, and she needs people she can trust. Jagged and Penny are also there to help as well.

•Felix, of course, becomes the new Cat Miraculous Holder and becomes known as Carbonel!

[hyperfizationss]

Charlie nsfw alphabet.

X male reader smut.

Charlie(yuurivoice) x amab/male (can be gender neutral but it is focused on male) reader

A-after care (what they’re like after sex)

Yeah,no.not that he would like to do it,but he’s either stunned or sleepy after sex,so your the one doing aftercare

B-body part (their and your favorite body part)

Personal headcanon that Charlie has really veiny hands for no reason,so he adores his hands,the way he can hold a joint and grab your dick is amazing.his favorite body part of yours would have to be your hair,long short as long as he can use it to grip you while your sucking his dick he likes it.

C-cum (kinda self explanatory)

He’s has mixed feelings abt it,he doesn’t mind it but he’s not completely into it.but he doesn’t like to swallow it,so don’t try that kinky shit on him

D-dirty secret (also self explanatory)

Desperately wants to be choked out and called a male slut.

E-experience (does he know what he’s doing?)

Charlie has definitely had his share of hookups,he knows what he’s doing but he’ll act like he doesn’t cause he’s a Whiney baby

F- fav position (also kinda self explanatory)

Pirates bounty and suspended congress (both are gay sex positions.and as a girl,I think they both have the funniest name on planet earth)

G-Goofy (how are they in the moment,serious or silly?)

Charlie likes to be a tease,he prefers to keep the bedroom light hearted and fun,he definitely keeps you entertained if you here what I’m saying

H-hair (how well groomed are they,does the carpet match the drapes)

He shaves,nothing special about it.but I do think he’d be a bit harry

I-intamicy (how are they in the moment,on the romantic aspect)

He can be lovey dovey,like dying I love you in low groans as she fucks you

J-Jack off (masturbation hc)

I’ll give you this much,he wants to be caught,he wants you to see him jacking off to a picture of you while you were sucking him off once

K-kink (any kink of theirs)

Praise kink,choking kink(even tho it doesn’t happen) and not sure if this counts but he really likes to slap his dick around your face before you suck him off

L-location (places he likes or has done it)

He’s definitely took you in the closet of Pete’s Pizzeria,and in the back of his car,and he’s pushed you over the kitchen counter before,but he stopped and said he was joking cause he was nervous

M-motivation (what gets him going)

When you admit your horny to him,that could make him cum anytime anywhere

N-no.(something he wouldn’t do)

He wouldn’t be into hate fucking,he’s a strong believer of “we don’t go to bed mad in this house”

O-oral (giver or receiver?)

He honestly doesn’t care,he likes to give just as much as he likes to receive.but don’t make him swallow cum,that’s how you get no oral for a week

P-pace (how fast/rough are they)

He’s fast and rough,he likes hearing you whine ass he fucks your ass and digs his hands into your lower body

Q-quickie (opinions on them)

One simple word

Yes.

R-risk (risky thoughts or experiments)

He so wants to pull you into an alley and give you the best blowing of your life but he’s to afraid to do so

S-Stamina(how many rounds)

Depends on the day,if he didn’t have work he’s more likely to go for about 5 maybe 6,but after a long day he really just needs to cum so maybe 1 or 2 rounds

T-toys (does he own them?like them?)

He personally doesn’t own anything other than a dildo he keeps under his bed,but I’d you have cooler stuff you want to sue on him he’s down

U-Unfair(how much they like teasing)

If you start to whine and say fuck offs and fuck you’s to him he’ll force you to look at him and apologize(which is so hot)

V-Volume (how loud is he)

Oh Jesus he can be loud and whiney,like no matter what the position is,he’s a big whiner

W-Wildcard (random headcanon)

He likes to bite your thighs(god damn I’m mains myself blush,and I’m writing about gay sex)

X-X-ray (how big is he)

A tiny bit over average (6.7 inches)

Y-Yearning ( how high is his sex drive)

Anytime,anywhere,no matter what

Z-zzzzz (how quickly they fall apart)

He gets tired so easily,so easily so he’s asleep almost immediately

Kinda a gift for a friend (i know I usually don’t do smut but ya know ppl change)

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hey darling hope you're doing well !! If it's ok could you do an ajax × fem!reader with the prompts 2 and 3 ? I just couldn't get those out of my head♡

‘’Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.” + ‘’Just so you know, I’m not wearing a bra.’’

my taglists are here + you can requests here at any time

—

‘’What are the ten most deadliest plants?’’ you read on your flashcard, sitting on your bed.

Before you, Ajax was sitting criss-crossed and in deep thinking. ‘’Deadly nightshade, aconite — also known as wolf’s bane —, thornapples, angel’s trumpets, white snakeroot…and I don't know the rest.’’

You sighed, telling him the missing answers and flipping to the next flashcard. ‘’We studied these plants all month, how can you miss half of them?’’

‘’I suck at Botany. I’m sorry.’’ He fell against your pillows and plushies, having enough of studying. ‘’Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.’’ He rubbed his hands over your legs, but you didn’t give him the attention he wanted.

You were flattered by his compliments, but flirting and sweet talking won’t make you drop the studying session.

‘’Can we just kiss instead? We have the dorm to ourselves.’’

Shaking your head, you didn’t lift your eyes from the flashcard. ‘’No. We have a quiz on phytotoxicology tomorrow morning. We have to study,’’ you said, emphasizing on ‘study’.

Ajax groaned, still laying against your pillows. He understood the need to study, but kissing was so much better. ‘’My lips are feeling lonely.’’

You glanced at his puppy eyes and the oh-so-cute pout on his lips. You would rather make out than study, but you pushed back the study session so much that you were running low on time and could not move it to another day.

‘’Are they?’’ You cooed and slowly leaned down.

Ajax nodded, thinking you had fallen for his shit when he was the fool. ‘’Yeah, they’re missing yours.’’

Instead of kissing him like you made him believe you would, you grabbed the pen from his side of the bed, leaving Ajax even more frustrated when he realized you were not going to kiss him.

‘’Next question. The chapter on Aconite is very long and Ms. Thornhill won't fail to quiz us on it.’’

You asked each other flashcards questions back and forth, but after a few you were starting to get bored too.

You had about ten flashcards to go through and more reading in the textbooks, so if you wanted to get through everything, you and Ajax were going to need some motivation.

‘’Let’s make a deal. If we get 90% of the questions right before the clock hit 8pm, we’ll make out until my roommate returns. Deal?’’

Ajax evaluated your deal for a moment. ‘’Just making out?’’

You nodded. Anything that involved taking clothes off would be too risky and Ajax was a shy boy in front of people he wasn’t close with. If you were to get caught doing anything sexual by your roommate, he would never be able to look at her again.

‘’Can petting be involved? Can I put my hands under your shirt?’’

You nodded for both. You’ll probably hate yourself later because you won’t be able to get yourself off after Ajax leaves, but the thought of Ajax’s hands on your tits sounded really really nice.

‘’And, in case you need some more material to make your decision… Just so you know, I’m not wearing a bra.’’

—

Wednesday taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo---uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n  @poppet05  @ell0ra-br3kk3r  @rhaenyraswife  @teaganthemorningstar   @aphex2winn @moompie   @ifevilwhyhot @oliviah-25 @spenglerslime @wetwilliam02 @yellowcupcakes @haileyismoo @theyslayallday @wrldofsage @manofworm @rhydianissuperior @supersanelyromantic @nicangel13 @toylewestinnyc @meme-queen-1999 @rottenstyx @mxxny-lupin @idli-dosa @silenzju @ar40s @sweeterheartxamerica @renaissancewhxre @jordierama @lilppsblog @harrystylesfp  @katsuki420 @ravenssh1t @izzy-laufeyson @iluvwomenblog @kenzi-woycehoski @arunaposeidondottie @liidiaaag   @lilaconner @katsukis1wife @momoewn   @amithesimpoffandoms @chaotic-fangirl-blog @hawkegfs   @lyxrix @mommyruuetrue   @acornacreacure @lucassinclairsgf @youdontneedtoknowthisinformation

[whitexwolfxx310]

Time Goes On

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: Bucky gets called to go on a Hydra mission

Warnings: Y/N, 18+, Cursing, Light sexual content, super fluff, and angst.

Word Count: 5304

A/Ns: I'm starting to have a bit of writers block. If anyone has ideas please let me know! I would love to incorporate them into the storyline.

Previous Part

Master List

Life with Bucky has become the new norm. It’s easy for him to slip into his typical routine, but every once in a while you like to stir things up. Although you live together you’re still able to each have ‘me’ time when missions come up. He has his job and you have your own. He spends his time doing what he does best and using it as his outlet to get rid of rising feelings and emotions that he can’t always talk or think through.

The morning sun shines through the window, warming your skin and the surrounding sheets; Making it nearly impossible to find the motivation to get out of bed. But the sweet breakfast aroma you’ve become accustomed to fills the air, beckoning your empty stomach. Your eyes fixate on the 8x10 frame on the nightstand that holds a picture of the two of you from your friend Elena's wedding a few months ago. Bucky holding you closely to himself, looking down at you-only you, smiling while you're laughing. The most perfect candid, and accurate, depiction of your relationship; The simplicity of love.

Sauntering out to the kitchen, your stomach rumbles-eager to see what he has prepared to start your day together.

"Morning, Sunshine" Bucky says, standing at the stove with his back to you; Not even having to turn around to know you're there.

"Morning, babe." You say in return as your arms wrap around him from behind.

"Babe?" He mimics, sounding slightly repulsed.

"What? It's not fair that you get to call me Sunshine and yet you hate every single nickname I try to come up with for you-"

You're interrupted by the suddenness of Bucky turning around and lifting you up from behind your thighs. Both laughing he takes a few steps forward and sets you down on the counter. Instinctively your legs wrap around his waist bringing him closer into your body. Bucky leans into your face just so that the very tips of your noses barely touch.

“What’s wrong with my name?” He asks softly.

Hooking his index finger under your chin, he coaxes you to tilt your face up just a little more; Lips barely touching.

“I like when you say my name.” His voice deep and low. His lips barely brushing against yours as he speaks.

It feels as though all the air is sucked out of the room. The more than welcomed waves of arousal erupt from your core, simultaneously spreading out through your body like fireworks exploding. Biting down on your own tongue in hopes the sting of pain would suppress the instantaneous neediness you feel; It doesn’t. His hips press into yours just a little more- and all bets are off. Your chest arches into his as your lips touch.

“Mmm…” The small sound emerges from your throat as you breathe into the kiss. There’s a sudden coolness on your right cheek from his hand. But something else catches your attention.

“Bucky…” You say between kisses.

“Yes?” He replies, feeding into the moment.

“You’re going to burn your French toast.”

Lips still locked, his eyes flash open. It takes him a second but he breaks away.

“Fuck-“ Spinning around back to the stove you can’t help but laugh as you bring your legs up against your chest and wrap your arms around them.

“These were about to burn…” He gives you a sarcastic side eye. “How did you know?”

“I think it’s time that you just accepted the fact that I’m a better cook than you.” You reply sarcastically, reaching into the bowl on the kitchen island you're sitting on and take out a red plum.

“First of all, I’m a hard man to break. I’ll never admit that. And secondly-“ Bucky snatches the plum from your hand and takes a bite, smiling. “These are mine.”

“They just looked especially tasty today!” You lean forward and take a quick bite of his plum also and laugh. “Delicious…” You taunt. Bucky’s nose scrunches up as he laughs, showing his perfect white teeth. At ease, relaxed, playful Bucky. My favorite. He plants a soft, wet, plum juice kiss on your lips.

“You better start getting ready for work, Sunshine.”

Looking past Bucky you see the time on the stove.

“Shit!” You jump off the counter and dart in the bedroom, still hearing his laughter behind you.

In record breaking time, you’re hopping out of the bedroom on one foot back into the kitchen trying to get your other flat on. All aboard the hot mess express. Completely unphased, Bucky is sitting at the table top; French toast hot and ready with powdered sugar, whip cream, and freshly cut strawberries. If the whole Avenger thing doesn’t work out for him, he could always go into culinary.

Chef Bucky? Baker Bucky? Butcher Bucky? The options are endless…

Stumbling one last time, you finally make it to the bar stool which is being stabilized by Bucky’s right arm as he takes a sip from his coffee mug with the left. Even he has become accustomed to your clumsiness.

“Wow…” You say in amazement after your first bite. “Did you do something different?”

“No, same recipe as always.”

“Really? You didn’t add extra cinnamon or vanilla…?”

“Nope-“

The conversation is interrupted by a knock at the door. Looking over at the digital clock on the stove, you quickly shove a few more bites of breakfast in before giving Bucky a small kiss on his cheek.

“Love you!” You say, heading for the door.

“Love you too. Oh and y/n?”

“Yeah?” You call, stopping at the apartment door before opening it.

“I have a few missions coming up, routine stuff. When I get back would you want to go further upstate and rent a cabin? Just the two of us?”

“That sounds amazing… we can talk about it later when I’m done with work.” Smiling at the thought you open the door to find Natasha.

“Oh hey Nat! I’m just on my way out but-“

“Hey, is Bucky home?” She’s quick to cut you off, barely making any eye contact as she looks into the apartment passed you.

“Um.. yeah he’s in the-“

“Thanks. We have some… training to do.” She pushes past and walks into the apartment.

You’re left standing there, confused as Nat walks over and starts talking with Bucky in a hushed voice.

Weird.

A little bit later you’re sitting at your desk, breakfast sitting heavily in your stomach. I knew he did something different.

There’s a polite knock on the open door and you look up to see Steve standing in the doorway.

“Morning y/n.”

“Hey Steve! I’m sorry, did I forget we had an appointment today or…?”

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head and laughs lightly. “I’m here on my own free will. Mind if I come in?”

“Of course! Come on in and make yourself comfortable!”

Steve walks in and sits on the couch opposite of your desk. He’s so timid and light footed always. The complete contrast to Bucky. They’re the yin to each others yang.

“So…” Steve starts, seeming slightly nervous as his hands rub in circular motions on his jeans.

“So…” You reiterate. What is the reason he’s here?

“How are things?”

“Things are good…” You laugh nervously.

“Ok!” He says more to himself for motivation than to you.

“There are some pretty important missions coming up and I’m going to need Bucky by my side.”

You’re confused. They go on missions pretty frequently so this isn’t out of the unusual.

“Okay…?”

“Well,” he starts, sitting up further to the edge of the couch cushion. “We think Hydra is trying to make a come back, underground.”

Hydra?

“The Soviet Union is the last place I’d want to bring him but… we need him. I need him.”

“Oh.” Was all you could manage to say.

We’ve made so much progress, what if going back to its place of origin sets him back?

“It will be fine,” Steve tries to reassure. “We’ll be back before you know it. And you know I'll always have Buck’s back, no matter what.”

You ever feel like you’re being delivered bad news but it’s done in such a way that feeling upset is...wrong?

"Well..." You start, knowing what you got into when you took this position; knew what a life with Bucky meant. Danger, long periods of not seeing or being able to talk with one another. To the world he was just one person, but to you he was your world. "I guess that explains all of the extra training he's been doing with Nat." You try justifying the some-what dodgy behavior he's shown.

"Extra training?" Now Steve is the one who is confused. He is quiet for a moment as his brain attempts to process what the secrecy is about. "Well, in these situations that could never hurt." He brushes it off. "Anyway, thanks for your time, y/n. We'll be heading out soon."

"Bye, Steve..." It came out so low that you aren't even sure he heard you as he made his way out of your office.

Now you're left even more confused, with more questions and more worried about this particular mission.

The work day seemed to drag. Constantly looking at the clock thinking hours had gone by when in reality only 20 minutes had passed.

How do I go about bringing up the topic of Hydra? Would it be selfish to beg Bucky to stay behind? For yourself? For him? Will this bring him closure? Will this do more harm than good?

The questions are endless and there is no certain answer until he’s already there. Long periods of time with no contact is something you grew up with and accustomed to. But this? It could destroy everything. Bucky, your relationship, your career, even you.

Passing by the common area, you see Bucky with Natasha again.

He’s been spending a lot of time with her recently…

This time they’re accompanied by Nick Fury, Tony, and Steve. Seeing them all together makes you feel insecure all of a sudden, although it never has before. It makes you feel like an outsider, an intruder of some kind. It’s hard to feel anything but ordinary around so many people who are extraordinary.

Bucky came home late tonight, again. He's been doing it more and more. It's hard to try and enjoy what time you actually have together when in the back of your mind you're already building the wall. Emotionally distancing yourself in fear of getting hurt. Something can't hurt you if you don't care, right? Wrong. It actually makes it worse.

Already changed into comfy clothes, you're sitting curled up at the end of the couch, Alpine keeping your lap warm. The release of the additional serotonin from petting her is helping your anxiety from turning into a full blown panic attack.

"Hey, Sunshine!" Bucky calls from the hallway, the front door closing behind him rather loudly.

"Sorry I'm late, I was just tr-"

"Training with Nat. Yeah... I know." You cut him off. The words come out sour, draped in jealousy. It takes him by surprise. He stops in his tracks, a confused look on his face.

"Are you...okay?" Bucky asks, cautiously.

"Yeah...I'm great." You shift your body slightly on the couch which causes Alpine to jump off and scamper over to Bucky. He reaches down, picking her up gently and petting her with his free hand.

"Really? Doesn't sound like it. "

"I don't know, Bucky. I'm just-" You sigh in frustration, get off the couch and fold your arms across your chest- still unintentionally keeping distance. "Worried... I guess."

"About?"

Here we go with the reverse psychology. He gets short with his speech, trying to get you to open up. It's something he's all to familiar with in his experience.

"When were you going to tell me about the Hydra mission?" You ask, exasperated.

“That’s what this is about?” He answers your question with a question. Classic Bucky.

“Well…” When he puts it like that. You leave it open ended, feeling uneasy.

Bucky gently places Alpine down on the floor, taking a few short steps forward.

“You’ve always known what kind of work I was in.” His response is monotone. Why is he being like this?

“Yeah, but Buck this is different-“

“It’s not. Hydra has been the root of everything; War, killing so many innocent people, dipping their dirty hands in and getting involved with the infinity stones which lead to the blip!”

He’s enraged, and who could blame him?

“And me.” Bucky admits, looking down at the floor in shame. “I cannot truly atone myself until they’re gone- All gone and have no chance of coming back.”

“But what if making sure Hydra doesn’t resurface means… losing you?” It’s hard to keep your voice from cracking and even more difficult to focus on him through watery eyes.

“I would do it. Without thinking twice.” Again, he admits. Ouch. Keeping his posture, Bucky looks up through hooded eyes.

“Bucky… no.” Your arms grip around yourself tighter, wishing that you were holding onto him instead.

But it’s hard to move and even breathe, at the realization that he is going on this mission and there is nothing that will prevent that.

“What about… me?” You offer, feeling like a child willing to barter anything you have. It’s a last ditch effort, knowing full well it won’t change his mind but praying it will be enough for him to make it back home.

“Y/n…” Bucky’s voice now remains soft. In two strides he is now standing in front of you, hands placed delicately on your elbows- Closing the distance. “I will do everything within my super soldier serum power to get back here…to you.” He says half serious and half joking to try and lighten the mood. It doesn't work.

Your jaw clenches down as you solely focus on trying not to blink. Such a simplistic, mundane action like blinking your eyes, will be your undoing. Blinking is the only thing standing between you and a breakdown. Both are inevitable.

Making the mistake of looking up slightly, you're met with Bucky’s ice blue eyes- already searching yours. He has mastered the art of conveying his thoughts and feelings through looks, being a man of few words that he is.

What is he showing now? There, in his eyes, is sympathy- an understanding how difficult this is going to be for you. And him.

“It’s going to be okay…” he says gently.

So much for avoiding the whole blinking thing as it turns into a full on, uncontrollable sob. If Bucky hadn't already been there you would have collapsed, due to the feeling of the floor being swept out from beneath you. Here you are in this situation, yet again. Showcasing your heart as though it is breaking into pieces like glass, heavily collecting in your stomach. Piece after piece, layer on top of layer, making it impossible to breathe in fear that it would be too painful.

Not a word is spoken.

It doesn't have to be. Am I overreacting? Maybe. But you can't help feeling as though this mission is unalike from the others. This mission is going to have an impact.

Bucky's shirt is tear stained, sticking to his chest in the more dampened areas. He shifts his weight ever so lightly causing you to press into his body more, as if trying to pull apart two strong magnets. Grabbing a fistful of the fabric, you hang on for dear life. For now, it is just you and a few threads being the only thing between you.

You know when you're excited for something, like a concert or trip, so you start a countdown? Marking off the days with a bold black marker on a calendar as time seems to move at a snails pace to said event? Waiting for Bucky to go on this particular mission was the same. Except time seemed to be flying by at lightspeed and instead of enthusiasm, you felt dread.

Over the next week, kissing became a temporary lock and key. The sleepless nights were filled with intense, intimate sex. Followed by cuddles that kept your bodies so close to one another, that only being able to somehow crawl underneath his skin would suffice. Even then, that might not be enough. Not a moment went by wasted. After all, you can sleep when you're dead.

The darkness of the bedroom gradually started to lighten. Moment by moment, the twilight hue of the room became brighter; Acting as a wire cable slowly being reeled in, each second closer to him leaving and away from you.

“Y/n…” His voice startles you, although he spoke softly into your ear. The Combination of the break in silence and his warm breath meant you were about to hear the words you have feared over the last few days.

“I… have to go.”

You could tell that he waited until the very last millisecond to get out of the bed. Just a small nod of your head against the pillow is your response.

There’s a sudden chill the length of your entire body as he gets up. Something I need to get used to. His usual morning routine is eerily quiet. It feels impossible to try and peel yourself out of the comfortable, sinking imprint in the bed.

If I get up out of this bed, it’s one step closer to him leaving.

If I get up out of this bed, I don’t know if I’d be able to let him walk out the door.

If I get up out of this bed, I’ll try to be a stowaway.

If I get up out of this bed, I might resort to getting on my hands and knees, begging him not to go.

If I get up out of this bed, he won’t choose me over this mission.

If I get up out of this bed… I might lose him.

While the thoughts are irrational, you’re about to be forced to accept the fact that your heart is going to walk out the front door and may not return as the same person. Or if at all. The greatest fear for you both.

For the time spent with your mind racing with trying to find the reason he should stay, Bucky was ready. The weight of him sitting down on the bed is what brings you back to the here and now.

“I’ll make it back, Sunshine. I promise.”

“You can’t make that promise, Bucky.”

There’s no rebuttal, no usual playful banter back and forth. It’s impossible to look at him; To think that this short goodbye could be everything.

Not pushing, he gives a reassuring squeeze on your thigh.

“I love you… so much.”

He pauses waiting for your reply that doesn’t come. His head falls down in slight disappointment, feeling defeated as he goes to stand up. Without even being able to think about it, you throw the sheets off of yourself, jumping into his lap and wrapping all limbs around the trunk of his body. In return, he wraps his arms around you- keeping you as close as possible. Even if only for a moment.

To get through these times, you remember the saying: “It’s not goodbye, it’s seen you soon.” Using this mantra to tell yourself that this won’t be the last time you see Bucky. There is still so much undiscovered territory in the world that is him and yet you can’t shake the awful feeling of something being wrong.

And then it was time for him to go.

Cupping your face gently, he brings your lips to his. Bucky holds the kiss steadily, taking in the last bit of the warmth and softness he’s become accustomed to before he slips away. That’s one thing about him that you can appreciate, he never lets anything drag out for too long. Just like that, he’s gone.

All the weeks worth of worry, anxiety, and fear were front and center; Teasing to make its physical appearance. It takes every ounce of what little energy you barely even have to choke down the acidic bile climbing it’s way up your throat.

A low rumble throughout The Compound is a giveaway that their jet has taken off and on its way to the Soviet Union.

The days turn into weeks. There is limited contact as everyone has gone completely off the grid. An occasional update from FRIDAY is all the information you're given (and it's not much). The living quarters are quiet, spookily quiet. The silence is almost worse than the typical chaos surrounding this place the majority of the time.

And still, there is this uneasy feeling. Deep within the corners of your mind where you keep pushing it further and further down in hopes to ignore it completely... Which only makes it worse. Escalating all your fears to the extent of making you physically ill.

Then, on a random week day, you hear commotion. Arguing voices, multiple footsteps running through the halls.

He's home.

It takes everything in you, and some more, to show some restraint and not to run out of the apartment, rush to the main entrance and jump into Bucky's arms- A scene straight from The Notebook.

Forcing yourself to do an incredibly fast walk instead of a full on sprint, you make your way to the medical bay. It's always the first stop coming home from a mission; To take care of any injuries, even the internal ones that might have gone unnoticed.

It's busy, like bees buzzing around a hive. Bruce is triaging each individual, some with minor cuts and bruises, others with broken bones. And thankfully that's the worst, physically extent. Quickly dodging between people, standing on your tippy toes trying to look over heads, you still haven't found Bucky. Instead you're met with Sam blocking you from going any further down the hallway.

"Y/N..." He starts, his tone calm.

"Hey Sam..." You respond, barely taking notice to him as you continue to frantically look for Bucky behind him. But being pointed in the right direction wouldn't hurt. "Have you seen Bucky?" You ask, hopeful he knows the answer.

His lack of response causes you to become tense, your vision quickly changing from rapid movement among the herd of people to solely focusing on Sam. His face. It’s a look I’ve never seen before. At least, not with him.

"Sam...? Sam! Where's Bucky? Is...he okay?"

“Well technically yeah-“

“What do you mean by ‘technically’?”

Steve appeared next to Sam at some point, which wasn’t even noticed due to your tunnel vision on Sam.

“Hey y/n…” Steve says in a sort of stoic manner, having a hard time but forcing himself to look at you.

“What the fuck is going on?” Your patience is as thin as a strand of hair.

The two men exchange a worried glance between one another after Steve had a small moment to process the profanity.

“What is it?!” In any other situation, a 5’3 woman yelling up to Captain America himself might be funny. But not here. Not in this case.

They're still looking amongst one another searching for words. With an annoyed sigh, you push passed between Steve and Sam like an old western bar door with no sort of hinderance from them.

Looking in each clinical room as you lightly jog down the hallway, it's becoming harder to ignore the distressing looks on each persons face as you progress further. There is only one more place to look; the quarantine room.

Quarantine? Why is he secluded from everyone else?

Narrowing vision takes hold as your pulse starts to race faster the closer you get to the bright white room. It's clearly under intense surveillance but see through what looks like thick, clear glass. You let out a sigh of relief once Bucky comes into view. But he seems...different.

Bruce is also in the room with him, having what seemed a firm, yet concerned conversation that you cannot hear. Bucky is sitting completely upright on the exam table. While he is covered in purple bruises, some of them are already turning a dense yellow as a sign of healing. It seems as though he is barely listening to Dr. Banner, staring at the wall and straight through him. Bucky is wearing an expressionless face as he continues to not talk, his chest barely expanding as he breathes and hardly blinks.

You're taken aback; This is not the Bucky you know. Not the playful, kind and loving man that you have become accustomed to. Your jaw ever so slightly drops open at the sight and pure shock.

Without realizing, Natasha is standing at your side looking into the room as well.

"What happened out there, Natasha?" You ask softly. She takes a deep breath, her eyes not being taken off of Bucky for a millisecond.

"Hydra." She says plainly.

Turning your body to now face the Black Widow herself.

"Care to elaborate on that... I don't know, just a little?"

The sarcastic tone normally causes an overwhelming anxiety to be stored in the back compartment of your mind; Until you've had time to reflect. But when it comes to Bucky? Defense mode is instantly activated.

"They..." She sighs, still not looking away from him.

"They were somehow able to manipulate his mind. He's waiting...for orders."

Your brow furrows with worry and confusion as your eyes bounce between Bucky and Natasha.

"So... you're saying that..."

The words were impossible to form. There is no way. No way after years of working on redemption, and using every method possibly known to man to reverse anything and everything that Hydra instilled in his mind is still...there?

"I'm saying, Barnes is compromised. He has to stay in quarantine until we can be sure he's not a danger to anyone."

"That's it? That's all that you'll tell me?"

"That's all that we really know, y/n."

For the first time, Natasha looks at you with her traditional, unemotional gaze. There are many ways a person can react to such news. But this is hard, too hard, to accept.

Your blood starts boiling within your body. The heat congregates and pools in your cheeks as your hands tense into fists at your side.

"Bullshit!"

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen from your shout, but she doesn't move.

"Excuse me? What, you think that I am keeping something from you?" She responds, seeming the slightest bit annoyed.

"Yeah, Nat! What the actual fuck?! You two have been spending all this time together and have gotten so close and yet you know nothing about what actually happened?!"

The loudness and cracking of your voice catches the attention of some people in the hallway but they're polite enough to pretend as though they didn't. Behind your eyes starts to sting from the suppressed tears; refusing to once again blink in fear of letting them out.

Blame. Someone has to be held liable for this. And unfortunately, that's Natasha. She was the bearer of bad news and there has been this underlying, embarrassing tinge of jealousy. Although it's completely unwarranted.

"Finished?" She asks, flatly. Nat sighs as she crosses her arms as her shoulder leans against the glass, her attention solely on you.

"Are you that naive?"

Naive? The word itself feels like a slap across the face. You're left standing there, breathless for the first time in the conversation.

"I-..." You try to mumble, but it came out more like a sound than any attempt of a word.

"There's nothing going on between Barnes and I."

That's a relief and yet... kind of not really?

"You really have no idea, do you y/n?"

Nat unfolds her arms and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. She exhales deeply, maintaining composure as she falls back into her relaxed position against the window.

"Don't ask me why he would come to me of all people-"

You're finally getting an explanation and yet your eyes are drawn to Bucky as he sits on the exam table. His lips moving gently as he speaks with Bruce, his body stiff, his face emotionless, and his eyes seemingly....dead.

"The trip?" Natasha asks. "Upstate? Camping?"

She's spelling it out, but for some reason dot A is not connecting to dot B. Reluctantly, you look away from Bucky and back to Nat, almost becoming numb to the situation at hand. Annoyed, she blurts out;

"He was planning on proposing to you..."

Your world feels as though it is crashing down harder, faster. How is that even possible? The life that we planned, dreamed, and fought so hard for, is just gone? It's not fair. Life isn't always fair, but Bucky had his second chance. He completely turned his life around and chose you, loves you. Loved? The thought that his love for you is in the past is almost too much to bare.

Nat seemed to still be talking, but at this point it just sounds muffled; like being outside of a concert venue. Your vision wasn't focused on anything in particular, just out into the abyss of Bucky's new temporary home.

Bruce walking passed the window where you're standing brought you back to the moment. He and Bucky continued conversing as he was getting ready to exit the quarantine room when the two of you make eye contact. You felt stuck, as if your legs had been cemented to the floor.

Holding your breath, you wait to see what his reaction is. Will all his memories come flooding back? Is he that lost? Can he be pulled back from this corruption again?

Bruce opened the exam room door to leave; Bucky had a frantic look on his face although he did not get off the table.

"Banner!" He yelled out, his eyes staying locked on you.

Bucky jumps off of the exam table to be met with quick and strong Hulk hands holding him back as he struggles. Kicking, yelling, punching; it is his once abandoned darkness that is coming out.

There was no hiding the evident panic on your face. It's like a train wreck that you want nothing more than to look away from but can't.

This is too much.

Without realizing, there is a sudden warmness wrapped around your shoulder. Steve is now standing with you, watching along at your side as Bucky becomes undone.

In his swiftness to contain Bucky, Bruce had left the door open. You can hear the agony in his voice, the confusion, the rage. Looking down in defeat, Steve coaxes you to turn around.

"Let's get you upstairs, y/n." He says in a sorrowful tone.

You allow Steve to lead you, unable to form a coherent thought or even begin comprehending the situation. There are no words, no preparation in the world for something like this.

"Bruce!" Bucky yells as he continues to struggle. "Who is she?! Tell me! I know her! I KNOW HER!" His voice echoes down the hall and swarms around in your ears.

You aren't sure how you got home but honestly didn't care. The mind tends to just go through regular motions when something traumatic happens. It's your body's way of protecting itself. But laying in bed, you cannot help but fixate on the 8x10 frame with the picture of Bucky and yourself from your friend Elena's wedding from just a few months ago. Laughing happily and the camera happening to catch the moment. You're safely tucked into Bucky's arms as he smiles, looking down at you as if you were the only person in the world. In his world.

The most perfect candid...

The accurate depiction of your relationship...

The simplicity of love.

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