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rockingbytheseaside · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! I wanted to say I absolutely adore your art and headcannons! I wanted to ask if you would be interested in making a headcannon for our lovely harbingers where there is someone trying to sabotage their relationship with the reader like for example the person is saying that the reader is cheating or is saying mean things about the harbingers and that they have ,,proof" it is if course a lie. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to tho!

(Absolutely genius idea! Sorry to keep you waiting! I’m a slow writer…)

✦ When others try to sabotage your relationship with them

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

(tw: general mentions of violence and blood. sfw)

Being intimate with a powerful Fatui Harbinger provides the illusory dream of having riches, power, and status. Some watch you with hushed murmurs as you accompany your beloved with linked arms, looking all elegant beside him. Perhaps some people cannot comprehend how such a ruthless Fatuus can even court someone like you. Others simply cannot comprehend that status and money is not a key factor in your relationship.

✧ To crossfire with Pierro is to go against every single Fatui Harbinger. The Director is known far and wide as a man of cold words and power beyond the seven nations. All valuable intel and actions are reported to him first and foremost, as even the top Harbingers bow before him. You, on the other hand, were not meant to bow before him. The Jester shall never let you lower your head, because it is he who shall stoop to worship you.

However recently, a certain rumor reached his ears. His spies related to him info that certain Fatui soldiers, some lowly commoners at the bottom of the ranks, are spreading uncouth jabs about you and Pierro. Intel states that these fools think you infiltrated the Fatui and The Director’s inner circle by some intimate provocation and seduction; that you’re in it for the money and status.

Pierro’s gloved hands gripped the papers. Nevertheless, his expression is placid as always.

Thus, the culprit now sat in Pierro’s office, trembling as the room oozed with murderous silence. The Jester never raised his voice, nor did he question the man who “joked” about you. The fellow kept spitting apologies, begging for mercy. He knew it was futile to lie or waste the Director's patience.

And the Jester? It took everything in his power not to get his gloved hands bloodied. To hear someone accuse you - his most cherished, as a shallow harlot? Consequences shall be faced. Calming his boiling turmoil, Pierro continued to conduct himself professionally:

He made sure the man and his entire generation met their oblivion.

With the recruitment of his best spies, he ascertained that the culprit’s disappearance was not felt by a single soul, his entire family gone, and all traces of spread rumors eradicated. Above all, it was orchestrated so that you would remain unaware that anyone dared to tarnish your reputation.

You carried on with your life, blissfully unaware and undisturbed. Even now, you came in knocking on his office, asking: “Long day at work, honey? I can bring you some tea or coffee if you want.”

The Jester's smile returned, throwing away some crumbled documents into the trash can - “A tea break would be excellent, my divine.”

If it’s blood that needs to be spilled to protect you and his private affairs, then Pierro won’t think twice.

✧ For Il Capitano, the way of the blade speaks more for its wielder than words. If you wish to prove your stance, you better be prepared to face the First Fatui Harbinger, as his might will test you in a relentless duel of strength. So what do you think happened when Capitano overheard someone calling you “weak”? That his beloved does not deserve an ounce of his attention, because you are a meek being compared to the Harbinger?

His hand instantly found its place on the hilt of his claymore. He left no room for negotiation or doubt. He marched straight towards the culprit, unsheathed his weapon, and pointed the sharp point of his blade straight at the person.

“If you are so confident to spit such insolence about them, then you must be equally confident with your strength. Let your blade speak.”

The poor fool tried to defend himself with excuses. But his mocking meant nothing to the Captain’s weapon. Before you know it, there is an ongoing duel initiated by Il Capitano. The witnesses know that whoever is on the receiving end of his wrath has no chance of surviving. Not when a single swing of his weapon causes craters on the ground.

The man was about to collapse, accepting his violent demise. But just as Capitano was about to unleash his final lesson, your voice rang out amongst the crowd.

“Hey! Cease this commotion at once!” - you stepped up, your expression stern as you stood in front of your beloved. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the Captain’s already stoic body language shifted. His claymore was sheathed back to its place.

“My beloved, you shouldn’t have seen this…”

“And yet I did. It would’ve reached my ears anyway. What did I say about temperamental duels, Capitano? Morons are not worth it.”

“He called you weak. I cannot allow it.”

For a minute, Capitano kept his head hung low in reverence. You stood with your arms on your hips, scolding him. Was it not for your intervention, that person who vocally mocked you would’ve been lying dead now. Instead, you spared the offender, and the man was allowed to flee in humiliation.

The conflict was eradicated, and Capitano's imposing demeanor showed he didn't regret his actions. Considering how even Capitano bowed to your words, the accuser realized - you are not weak. Because if there was one person who made the First Harbinger go motionless then it was you.

✧ Today was a good day for Il Dottore, but you weren't sure why. He was a tad clingy, his steps laced with a sense of giddiness. Giving you extra squeezes while hugging, smothering you with longer kisses on the cheek. Even as you sat idly in his lab, you watched him as he worked on some paperwork with a grin.

Thus you questioned him, lazily strolling around his lab and observing the countless tools or vials. But he waved off his excitement, tapping his pencil over some papers - “Nothing of major importance, but I did have something interesting happen recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue.

“An idiot made a pathetic attempt at spreading rumors about us.” - You stopped in your tracks, going still as you held some miscellaneous container with what seemed to be tissue samples. The Harbinger continued: “Some fool spoke behind your back; stating that anyone who is close with a heretical scholar is bound to be equally insane. They thought that if their words didn't reach you, then it's of no consequence.”

Your expression fell somber with each word Dottore spoke. He said it with such profound avidity, that his voice demonstrated threatening intent behind them. So he continued. “But you know me, dear. Nothing goes past me. Vile nicknames are nothing new to me. My work is not for the faint of heart, and those pesky cretins enjoy concealing their fear with profane titles. And they can call me whatever they want. However, I won't allow them to call you names. Not because of my work.”

You averted your gaze sadly onto the samples of veins and organs in vials. You pretended to inspect them, but your sorrow was more prominent. You suspected Dottore already did something, hence his unusual giddiness today. Thus, you inquired in a soft whisper - “So… what did you do?”

“I handled it, naturally.”

“...You did? What happened? To the person who said such things, I mean.”

“What happened? Dear, you're holding them in your hands right now.” - Il Dottore beamed, pointing at the vials of organs you held.

✧ Today, Scaramouche was eerily silent. You were accompanying him during one of his work expeditions, aiding him with certain formalities regarding his Fatui subordinates. The 6th had soldiers working under him, and although he did not care for their training, he did not tolerate any incompetent weaklings.

Therefore, you decided to lend a hand. You helped conduct a training program for his underlings, making sure all standards were met. It’s not the first time you did so, since The Puppeteer often placed you as the second in command whenever he was absent. And the Fatui soldiers did not conceal their thrill - it’s like you were their favorite substitute teacher who was more cheerful and forgiving than their superior.

Either way, Scaramouche saw that the mission was going smoothly. But soon, lightning would strike. A certain Fatuus, an agent in training, was getting too charmful with you. It was during the usual training assigned by you, and this person was focusing more on his conversation with you than his training:

Telling you how you are a remarkably skilled person. How it’s a marvel to see someone so delightful as you working alongside the Balladeer. How you shouldn’t waste your time with someone as aggravating as Lord Harbinger Scaramouche. He’s even leaning closer towards you.

You smiled uncomfortably, your attempts at polite disagreement did not work with this agent. Yet now you felt the static in the air, and that’s when you realized - Your beloved heard all of it.

On this usual, unassuming morning, Scaramouche walked silently and struck a man with lightning. All eyes turned towards the commotion as you stood behind the Harbinger. His fists were clenched, sparks of electro crackling from them.

He may have been silent the whole day, but don’t mistake his silence for impassivity.

“Next time, know your place,” - he seethed, standing over the person who endeavored to sweet talk you. He permitted his subordinates too much leeway, now they dare charm you with empty flirts. Scaramouche would’ve stomped that man’s head if he wanted, but he wouldn’t create such a grotesque scene in your presence. Instead, he turned away, held your hand, and pulled you away.

He gave you a day off, his mind already conjuring plans to deal with his underlings later. At least he scoffed out an apology. Not for what he did; he does not lament that. Just a small ‘sorry’ for giving you a quick fright. The lightning strike was very loud, after all.

✧ Pantalone often gets invited to luxurious meetings or extravagant galas. Any party that is attended by the richest man in Teyvat is a guarantee to make high-society elites turn heads. However, considering your prolonged relationship with your darling Pantalone, you know he secretly despises these social gatherings. Therefore, he takes you with him. Dressed in your finest, Pantalone proudly shows you off to the pompous aristocrats.

People would watch enviously, thinking to themselves: The Regrator’s sweetheart, spoiled by his riches. Your attire is as glorious as his expensive suit. His arm is tenderly linked with yours, always offering you his hand like a true gentleman whenever you two walk. Even as he conversed with various business partners, he always had to make sure his hand was around your waist or your hand.

This dotting behavior made certain ladies of Snezhnaya jealous. They could see you were not a noble-born, nor were you used to the attention during such gatherings. You just timidly accompanied him, and Pantalone kept rambling about you and your benign achievements. Childish, really. You’re probably someone who just ran after and clung to the Harbinger until he relented to keep you. Therefore, a group of ladies initiated the conversation:

“It’s a pleasure to meet a man such as yourself, Lord Harbinger.” and “Why, a man of your status is probably seeking some interesting company. Oh? You are with someone? My, my, I did not notice them.” or “Surely you desire connections worthy of your status, sir.”

Pantalone had mastered the art of courteous smiling, yet even his act was about to crack. He noticed the way these ladies tried to stand too close to him, pretend you were not in the picture, or even passively mock you. Their insolence stenches, and noticing your silent discomfort caused his heart to sting. But he had a plan.

“Why yes, you are right,” - Pantalone smiled with his charming looks “I do value my time, and it’s important to not waste it on shallow conversationalists. Oh, but it’s such a shame that the people in front of us are just that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Pantalone turned to you, his arms encircling your waist while speaking such backhanded comments with triumphant smiles. The ladies’ smiles fell instantly, and you tried everything to avert your gaze. “Um, Pantalone? Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t bore ourselves with such lowly individuals? Hmm, I agree. There isn’t much to do here anyway, only the greedy will seek something in this superficial gathering. Oh well, let’s go so I can take you to dance, dear.” - Pantalone concluded in his usual enamoring tone “Ladies, if you would excuse yourself.”

In this world, the 9th of the Fatui Harbinger doesn’t excuse himself - others do. Therefore, he took you away, scoffing and checking up on you with hushed whispers. Pantalone was offended. Why do they assume it was you who desperately sought out the rich Harbinger? Little do they know it was Pantalone who used to run and seek your attention just to be yours. Honestly, they’re discrediting his neediness for you.

✧ Should anyone meddle with Tartaglia’s personal life, they are picking up a brawl. Someone dares to flirt with you? His fists are ready. Someone said something unwelcoming about you? Anything in the vicinity can be used as a weapon. Someone endangers his relationship? Their life is now in danger.

Of course, you’re the one who consistently yanked him out of these fights. Usually, it’s nothing serious, as when you scold your boyfriend for such reckless behavior it ends with his heartfelt words and apologetic chuckles. He finds solace in embracing you from behind, gently enfolding his arms around your shoulders, reassuring himself that all is well.

However, Tartagia is still a Harbinger. Away from home, he’d personally search for intel on the culprit who dares to offend your relationship. Names, records, locations, anything to keep tabs on those who think they can drag his family into bloodshedding matters. Tracking is of no issue, after all, when he was still a young rookie, training as a Fatui agent was just the first step.

Once he determines the offender, he’ll pay a discreet visit to them. And this time, without you dragging him away from fights, there is no place for mercy or jests.

At night, Childe returned home, cheerful as the sight of you getting ready for bed welcomes him. Yet in the dim lights, you’d gasp and approach him with concern, catching traces of smeared blood on his face or hands.

Ajax would just smile; he didn’t need to explain. Instead, he would quietly approach you from behind and envelop his arms around your shoulders in quiet stillness.

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7nuh · 2 months ago

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WAS IT 'CASUAL' WHEN...? — TWST 1ST YEARS

Headcanons on the 'casual' things you do with him that made him wish that there was something more between you.

CW 𓂃 sfw, gn!reader, reader is implied to fit in Deuce's clothes in his part, pining

CHARAS 𓂃 Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, and Sebek Zigvolt

AN 𓂃 mostly* edited now 😎👍

ACE TRAPPOLA — you slept in the same bed?

Ramshackle isn't exactly known for having the best facilities or furniture, and that is a fact Ace has to make peace with whenever he gets kicked out by Riddle. It's always a little too chilly at night and the floors still creak beneath his feet. Even with a makeover, half of the beds are broken and that stiff couch downstairs is your next best bet at getting some semblance of sleep.

You insisted you really didn't mind sharing a bed at all and Ace took you up on your offer. In his words, "if you say so then!" Just create an invisible partition down the middle and the two of you should be fine. Sure, yeah, that'll be infinitely more comfortable than the couch, and Ace absolutely agrees. He repeats the thought to himself over and over again— this is supposedly the better alternative, isn't it?

Yeah, totally. He tries to convince himself that it's really not a big deal for him to be inches away from you at night and feel your warmth spreading through the sheets. God, you'd think he's a weirdo if you woke up and caught him staring right now, but he could always twist it into a dumb joke about your sleeping face looking like an ogre. Consequently, he would have to watch your face twist in annoyance and pretend he wasn't watching every rise and fall of your chest. He would rather lose his magic entirely than admit the ugly truth and make himself vulnerable to you.

Ace does realize he's being embarrassingly sappy and romantic, and he's disgusted at himself for these thoughts, but he can't help it. He can't change the fact your lips look so soft and your eyelashes are so pretty. This is freaking him out so much more than it should. Does this really mean nothing to you? Do really only see him as a friend? Fine, then the two of you are just friends sharing a bed then!

It's really nothing! Ace was the one who joked about it months ago, after all. But things (and his feelings) have changed and he cannot ignore that. Back then it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but now it is and he cannot calm his heart down no matter how hard he tries.

You're right there. It's not the first time he had to share a bed with someone but it's different now because it's you. He did the math and the two of you are only 10 inches apart. Ace almost reaches for you in his weakest moment until he remembers that the two of you are supposedly just two friends sharing a bed. You're doing him a favor by sheltering him for the night, that's all.

Ace retracts his hand right away at the very last second. He might have as well taken the goddamn couch (lest either of you wake up in each other's arms).

DEUCE SPADE — he lent his clothes?

You came here with next to nothing. You had exactly one change of clothes and pocket lint for change, so Deuce, being the righteous and honorable student that he is, decided to lend you some of his clothes for the meantime. It's what a good friend would do! It's a temporary arrangement that would last only until Crowley spares enough change for you to buy another set of uniforms.

But this arrangement drags on for so long even when you have a functional closet and multiple sets of better-fitting clothes. Deuce never really noticed until recently that a third of your (albeit very limited) wardrobe actually belongs to him. But whenever you tug on his sleeves for his latest sweater, he doesn't have the heart to tell you no.

When he went home during break, his mom even noticed that certain sweaters and shirts had gone missing. "I left them at the college," he tells her as to not worry her. It's technically the truth— it's back with you in the college (and you're probably wearing them right now; the mental image is enough to fluster him all of the sudden when it never did before). He has to get them back eventually since those clothes are his. He's sure you wouldn't mind? Right?

Simply asking for them back is the difficult part for Deuce. You're there in front of him wearing one of his older shirts that fit snugly around your figure and he's at a loss for words. It's worn down and outright hideous as hell but the very first thought that comes to mind is that you look good in it.

Ah, yeah. You walk around campus on non-school days wearing his clothes 1/3rd of the time and nobody else knows that those jackets and shirts and sweaters and button-ups are all his. You make even the ugliest ones look good, or maybe it's because you're the wearer and you always looked good to him? Do his eyes need to be checked...? Deuce is tortured by these thoughts while merrily go about your day. You're laughing at something stupid that Grim said and he can't hear anything else. There's a fight in the courtyard but he can't see anything else. There's a midterm tomorrow but he can't think of anything else. You're too distracting.

When you finally do remember to return a shirt or two, Deuce tells you there's really no need to return them. He insists that they're better off with you, but you laugh and remind him that you're no longer the same pathetic charity case you were at the start of the year.

The truth is, your scent still lingers on recently returned shirts. It's the closest he'll get to being skin-to-skin with you, and Deuce is supposed to ignore that but he cannot. Or maybe he's the only one making this weird for the two of you because it doesn't seem to bother you in the slightest (and he's bothered by that).

But when Deuce looks at the recently returned shirts in his hands, he hopes he has a chance. He hopes you think of him as much as he thinks of you. He hopes the odds of him not actually liking you after all make your guts churn and set butterflies in your chest at the same time. He hopes he isn't the only one yearning for used shirts, lingering scents, and ghost touches. But at the same time, you've only ever asked these kinds of favors from him... Deuce doesn't want to assume anything, but a blush creeps upon his cheeks all the same and he continues to hope for more.

JACK HOWL — you played with his ears and tail?

Beastmen weren't a thing back in your world, so seeing them regularly made you morbidly curious about their animalistic features. Jack was easily the best candidate to satisfy your intrusive thoughts because just who else could you ask about this? Leona wasn't exactly an option and Ruggie might rope you into some scheme of his. And Jack owed you a favor, after all, so this is what you decided to ask of him.

Jack's ears twitched— did he hear you correctly? His face scrunches up in confusion because you barely knew each other for you to be asking something like this. How could you ask something so personal from him? It's in your innocently eager expression that he realizes what's going on... you just didn't know. Fine, it should mean nothing to you and thus he agrees to let you pet his tail and ears for five seconds. Maximum.

It's supposed to be a one time thing but he finds him involuntarily offering up his tail whenever you look him like that. He's not even sure how it got to this point. After all, there are romantic connotations of having your tail petted by someone else and... nevermind. Ruggie and Leona have started simultaneously teasing him over it the very moment they caught wind of this peculiar arrangement. It doesn't help that Jack's tail is particularly sensitive and reactive, but he keeps a straight face no matter how much it embarrasses him.

Jack doesn't understand why you're so fascinated by his tail and ears because there are so many others just like him. However, he supposes it's not an entirely terrible feeling, though, to have your fingers absentmindedly rake across his tail and hair as the two of you study. It's relaxing, even, but he won't tell you that. Jack will never tell you that it gives him goosebumps all over and makes him shiver whenever you play with his tail. Or that he's begun wondering what it would be like to have your hands elsewhere, or for him to touch you in similar ways in return.

He doesn't understand why he craves your company but doesn't question it either. All he knows is that your hands are so soft and gentle and that he likes the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile in satisfaction. And when you hum a soft tune as the gap between the two of you closes, he wonders if he's the only one feeling this tension.

"Again?" Jack huffs. The pretext of this being a silly favor has been long forgotten. He should probably tell you soon that you shouldn't be doing this, but you just look so pleased with yourself when the two of settle down in a lesser-known corner of the library. The routine persists, the cycle continues. Hours later, the both of you have gone through multiple bags of chips, two movies on his laptop, and his tail is now comfortably curled around your abdomen as you read a book and he tends to his beloved cactus.

Again? Jack silently asks himself whenever he sees your face in a crowd. Could the two of you spend hours in a comfortable silence while the unsaid implications haunt him? He's started to ask himself— were you just playing dumb at this point or just plain stupid? Or what if you had known all along and the two of you were just dancing around it?

EPEL FELMIER — you kissed him?

Epel eventually learns to use the way others perceive him to his advantage; there's strength in appearing to be weak and striking when the iron is hot. Still, he couldn't help but wish to be seen for his talents and strength instead of his beauty at the first glance. The first assumption everyone makes of him, for god's sake, is that he's a fragile little thing from a rich family, and, quite frankly, he's sick of it.

So he's secretly delighted when none of his charms worked on you and you yank him by the ear for even attempting. A few curse words and rough shoves later, both of you are on the floor, grappling and wrestling against each other. The two of you are laughing so hard and swearing so loudly that you'll probably wake up the rest of Pomefiore at this rate, but neither of you care. It's just the two of you right now grasping at each other like your life depended on it.

It's a nice change of pace to be openly exchanging insults instead of restraining himself. He enjoys the comfortable rhythm the two of you share— from all the brawls and the bantering and the hugs and to the kisses on the cheek. Yes, kisses. They started as simple thank you's after a few favors here and there, and just one of them is enough to make a mess out of Epel for weeks. Better yet, you only seem to be showering him with more and more of your attention and he relishes in it.

Ah, things are finally working out for him! He found someone he could confide in and he's sure that there's a spark between the two of you. By the end of the year, he might have someone to bring home and brag about to his relatives—

All the momentum halts when he sees you across the hall granting the rest of your friends the same levels of affection. From all the brawls to the bantering to the hugs and the kisses, none of those were ever solely his to take delight upon. It doesn't matter that he opened up to you about all his fears and insecurities because he was never special. You were just the kind of person who got along and felt comfortable with everyone around you, but Epel hates that he has no one to blame but himself. He willingly walked your warmth but it was never his to take.

It finally dawns upon him that you have never seen him in a romantic light and that was why you were so comfortable around him. In retrospect, the bond you two shared was more sibling-like than anything— and believe him when he says he's incredibly grateful that the two of you were that close —but it doesn't make it hurt any less to know that your affections never carried any romantic intentions after he had pinned for you for so long.

Even when he takes a step back, you're cruel in a roundabout way by continuing to be so kind and loving towards him. How was Epel supposed to make sense of your relationship after realizing he misunderstood you...?

And he also hates to admit this, but his self-confidence takes a huge blow from this. Epel genuinely thought he could be loved for who he was based on the time you spent together. It gnaws at him and eats him alive to finally know the truth, and sometimes he wishes he never found out at all.

SEBEK ZIGVOLT — you wrote him love letters?

So, Sebek asked (demanded) to be penpals...

It's all because Lilia told him it would be a good exercise of diplomacy, he insisted. As the young master's bodyguard, he will have to be as courteous as possible even in unpleasant company. He also rationalized, admittedly partly because of you, that forging bonds with magicless humans may be a worthwhile endeavor after all! It's all rather suspicious (and you suspect his real intentions have something to do with your friendship with Malleus), but Sebek has never been one to lie about his intentions. If anything, the popular opinion was that he's a little too honest and should learn a thing or two about holding back.

There's something very unconventional in sending handwritten letters in this day and age of modern technology, but also something very romantic and fantastical— much like the many fictional knights he had read about. It helps a lot that he's not directly confronted by the fact you are very much a magicless human who shouldn't be in NRC whenever he spills out his heart's contents unto multiple pages. It was a way for him to release his frustrations, celebrate his achievements, and talk about the dull, little things thats happened in his day-to-day life to someone who listened.

And listen you did. Turns out, when you're not subjected to his 1000 decibel shouting, Sebek is a rather earnest guy who worked hard and acknowledged others who also worked equally as hard no matter their disposition. To say the least, you understand why Lilia found it so entertaining to tease him.

It completely flies over his head that you had been flirting with him for months through these letters. Your everyday interactions with each other had been completely normal, so how was he supposed to notice?! It takes multiple rereads and many late-night discussions with the other Diasomnia dormers to decode and understand all the double entendres and hidden 'i love you's' in each and every letter. It was so needlessly difficult, but Lilia laughs in his face and pats him at the back for a job well-done.

"There's no way," he thinks to himself late at night and finds himself doubting Lilia's claims for once. But when Sebek steals a glance in your direction and you smile back in return, he's never felt weaker in his knees. You're absolutely and undeniably magic-less... but somehow you had casted a spell that made his chest tighten and shut him up. He hadn't even realized how much time he was spending with you and thinking about you when he wasn't.

Except nothing has changed in-person. You're acting like you hadn't meticulously hidden your affections for him in those letters, and he was starting to seriously doubt all of it. Yeah, were you event smart enough to pull off all that? As some magic-less human?

Actually... Sebek realizes that you are capable of outsmarting him after getting to know you much better through those letters. He's never been one to deny where credit it was due. Now, Sebek's just deeply ashamed that he failed to accurately assess your character before making judgements based on superficial traits. He knows better than anyone that you're witty, charming, brave, kind, beautiful, ambitious—

Oh no.

Sebek simply explodes on the spot once he realizes that he had been oblivious to his own feelings for you too. He had thoroughly examined every aspect of this conundrum except from within. Quite embarrassing from an esteemed knight of the prince of nocturnal fae to be this slow, really.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #jack howl x reader #epel felmier x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #ace trapola #deuce spade #jack howl #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt #i hope my favorite isn't too obvious el oh el

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pedgito · 8 days ago

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𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | Joel finds the perfect way to keep you quiet while he showers you with compliments.

author's note | i saw a text post ages ago that i cannot find that inspired this. here's a vaguely disguised new years themed fic and some pwp to celebrate. not to get sappy on a blowjob fic but i'm very thankful for this community and the ideas that have been shared, love you all <3

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson!joel, established dynamic, idiots in love, shy!reader, joel being a quiet lover in public but loud in private, this is a deeply emotional blowjob y'all buckle in, unprotected piv.

word count — 2k

“Am I gonna have to shut you up just so I can tell you how pretty you are?” Joel snarks, only half-joking.

You hated compliments.

Joel loved giving them.

It was a slow work in progress, trying to feel comfortable with the showering of words, the outward affection Joel showed in private.

He appreciated that you weren’t big on public displays, enjoyed the idea of keeping you and this, all to himself.

But, he liked you—had for some time. It took months of courage before he could bring himself to admit it. It was after a long night of patrol, a grueling walk to your last stop. You had both collapsed in exhaustion on the dirtied couch in the lookout far west of Jackson, delirious with sleep when the words finally left his lips.

Even then, as he spoke, your hands found their way over your face, the heat of embarrassment prickling your skin as you shied away from him.

He’s learned to do it in subtle ways—a smile, longing looks, a touch, learning that love could be translated in many ways, not just words.

Besides, he wasn’t all that good at words anyways.

You decided to drag him back to your house after the annual New Year's celebration in Jackson—Tommy insisted that it was something to celebrate.

Another year of survival, another year without detrimental loss. Every day was something to cherish, but the party was a way to take a weight off of everyone’s shoulders.

You and Joel had never nailed down exactly what you were doing—just that you enjoyed it, you liked him, and he fancied you. He said it all the time, even now as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You are so old-fashioned,” You snorted softly, helping him strip the thick winter coat down his shoulders, torn on one sleeve still from a fight with another small group. You had promised to stitch it up. You were good on your promises, he knows you’d get to it eventually.

He separates from you briefly, placing it carefully over the barstool in your kitchen before he’s pushing you up against your couch, your ass pressing against the hard edge of the back, nearly tumbling as he presses his lips against yours again, your hands curving around the back of his neck as you kiss him back in earnest.

“Somethin’ wrong with that?” He teases, “I know an old man who’s real good at makin’ you scream.”

You giggle softly, “Hush,” You chastise him, allowing him to lead you blind until you both could land on the couch safely, straddling his lap as he worked at your jeans, fitting his hands underneath the denim and cotton of your underwear as he squeezed at your ass, cupping the flesh tight in his hands as you gasp, nudging your nose against his as you breath into his open mouth, “You and that mouth, I swear.”

Joel chuckles, eyes opening to yours closed, hiding your face away as you mouth at his neck, pressing gentle kisses into the skin as he squeezes at your ass harder, a moan slipping past your lips involuntarily.

“There she is,” He says with an air of wonder, like he’d just discovered something new, his overgrown curls tickling at your nose, “s’just me and you—don’t be shy.”

“I’m not—“ You argue, “you know I’m not.”

You widen your legs, grinding down against the growing length beneath the zipper of his jeans, leaning back as his eyes drag down your body, slipping his hands from your jeans to squeeze at your thighs, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth with your lazy rhythm.

“I know, baby,” Joel coos, “need me to fuck you? Don’t you?”

You nod fervently, “Please—Joel, please.”

Your lips part, perching forward to grip into the collar of his shirt as you lazy movements become more frantic, face contorting in pleasure as your tongue glides along your bottom lip, distinctly aware of Joel’s affectionate gaze.

“Fuck—never gonna get tired of that,” Joel speaks aloud, one hand rising to cradle your face as his thumb drags over you wet lip, “how pretty you look when you get needy—pretty all the damn time, but—“

You kiss him quick in an effort to silence him, his laughing blending into a groan as you bite down on his bottom lip, stripping your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before you’re reaching for his belt, loosening it while he licks into your mouth, the subtle taste of malt liquor on your breath.

It matched his own, sharing a drink with him earlier in the night as he hid away in the corner of the room, as he often did at parties, too eager to get his hands on you as he watched you work your magic, gracing your smile upon everyone that passed, keeping up small talk that Joel would rather not suffer through.

“Got a request,” He tells you, speaking against your lips as you hum in question, “how much d’ya want me to beg to get those lips around my cock?”

You giggle softly, wordlessly you move toward the floor, working against his jeans before he’s helping you shove them down far enough that he can scoop his balls into his hand, rolling them against his fingers as he wraps his other hand around his cock, pushing his thumb over the head as he guides it into your waiting mouth.

It was always a stretch, even like this.

You apply a gentle kiss before your lips spread, the faintest taste of precum at the tip of your tongue before you’re guiding your mouth down his cock, the salty taste of the velvet skin around him, a musky but sweet taste to the opaque liquid gathered at the slit.

“Perfect, fucking perfect,” He breathes, running his finger through your hair as he pushes it back, his other hand hovering nearby, curling into a tight fist as you press your nose into the thick patch of curls at the base, “shoulda stuffed this mouth sooner, seems to do the trick.”

You gag against his forceful movement, burying the head of his cock into your throat so far his teeth clenched, leaving you effectively silenced.

“S’that what it took, a mouthfulla’ cock and you won’t stop me from complimentin’ you for once?”

Beggars can’t be choosers, he’d take it.

And such a pleaser you were, you had a job to do.

Usually he revels in the feeling, subdued and quiet while he watches you work, skilled hands and an exquisite mouth to match, he’d hit the jackpot somehow.

“Come on, pretty girl,” He encourages, allowing you up for air for a brief moment as your spit slick mouth drools down his shaft, tears brimming your eyes, “fucking beautiful takin’ it all in like that—more?”

You nod, watching as he grips his shaft, tapping the mushroom shaped tip against your lips, teasing you as you slip your tongue along his shaft, guiding you back as you chase his movements.

“Work for it, baby,” He insists, “show me how bad you wan’ it.”

Impatience grows, you huff through your nose as you swat his hand away, wrapping your own hand around his cock instead, your mouth covering what your fingers couldn’t, your other hand cupping his balls, rubbing a single finger down the seam of his sack as you twirled your tongue around the dripping head, lapping up his cum at this slit.

“That’s right, lookin’ like a goddamn dream. Eyes on me, sweetheart,” He beckons, with you peeking through tear-stained eyes, silenced as your mouth is stuffed full of him.

Eventually, your tongue trails along the vein at the underside of his cock, reaching the seam of his sack before you’re rolling his balls along your tongue, sucking them between your lips with a wet noise that causes Joel to groan, his hand squeezing in your hair at the scalp.

“I would keep you like this for hours if you’d let me, wish you could see how fuckin’ amazing you look, gotta know how lucky I am to have you—I am, I’m so lucky, baby.”

In any other context, you would cry.

It scared you, hearing the admission. The love Joel felt so immensely, the love that terrified you—because when things get too serious, they always go south.

It was easier to keep things light—fun, simple. As much as you had found a home in Joel, nested in between his ribcage, around his heart—it was still constricting.

Physicality was easy to detach from.

Words, however, meant the world to you.

You couldn’t hear those words unless, in his heart, he truly meant them. Even then, it still terrified you. But, he had you now. Locked on his gaze, the words tumbling from his mouth like a dam finally breaking—you were done for.

“Stick your tongue out,” He orders gently, watching you move away to follow his order, rubbing the head of his cock over the wet, fleshy muscle, “always listenin’ so well, too,”

You feel the heat in your face return as you close your eyes to avoid his intense gaze, sucking him down eagerly as you shift from your haunches to your knees, hurrying your pace as he begins to fall apart, pathetic grunts of half pleasure and half plea filling the room.

Shamelessly, you swallowed him down again as he pressed against the back of your throat, holding yourself in place until he collapsed against the back of the couch, his hands tangled into your hair carelessly as you gagged, a distinct sound that brought Joel over the edge in an instant.

“Oh—oh, fuck. Darlin’, I fuckin’—“ His orgasm surges quickly to the surface, the warm of his cum spreading against your tongue as you swallow him down without hesitation, “God, I’m so in love with you,”

You can feel him shudder against your tongue, cock twitching as you remove him from your mouth, his chest releasing a sigh as he reaches blindly for your hand, silently begging you to come to him. You crawl slowly, careful as you position yourself over him again, his hand pushing your fallen hair away from your face as he pulls you in, breathing heavily into the lazy kiss he presses against your lips.

“Been tryin’ to tell you for so long,” Joel admits with a fond tone, “you’re always shuttin’ me down,”

“I’m sorry,” You admit softly, “S’just—words mean more to me than you think.”

“Oh baby—I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Joel assures, “I’m not throwin’ that shit around lightly. I mean it—every fuckin’ bit.”

You let the conversation fall silent, eyes scanning over his relaxed expression.

“Is that what it took, though?” Joel teases, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip, pressing against the plush skin, “Gotta shut you up with my cock to tell you all the nice things you deserve to hear?”

“It does help, doesn’t it?” You counter with amusement, his face cracking into a smile, the skin beside his eyes creasing with emotion as you laugh, his own mixing with yours.

“It does,” He agrees with a chuckle, pulling you forward gently to curl his hand around the back of your head and pull you into his chest, echoing a quieter, “It does.”

Still undressed at the waist, Joel nips at your skin, a tell-tale sign of his persistence.

“Slow down, cowboy,” You tease, “It’s almost midnight—can’t have you skippin’ out on our kiss.”

“Better yet, I can start it off inside ‘ya,” He bargains, a deal that seemed far too good to pass up.

Joel is eager in his attempts to get you undressed from the waist down, shrugging his shoes and jeans off completely before you straddle his lap, gripping his cock with a delicate hold, slipping it inside of you slowly, enjoying the contortion of Joel’s expression as your walls squeeze around him.

You can hear the muffled celebration off in the distance as Joel whispers something unintelligible into your skin, nudging your shirt up high enough with his nose until he can get his mouth on your skin, aiding the slow bounce of your hips with his hands as he pants, “I love you too,” You admit, “f’that wasn’t already clear.”

“Crystal, darlin’—but it is nice to hear.”

There was no rush for now, enjoying the sensation of each other’s bodies in a way that consumed you both, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips as you spoke into his open mouth.

“Happy New Year,” You tell him, fighting through your own quiet giggle.

Joel nods in approval, humming, “S’right—Happy fuckin’ New Year.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #my writing

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iceunhie · 9 months ago

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voicelines about you: as their lover ! (part 2)

featuring: sunday, aventurine, blade (+ black swan, acheron) [ part 1: dan heng, jing yuan, gepard, kafka, jingliu. ]

notes: well. the long awaited part 2 is here! (i took absolutely wayyy too long to finish this but a lovely anon requested the penacony cast so i just waited until now haha) stay tuned for either a future aventurine fic or a sunday fic tho; reblogs are appreciated! main masterlist.

Sunday

About [Name]: Ah, you speak of my beloved. [Name] has managed to strike your interest as well? Heh, I'm joking. You aren't that type of person, no? ….But yes, my lover truly is quite stellar, if not incomparable. I doubt I'd find anyone in the universe as lovely as I do them.

About [Name]: Smitten Robin often jokes about how my eyes change whenever I see them. ‘Softens like the smitten man you are,’ she says. Well, my sister is hardly wrong about matters of the heart, and to be fair, her words are indeed correct. While I cannot be with them every second of the day, despite my only wish to do so…. I suppose this much is fine. At the very least, this bewitched version of myself shall ward any that dare take [Name] away from me.

About [Name]: Preparation. …My mansion has everything [Name] shall ever desire. As for I, what I only desire is them alone, and for them to be right by my side. When the time is right, what's mine shall also be theirs, and none shall ever separate the two of us again. Should anyone attempt it, well, there's a reason my mansion is built the way it is.

Aventurine

About [Name]: [Name], [Name], [Name].... I see that you too have an eye for priceless treasures. Unfortunately for you, this particular one is already mine to behold. Mm, I wonder how my lover must be faring right now…. Missing them is truly, horribly debilitating.

About [Name]: Unworthy Whenever I think of [Name] being with me, of all people… Sometimes, the thought is unbearable. To think they would care for someone like me…. How truly lucky I am. Or maybe it's the other way around? Hehe, take a guess.

About Topaz: Contradictory Topaz and [Name] get along fairly well, despite her rather obvious dislike for me. Nonetheless, I suppose I can understand why. My lover is irresistibly charming~ Now, does this make me jealous, I wonder…. How about we bet on that?

Blade

About [Name]: Though this sword may be battered and broken, if you harbor any intention of harm towards them, I will not hesitate to brandish this blade.

About [Name]: Mara Infliction When afflicted with mara, the senses are ravaged ceaselessly, muddying the mind—being unable to distinguish ally from foe. This is my path. And yet their face is clear, pure amidst the carnage, alleviating the haze for but a moment. My mind may be overridden with hatred, but I will never forget that feeling of salvation.

(BONUS: Kafka’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Truly A Shame Bladie’s little darling, hm? Definitely a wonder, that one, taming him so easily. Those two are definitely an interesting case, that's for sure. Scary, marastruck Blade and them…. truly a shame. Even I know just how the ending of that particular script will end.

Acheron

About [Name]: …They are my lover, yes. Hm? Tell you more about them? Heh, I think you'd have better luck asking [Name] instead of me. I probably wouldn't even know where to begin.

About [Name]: Keeping Memories Despite the fact of my memories being in less than the best condition, [Name] always tells me about all the exciting things they've come across, whether it be delicious food from various planets, or even the most mundane things like the sound of the rushing water, the sight of fireflies in the night. They truly make everything worth remembering.

(BONUS: Black Swan’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Eye Of The Storm Ah, you speak of that Galaxy Ranger's companion…. The abyss that is her consciousness seems to only become calm in the face of them, akin to the eye of the storm. A shining light in the middle of nothingness—that is something that even she cannot let go of. No wonder Miss Acheron is quite taken with them.

Black Swan

About [Name]: The memories of Memokeepers are sorted into various categories by their importance. As my lover, my memories of them hold the greatest value of all. Such memories…. even if the Remembrance wishes for me to hand them over, I doubt I will ever allow it.

About [Name]: Dancing My proficiency in the act of dancing is all thanks to my continued practice with [Name] on our shared time together. Fufu, ‘dates,’ if you will. Every moment I spend in their arms, swaying to the beat of the music at every turn… those are the memories I wish to forever retain.

About Acheron: Indebted One time, Miss Acheron managed to get lost in the middle of the Reverie Hotel’s halls... as usual. [Name] came across her then, and proceeded to have a lovely chat with her. I owe her a debt for keeping my lover company as I was preoccupied with some matters the Garden of Recollection entrusted to me to relay to the family. Next time, perhaps I should invite her over for some dinner with [Name]....

end notes thanks for sticking around the part 2 (for the ogs who read pt 1) and do look forward to more HSR content in the future! also did i say i love aventurine

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reidmania · 4 months ago

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a moment | s. reid

summary: two times there was a ‘moment’ between you and spencer, and one time he did something about it.

warnings; best friends to lovers, fem reader, pinning, this based off a lorelai and luke edit i saw, idk if its edited or makes any sense tbh!! sorry! longing, kinda self doubt idk, happy ending yay!!

an; this is for lia. And was written in like an hour so i really dont want the hate guys. If it sucks i cannot be held responsible.

You walk into the bullpen, scanning the usual chaos of the bullpen The day’s already running long, and it’s barely even noon.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Spencer says, glancing up from his desk. His eyes are sharp behind his glasses, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips. He’s half-hidden behind a wall of case files, as always, but somehow manages to throw his snark with precision.

you and spencer had been best friends since you started together, you got along with anyone but gravitated towards Spencer more than anyone else. Him and Penelope were the easiest for you to be around, you loved everyone but you had your favourites.

While Penelope had been bugging you to either kick up the courage to do something about your friendship with Spencer, or move on, you did neither.

"Oh, save it,," you fire back, tossing your bag on your desk. "I’m fashionably late. It’s a thing."

"Yeah, fashionably late in a profession like this. Very chic. Theres other ways to get here you know — from your house-“

“Don’t even” you cut him off.

“Im just saying if you keep missing the same turn off every time maybe it’s a sign you should be going a different way.” He muttered.

“I didn’t miss the turn off.” You argued. You lied.

“You did.”

“No”

He said your name and you huffed.

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin as you sink into your chair. "Can we pretend, just for today, that you’re not right?"

"Well," Spencer says, leaning back in his chair, "I’m only right about ninety-seven percent of the time. So, technically, you’ve got a three percent chance of being right today. Want to take a gamble?"

You throw a crumpled paper at him. "Your math is annoying."

He catches it, eyes twinkling, and throws it back at you. "Annoying?"

“Yes, annoying. It hurts my head”

It’s easy between the two of you—this banter, this back-and-forth. It always has been, ever since the first case you worked together. Over time, it’s become second nature to tease him, push his buttons, and he always gives it right back. The tension slips away with every joke, but today, there’s something different about the way his eyes linger on you a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to catch on.

You ignore it. You have to.

"So, what do we have?" you ask, holding out your hand for the file in his lap.

He passes it to you, fingers brushing against yours. It’s brief, but the touch sends a spark up your arm. Your eyes meet for a second longer than necessary, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t know what to say.

Spencer clears his throat, looking back down at the file. "This unsub’s a real charmer. I think he's using manipulation tactics to lure his victims. He’s got a pattern, but it’s subtle. Took me a while to piece it together."

"Took you a while? So, like... five minutes?" You grin, but the edge in your voice is gone, replaced by something softer.

He laughs, a sound that always surprises you because it’s rare, but so genuine. "Try thirty. It was a real struggle."

"Wow. I almost feel bad for you."

His smile fades just a little, and when he looks at you again, there’s that shift. Something hovers between you, just under the surface, where the teasing usually stays. His eyes flicker over your face, and suddenly, you wonder if he’s about to say something else, something that would cross the line you’ve never acknowledged before.

Your heart skips, and before you can stop yourself, you lean forward a little. Your breath catches.

"So..." Spencer starts, but before the sentence can land, your phone buzzes on your desk. The sharp sound breaks the moment like a snapped thread. You jerk back, grabbing your phone.

"Hotch needs us in the conference room," you mutter, more to yourself than him, trying to get a grip on the swirling thoughts in your head. "We’ve got a lead."

Spencer blinks, clearly shaken out of whatever that was, and you stand up quickly, focusing hard on the case and not on the fact that you were about two seconds away from… what? Leaning in? Kissing him?

No. That’s not what this is. This is Spencer.

"Race you to the conference room?" he asks suddenly, the playful lilt back in his voice, but there’s still something lingering behind his eyes, a question neither of you seems ready to ask.

"Race? You’re literally taller than me, that’s cheating. I’m wearing heels!!"

"You can run in heels, can’t you?" He shoots you a smirk, the tension easing just enough for you to relax, even if your heart is still racing.

"Could. But i don't want to damage my gorgeous shoes," you huffed, yet already heading for the door.

"Gorgeous shoes?" He repeated, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah that was actually the name of the shoes when i bought them. They had 'gorgeous shoes' written in big letters across the box." You smiled, tilting your head.

"Really?"

"No."

You make it halfway to the conference room before he catches up, the two of you slipping back into your usual rhythm. But as you walk into the room side by side, the unspoken thing still hangs between you. You don’t talk about it, and maybe you never will, but it’s there.

“Are you still coming over tonight?” He asked, looking down at you, eyes lingering on yours. You nod.

“It’s pizza night. Of course I am.”

And once again, you’re reminded that with Spencer, things have never been as simple as just best friends.

You’re standing in Spencer’s tiny kitchen, flour everywhere. And when you say everywhere, you mean it—on the counters, in your hair, smeared on his cheek where you definitely didn’t mean to slap him with dough earlier.

“This is going really well,” you deadpan, holding up the limp, misshapen pizza dough.

“Um.” He squints as he looks at the mess.

“Well.. you’re the genius who can outsmart anyone but apparently can’t figure out yeast,” you argue, pinning the blame on him. “Is it supposed to look like this?” You muttered, tilting your head.

“I think it’s fighting back. Maybe we’re the victims now.”

You both dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. This was supposed to be simple. Homemade pizza sounded like a cute idea, something easy to do on a night off, but it’s turned into chaos. The dough’s not cooperating, the sauce might be too watery, and you’re pretty sure you added way too much garlic. But that’s what makes it fun.

"Okay," Spencer says, hands raised in surrender. "I officially give up. This dough has outsmarted me."

"You’re giving up? Dr Spencer Reid, defeated by pizza dough?" You snatch the rolling pin from him, trying to take over, but the second you press down, the dough tears. "Okay, maybe it’s smarter than both of us."

Spencer steps closer, leaning over your shoulder to inspect the mess you've made. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and for just a second, everything feels different. The banter pauses. His breath is soft on your neck, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches to touch the dough. Your heart stutters, and you freeze, unsure of what to do next.

But then, with no warning, Spencer flicks flour at you.

"Hey!" you squeal, spinning around to face him, eyes wide. He looks so pleased with himself, a mischievous grin on his face.

"What? You had flour in your hair. I was just trying to help.”

"Sure, you were." You reach for the bag of flour, holding it up threateningly. "I will not hesitate to make this a war, Spencer."

He grins widely, almost daringly.

You grab a handful of flour and toss it at him in retaliation. "You are such a child."

“I’m just helping!” he protests, dodging your attack and grabbing the rolling pin like a shield. His laughter is contagious, and soon you’re both caught up in it, the tension slipping away into something lighter, easier.

You try to swipe more flour at him, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you mid-throw. His fingers wrap around your wrist gently, but the touch sends an unexpected shiver up your arm. You both freeze, the room suddenly too quiet again, his hand lingering on yours for just a second longer than necessary.

His gaze flickers down to where his fingers rest against your skin, and then back up to meet your eyes. There’s a pause, just long enough for the air between you to thicken, something unspoken hanging between you. His thumb brushes your wrist lightly, and you wonder if he feels it too—the tension that’s been simmering all night, just beneath the surface.

You swallow hard, pulling your hand away, but not before you catch the briefest flicker of something in his expression. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and just like that, the moment slips away.

His eyes narrow playfully, and for a second, you think he might call your bluff. But instead, he just chuckles and steps back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let’s not escalate this. We’re adults, after all."

"Adults who can’t make pizza," you mutter, dumping the ruined dough into the trash. "Guess we’ll have to order in. Again."

Spencer wipes his hands on a towel, still smiling. "I’ll let you pick the place this time. As long as it’s not that one with the weird crust you made us try last month."

"Oh come on, that was a bold choice! You just have no sense of adventure."

"I have a very good sense of adventure," he says, leaning casually against the counter, his eyes sparkling in that way that makes you feel like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. "I just like my pizza to taste like pizza."

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning, too. "Fine. We’ll get the boring pizza this time."

As you both settle into the living room, waiting for the pizza to arrive, you can't help but feel that lingering tension again. The kind that sneaks up on you when things get quiet, when the laughter dies down, and it’s just the two of you sitting side by side, closer than necessary.

You smile, nudging him with your elbow. "Who knew you were such a terrible cook, though?"

"I think we share equal blame here."

"Maybe," you admit, glancing at him. His eyes catch yours, and for just a moment, the playful air between you shifts. It’s small, like the brush of his hand earlier, like the way he’s looking at you now. Your heart skips again, and you wonder—just for a second—if maybe, possibly, you weren’t imagining it. You ignore it, there was too much that could go wrong if you didn’t.

It’s late in the afternoon when you hear the knock at your door. The sun's still out, casting a soft golden light through your living room windows, but it’s the last thing on your mind.

You’re dressed in something more put together than usual because, of course, Penelope had insisted on setting you up on this date tonight. It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but she’d been so enthusiastic that you’d caved. You’d said yes to humor her, to get her off your back.

She had insisted that you needed something to get your mind off Spencer. You wondered if that was actually possible.

So when the knock comes, your stomach churns, thinking it might be the guy arriving too early. But when you open the door, it's not your date.

It’s Spencer.

He’s standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair slightly disheveled, and there’s a look on his face you can’t quite place. It’s tight, maybe a little frustrated, though he's trying hard to keep his expression neutral.

“Spence?” You lean against the doorframe, arching an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes scanning you briefly before he looks down, then back up again. There’s tension in his posture, the kind you recognize when he’s overthinking something. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.”

You don’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh.”

His face tightens even more, though he tries to hide it with a half-hearted shrug. “Did Penelope set you up with some guy?”

“Yeah?” You squinted trying to figure out how he knew that. You hadn’t mentioned it, you didn’t want to talk about what had caused your sudden date or have to lie to him about why Penelope suddenly set you up when you have shown no intention of being interested in dating.

“Penelope told me. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, running his hand through his hair as if he was stressed. You didn’t understand, not really. You told Spencer everything so you could understand why he would be annoyed that you didn’t tell him this, but it seemed as if he took it personally.

You squint at him, crossing your arms. “What is your issue? You look like you want to strangle someone.”

He lets out a huff, avoiding your eyes again. “It’s nothing.”

You tilt your head, studying him. There’s something under the surface, and you’re not about to let it go. “Well you’re here so, obviously its not nothing … What’s going on?”

He finally looks up at you, his eyes sharp and filled with something you haven’t seen before. It catches you off guard for a moment. “It’s just—there was a moment.”

You blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “A moment?”

His voice drops, a little rougher now, a little more real. “Last week. When we were making pizza, and the week before that— and during- there was a moment.”

Your heart skips. You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you stay silent, letting him continue.

“I thought there was a moment,” he says, his frustration starting to leak through his words now. “I thought maybe something was… happening.”

Your chest tightens, the air in the room shifting as you meet his eyes. “There was.”

The confession comes out of your mouth before you even realize it, and the tension between you two spikes instantly, filling the space with an electric charge. You can feel it, the way everything has changed with those two words.

Spencer just stares at you, his brow furrowing slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to admit it. He takes a step forward, you step back almost unconsciously, and your heart beats faster in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice low, unsure.

He doesn’t stop moving, closing the gap between you even more, and his voice is soft but firm when he speaks. “Will you just stand still for a minute?”

Before you can say anything, before you can even process what’s happening, his hand comes up to cup the side of your face, and his lips are on yours.

The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but it’s full of all the unspoken things that have been building between you for so long. You feel the world tilt, your hands instinctively moving to grip the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. For a second, everything else fades away—your date, the case, everything.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you just stare at each other. His thumb brushes lightly across your cheek, and his eyes search yours, full of something that feels too big to name.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment, the silence thick and heavy with everything that’s just shifted between you.

Then, as if in slow motion, you take a small step forward. It’s your turn now, the tables flipped, and you can see the surprise flicker in his eyes as he instinctively steps back.

“What are you doing?” he asks, echoing your earlier words, his voice low and a little breathless

You give him a small smile, feeling the tension twist tighter in your chest. “Will you just stand still for a minute?” You mirrored his words

His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t move, and before he can say another word, you close the space between you and kiss him again.

This time, it’s different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. The kiss is deeper, more insistent, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. It’s like everything you’ve both been holding back is finally breaking free, all the tension and the unspoken feelings rushing to the surface.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily, faces inches from each other. Your hands are still gripping the front of his jacket, his fingers still digging into your sides like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t move, neither of you do. You just stay there, staring at each other, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not thinking about the job, or the cases, or anything else. It’s just him.

He’s the first to break the silence, his voice quiet and almost disbelieving, He exhales, a long, relieved breath, his hand still resting on your waist. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.”

You shake your head, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. “No. You weren’t imagining it.”

Another beat of silence passes, and then his lips quirk up into that small, crooked smile you’ve always liked so much. “Well, I guess we have Penelope to thank for this.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back. “Yeah, and she doesn’t even know it.”

His thumb brushes your side, a subtle touch, but enough to send a shiver up your spine. “Are you… still going on that date?”

The question hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you almost laugh. The idea of leaving now, of going out with some guy Penelope set you up with, feels absurd.

“No,” you say, your voice steady and certain. “I’m not.”

His smile widens, just a little. “Good.”

You grin up at him, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “Yeah? Why’s that good?”

Spencer’s gaze softens, and for the first time, you see the real reason for his frustration, for all of this. He steps even closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your lips, his voice low and sincere.

“Because, there was a moment.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you meet his eyes, that familiar warmth spreading through you again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips ghosting yours, and the last bit of tension that’s been sitting between you melts away completely. He smiles, and before either of you can say anything else, he closes the gap and kisses you again.

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mrsbarnesblog · 4 months ago

Text

I always get what I want

masterlist

requests are open

summary: when you're not in the mood to go out of the house, you find a way to change Rafe's mind

words count: 1.8k

warnings: smut, established relationship, unprotected p in v, one use of a word 'slut', spanking, hair pulling, slightly mean Rafe

a/n: for anyone wondering how the said dress looks like

“I’m not in the mood to go out today, Ray. Why can’t we just stay home, hm?” You yawned, stretching your body on the king-sized bed and then turning around to look at your boyfriend.

“It’s just a dinner and everyone is going to be there. I already promised that we’re attending, baby.” He crossed his arms over his chest, immediately drawing your attention to his tanned biceps and the way his fitted shirt stretched around them. “C’mon, get up.”

“But you didn’t even ask me about—No-o-o!” You whined when Rafe’s hands wrapped around your legs, dragging you out of bed. As he playfully patted your ass and manhandled you into standing, you gave him a furious glare. “Fine, asshole. I will get dressed.” You pushed past your boyfriend, already knowing one trick that will send him over the edge and that will guarantee you a quiet and peaceful evening.

“Mhm, find something cute, but don’t take too long, ‘kay?” You rolled your eyes, going into the wardrobe attached to your bedroom.

You had never dressed quicker, and when after a few minutes Rafe heard you going back into the room with your heels clicking on the wooden floor, he was ready to joke about it, until he looked up from his phone and saw what exactly you were wearing.

It was probably the shortest black lace dress in existence, which barely even covered your ass cheeks and had a slid from both sides of your legs as if there were something more to show. Rafe’s eyes slowly went up, only a few seconds later noticing that besides the “dress” itself, you wore only thongs, which meant that your tits were basically on full display.

You bought it just for fun, for a few dollars during one of your shopping sprees, hoping to surprise Rafe with it, but it turned out even better than you imagined. He was speechless, to say the least.

“You are not fucking wearing it.” He jumped up from the bed, looking down at you with wide eyes. You tried to hold back a smile. Rafe was so predictable and you loved every second of it.

“Why not? It’s cute and goes perfectly with my heels. Give me like fifteen minutes to do my makeup and we can go.” You turned around but Rafe quickly caught you by the wrist and pulled you back to face him.

"You know I like your short skirts and sexy dresses, but I will not let you go out looking like that. Your whole ass is out and I can literally see your tits.” Rafe looked you up and down again; his eyes were full of hunger mixed with his usual grumpiness whenever you didn’t listen to him.

“Stop saying what I can and cannot wear, Rafey. I always get what I want. And I hate when you think that you can boss me around. I am wearing it, whether you like it or not. You asked me to go somewhere at the last minute, and this is the only outfit I have not worn yet, so don’t complain." Giving his cheek a soft pat, you headed to your vanity, but was again dragged back, but this time it was different.

Your back hit Rafe’s chest. One of his arms found its place on your stomach and the other one took a gentle yet firm hold of your throat. Your breath hitched when you felt a growing bulge pressing against your ass, and Rafe began pushing you toward the bed.

“Always have to be so fucking stubborn.” He mumbled as he bent you over, shamelessly pushing your face into the soft blanket, making you stay in a not-so-comfortable position with your ass up and still in your heels.

“My heels. Take it off.” You whined, not even trying to fight your boyfriend back.

“If you decided to play on my nerves today, then you’ll be good just like that, babe.” Rafe suddenly slapped your ass, making you hiss and twitch forward. Because of your position, the hem of your dress slipped even higher, leaving nothing for the imagination.

Rafe licked his lips, soothing the irritated skin of your ass and enjoying the beautiful view in front of him. With the dinner long forgotten, he was completely focused on you and painfully hard in his jeans. While his left hand still stayed on your lower back to keep you in place, he pushed your legs wider away from each other and took off a skimpy piece of fabric that you called underwear.

You moaned as the chill air of the room touched your bare skin, subconsciously moving your hips back to feel Rafe’s touch. He chuckled as he quickly undid his pants and shoved them down his thighs, revealing his already hard cock.

“Why can’t you just listen to me, hm? You are insane to even try to go out in that pathetic excuse of a dress." Rafe mumbled, more as if he were talking to himself, too focused on looking at the way his tip was sliding up and down your pussy, already glistering with your juices. “Don’t get me wrong, you definitely can wear it around the house; I won’t mind. But just for my eyes only.”

As much as you tried to concentrate on Rafe’s words, it was hard to do so when he slowly sank into you, making you whine and grip the fabric under your hands. He rarely did it without giving you a proper preparation with his fingers or mouth, but it was his way of showing you that he wasn’t happy with your behaviour. Rafe gave your ass another slap, before reaching his hand to gently grab your hair and yank your head back.

“Pay attention to what I'm saying, baby.” You were stretched to the limit, still sensitive to the size of him every time you two had sex. Rafe set a steady pace, fucking you like he did whenever he was pissed off—fast, deep and rough. “You’re mine to look at. So, you better save that little thing for when I get home from work, do you understand?"

Your eyes rolled back in your head as whimpers slipped past your lips with every push of Rafe’s cock in your tight cunt. He gripped the hair in his hand a little tighter, still waiting for an answer from you and you had no choice but to try to nod and mumble something incoherent.

When two fingers of Rafe’s free hand suddenly pressed on your clit and started moving in a circular motion, your hips jerked forward, squeezing him inside of you even harder. If Rafe knew one thing for sure, it was how your body worked and all the little tricks that made you see stars. He held you firmly in place, feeding his cock to your hungry pussy and not caring about you trying to get away from the overstimulation.

“Don’t fuckin’ move or I’ll edge you till you cry. Don’t want to do that again, do you?” Rafe mumbled, effortlessly sliding his cock deeper into you, noticing the way your ass was jiggling with every deep thrust. He felt your wetness spreading on his fingers and sliding down your thighs, probably making a mess on his clothes too.

“That’s too much— Rafe, Rafe, Ra-afe!” You cried out loud as he pushed your head backwards more to have a look at your face. That famous smirk appeared at the sight of your fucked out face with tears in your eyes and swollen lips.

“If you want to dress like a slut, you’re gonna be treated like one.” He spat, then finally released your hair, instead pushing your head into the bed.

It felt like Rafe’s cock was now even deeper, and the pace that he was using was too hard to handle. You whined his name, fisting the blanket and crying in ecstasy at his magical work with your pussy.

“That’s right.” His praise came with a hard slap on your ass. “Same my name when you cum on my dick.”

“Rafe! Oh god, Rafe! D-don’t stop!” He didn’t stop abusing your hole even when you reached your orgasm. Neither when your body literally started shaking from overstimulation and you were begging to let you go.

It didn’t take him long to get to an end, suddenly pulling out of you and spilling his hot cum all over your ass and lower back. “Fuck, yeah! Lookin’ so pretty covered in me.�� Rafe chuckled, gripping your ass cheeks and shamelessly looking as his release was sliding down to your flattering pussy. “Sorry, sweetheart. I guess I stained your dress and panties too.” He made a fake pout, moving away from you to admire his work from afar.

“Asshole.” You grumbled, fully falling on your bed and hissing at the pain in your legs. Your eyes were closed, enjoying the tingles that still went through your body when you felt Rafe wiping a mess from your skin and then kneeling on the floor to take off your shoes.

You looked at him when you felt bed moving under his weight. Rafe drew you closer with a smirk, resting your head on his naked chest. You smirked at him, and he raised an eyebrow at the strange sparkle in your eyes.

“Whatcha smiling for, hm?” His hand sneaked down your back, reaching the irritated skin that he slapped multiple times, and gently rubbed to soothe the redness.

“I always do and get what I want, Ray.” You giggled, tracing lines on his abs.

“Well, not today, apparently.”

"Oh, baby, you are so naive to believe I was planning to attend the dinner in the first place." You bit your lip, holding back a smile at the confused look on your boyfriend’s face. “All I had to do was make you think with your dick and now we’re staying at home. Just like I wanted to.”

He shook his head in disbelief, with a smirk and tongue poking his cheek. “You’re such a brat.” A squeak escaped from you when your body suddenly changed positions and was pushed back on the bed as Rafe hovered over you. “Get ready for round two since you wanted to be so goddamn smart.”

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aennasan · 6 months ago

Text

Jealous Papa to Baby Emi (Kenji Sato x Reader)

Synopsis: Yep. The title is basically the fic. I had so much fun with this that it became a bit longer than my usual drabbles and imagines.

🎀🩷🎀🩷🎀🩷🎀🩷🎀🩷🎀🩷🎀🩷🎀🩷🎀🩷

Kenji Sato would never admit it but you know him well enough to say that he is a very jealous man.

However, right now, you are 100% sure that he would never admit it, especially because his number one source of jealousy is his very own kaiju daughter, Emi.

He is not even discreet in showing it. Watching him opening his secret fridge and pretending to count his coco water but his eyes and mind was never even tuned in on the task he had at hand.

His eyes kept straying to you and Emi while you're teaching her about human things. Scowling, lip pouting, and his body emitting a vibe yelling, “When’s me? I want to be next.”

You do your best not to notice or smile as his scowl deepens, he is so funny when he is like this.

At first, you thought he was jealous of Emi becoming a Mama’s girl.

The baby imitating the way you will put your hand on your hips if she’s being sassy, raising an eyebrow if his Papa overreacts about something, crosses her arm and rolls eyes if she's rebelling and the best of it all, is copying your crossed legs whenever you sit on the floor.

Yet, you found out that you were wrong when he suddenly wrapped his arm around your waist, nestled his face on the crook of your neck and asked, “How about Papa, Mama? When are you going to spend your time with me?”

It took you by surprise. And all his actions for the past few days are starting to make sense. His intense clinginess, to the point that he would find you wherever you are alone and wouldn't stop touching you. The way he wouldn't let go of a chance to have you sitting on his lap. Cuddling to the fullest before the baby wakes up crying. He would pout and grumble whenever you remove his hand from you.

Your mind goes “Ohhhhh” finally putting the puzzle pieces together, of his out of pocket intense change in showing his affection.

But before you could even answer, Emi is already throwing a tantrum because you turned your back on her while she was practicing and showing you her dance.

“Must be hard being so popular.” Professor Sato joked once when Kenji was busy scolding Emi for prying his arms away from you. She is scowling, head held high, as she crosses her arms, not looking at his Papa who is now yelling, “Bad girl! You don't act like that in front of your Papa!”

“It is harder knowing that the supposed to be eldest is the one who is acting like a kid.” You gave out a heartfelt chuckle and replied.

“Oh! For sure. He is used to having all the attention only to himself. He probably didn't expect that his competitor would be her own daughter.” He smiled as you two continued to watch their exchange which started to get hilarious the longer it takes.

“Baby, how about dinner, just the two of us, this weekend?” You asked the moment you caught his eyes, your hand resting on your hips, lips curved with a sly knowing smirk.

At first, he whipped his head down fast, immediately pretending to still be counting, while mouthing “Oooooh! I must have drunk a lot of augh….coco water.”

But when he heard the magic word, his head whipped up so fast and he started walking towards you like a dog being told “Do you want to go out?” by its owner.

“Really?” He asked. Purple eyes practically shining with hope and excitement.

“Yeah. I missed you. We haven't gone out together on a date for a while.” Your smile softened when he instinctively leaned forward on your hand when you reached for him to cup his face with pure longing and affection.

“Emi?”

“Professor Sato and Mina would take care of her for us.” You cannot help the way your heart flutters when you see his boyish grin which makes his whole face glow with happiness.

You swallowed the twinge of guilt in your heart when you realized how much he must have felt left out and neglected by you these past few days.

You promised that this weekend would just be about you two. The both of you will enjoy the time of your lives, alone together as you two watch the sun dips on the horizon, your head resting on his shoulder, back pressed comfortably on his chest, while his arms wrapped around you, and his hand playing with your palm. It will be relaxing and you melt just by imagining it.

Or so you two tried your best to compromise.

When Emi saw the both of you dressed to the nines— the plan was to just tell her to be a good girl and bid her goodbye before leaving, she probably felt something was wrong, and the moment the two of you stepped on the glass elevator, preparing to leave, she screamed and threw the biggest tantrum.

The whole building shook from her roar. Her feet kicked the floor so hard that you swore it felt like there was an earthquake.

You and Kenji tried to console her but she didn't stop until Kenji promised that you two are not going to leave and Mama and Papa are going to have a dinner date with Emi.

As if knowing she had won, the baby kaiju stopped immediately and gave out the biggest smile.

Yep, you had been fooled.

So now you found yourselves at the side of the beach. Sitting in front of each other with a candlelight dinner. The sky is a beautiful mix of red, orange, and yellow as it slowly dips on the horizon. The perfect color and atmosphere for a romantic dinner date by the beach.

Except, beside your table is Emi’s own table with her fish, who was happy and chirpy as she looked around. Just content to be with her Mama and Papa. Cheery to be included.

“Come on now. Stop scowling. You're going to age faster with those deep frowns on your forehead.” Joking, you cupped his cheek, reached out to his forehead, and ran your thumb to the lines formed from frustration wanting to smooth it out.

With a deep sigh, he leaned on your hand and his lips formed a long pout.

“But how about a dinner date with just the two of us?” He grumbled.

“Hmmm…I guess maybe we could do that once Emi grew a bit more.” You smiled.

“That will be too long.” He sighed. Exasperated.

“How about sneaking out whenever she is sleeping or busy watching your games?” You compromised.

“We can do that.” He hummed, grabbed your other hand resting on the table, squeezed and kissed the back of it.

Sensing that your attention is not on her, Emi stood up, and started clapping and dancing to the new dance she learned. Mina instantly played one of her favorite songs.

“Show off. Mama’s mine either way.” You let out a laugh when you heard Kenji speak in a hush tone not wanting the baby girl to hear it and had another of her tantrums.

#aenna fic #kenji sato ultraman rising #kenji sato ultraman #ultraman rising #ultraman #kenji sato fic #kenji sato x you #kenji sato imagine #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #kenji sato x y/n #ken sato x you #ken sato x y/n #ken sato x reader #ken sato #emi ultraman #jealous kenji sato

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nebulaafterdark · 6 months ago

Text

The Rats Pt. 4

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

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

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

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenyra cannot imagine what might cause such commotion in the middle of the night.

“The dragon keepers have just calmed Sunfyre, who’s been having a fit for the better part of three hours.” Daemon informs her.

“Why is this news?” Rhaenyra wonders, “you needed only to wake Prince Aegon so that he might calm his own dragon.”

“That was my intention, your grace.” Daemon assures her, “until it was brought to my attention that Stormborn had been taken from the pit.”

“Where is she now?”

“Her grace’s dragon has since been returned to the pit.”

“Where is my daughter now?” Rhaenyra asks.

The room falls silent, everyone glancing toward one another.

“We believe the princess to be abed.”

“Not one of you thought to make certain?” The Queen all but shouts, panic coursing through her.

“We thought it best not to disturb the princess while she is abed, your grace.” Not without permission from the queen herself…certainly not after the last time.

Prince Aegon was in quite a state, threatening to castrate any member of the royal guard who happened upon his beloved wife in the throes of passion.

“Never you mind, I will see to her myself.” The Queen stalks down to her daughter’s room, pounding at the door.

It is Aegon who answers, “Rhaenyra?”

“I need to see her.”

Aegon hesitates, looking to his wife, who nods her approval. “She’s just there.” He takes a step back, allowing his half sister entry.

Y/N sits upon her bed in a pristine blush sleeping gown, hair still damp from the bath. “Mother.”

“Tell me the truth of it.” Rhaenyra approaches, hovering over her bedside. “Where were you this night?”

“With Aegon.”

Rhaenyra steals herself, “where were you whilst Sunfyre was howling in the pit? I know you took Stormborn, I have it on good authority. Tell me now, Y/N, where did you go?”

“To Harrenhal.”

Rhaenyra blanches, clutching her chest. “Why?” She sobs, “why would you do such a thing, knowing the risk?”

“Mother, I-”

“I have lost two of my children, I will not survive the loss of a third.”

“I have not done this to harm you, mother. But I am tired of being in pain. You’ve no idea how it feels to be tugged at by opposing sides, until you are torn down the middle.”

“Sweet girl,” Rhaenyra sighs.

“I understand why you needed Aegon and I to marry. I do not fault you for it, but times are different now. I love him, mother. Not for the crown, or the realm, or even peace. He is one half of me.”

“I wish you’d come to me, instead of facing all these troubles alone. I will always be your mother, no matter if you are a woman grown, you will not outgrow my love for you so long as I live.”

Y/N nods. “I love you dearly, mother. I want only to make you proud.”

“I am proud.” Rhaenyra assures her, “you needn’t prove yourself to me.”

“Then might I ask you to set a place for my husband at your table? Say it is not too late.”

“And what of Aemond?” Rhaenyra asks, mulling it over.

“He is gone.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes.” Y/N whispers.

“Show me.”

Y/N lifts her nightgown to reveal the charred skin of her wound.

“Alright,” Rhaenyra lowers the material once she’s gotten a good look. She kisses the top of her daughter’s head, “we will have the maester come with salve to dress it.”

Y/N nods.

“Have you taken anything for the pain?”

“Milk of the poppy.”

Rhaenyra’s hand is trembling as it passes over her daughter’s hair a second time. “Aegon, might you bring the maester?”

“Of course,” he nods. Stealing himself before wandering down the hall and away from his beloved wife. Returning with the maester, who begins tending the wound immediately.

“Is there anything else I might get you?” Rhaenyra asks, keeping hold of her daughter’s hand.

Y/N is mostly joking when she murmurs to her mother, “cake?”

Rhaenyra smiles, “I will see to it.”

Y/N relaxes as best she can to the poking and prodding.

“Aegon,” Rhaenyra nods toward the hall, “a word?”

“Of course,” Aegon follows her out.

“I owe you a debt, for taking care of my daughter. Y/N is the world to me, as she is to you.” Rhaenyra says. “Know that as I walk this path to reclaim the throne, we do so hand in hand. We are one house, as our father so willed it.”

Aegon nods, “thank you.”

————————————————————————

Years ago, after the council meeting where Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent agreed to the terms of their children’s betrothal; King Viserys himself called for Prince Aegon and Princess Y/N in his quarters.

It is put plainly before them, what is expected. What this union is meant to do; ease the strain between their two families.

“Stand together.” The king insists.

Y/N and Aegon inch toward each other.

“This will be expected of you from now on. You are betrothed, you will act as such.”

“Yes, father.”

“Yes, grandsire.”

At dinners they sit together, during shared lessons, anytime they are in the same room.

Stand together.

The princess continues her training alongside Helaena while her brothers and her betrothed argue regularly. The boys only find common ground when teasing Aemond for not having a dragon.

Queen Alicent appreciates these childish games least of all and raises her concerns with the King.

It is Y/N, having the least to do with any of it, who is summoned by her grandsire and his wife.

“Come sit, darling girl.” Viserys smiles, guiding Y/N over to his model of Old Valyria.

She nods, “thank you, your grace.”

“How are you enjoying your studies?”

“Very well,” Y/N tells him.

“I am glad to hear it. Even the septa has nothing but good things to say. You will make a fine queen, my girl.”

Y/N breathes a sigh of relief. “It pleases me to hear you say this, Grandsire. I wish only to make you proud.”

Viserys takes her hand, “surely you understand that you are a reflection of your mother and myself, in your actions and your words.”

“Yes, of course.” Y/N squeezes his fingers.

“The time has come for you to consider those whose actions reflect on you.”

“I do not understand.”

“He is referring to your brothers, who wreak havoc on the whole of us.” Alicent chimes in.

“Oh, Alicent.” Viserys waves her away, “they are boys yet. I meant our Aegon.”

“Aegon?” Alicent scoffs, “those are the actions that trouble you?”

“He will soon be a man grown and future king consort. If he is to marry my granddaughter, he must act with dignity and grace.”

“Do you not see the true issue, your grace?” Alicent demands.

“You asked me to speak with Rhaenyra’s children,” Viserys reminds her, “is this not Rhaenyra’s child?”

Alicent locks eyes with Y/N, she is so young, so eager to please her family. “This child is not the issue.”

“You are correct, dear wife.” The king grins, “she is the solution. Y/N, you will go to Aegon, say what you must to light a fire beneath him. So that he too might behave in a manor befitting his station. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Good,” Viserys releases her, “go now.”

Y/N stands, making her way to the door.

“See how easy that was?” Viserys turns to his wife, now standing with her back to him.

Y/N has some trouble locating the Prince, eventually she happens upon him on the stairs. “Prince Aegon,” she calls his attention.

The boy rolls his eyes at her. “Yes, my betrothed.”

“Might you walk with me to the gardens?”

“Do I have any choice?”

Y/N smirks, with a shake of her head. “No.”

“By all means, lead the way.” Aegon waves a hand, following her like an animal on a chain.

“The king and I had a rather illuminating conversation earlier.”

“And what did you discuss? How elated he is to seat you, a bastard, on the iron throne over me, his first born son?” Aegon cocks his head to the side.

“No, though I am sure he will be ‘elated’ to hear that his first born son called me a bastard, in the middle of the garden, for everyone to hear.”

Aegon clears his throat, “I would not say it in front of anyone.”

"This place is crawling with vermin, their eyes and ears are upon us at all times."

"You mean to tell me we have rats?"

"Not everything can be taken so literally, my prince."

Aegon stares through her, every word going over his pretty blonde head.

"Look, there's your father now." Y/N points, "watching us from his balcony."

Aegon whips around, spotting the king.

"Smile and wave, let him believe we are having a grand time."

Aegon does as he's told, earning a nod from Viserys. "Are we not?"

True to his word, Aegon does not call her a bastard again, to her face or behind her back. When Aemond’s eye is lost, the truth of it comes out.

Y/N and Aegon begin moving closer, behind Aemond’s chair. Stand together. Perpetually closing the space between their two houses.

When Alicent scolds Aegon for not protecting his brother, Y/N is near enough to receive a second hand lashing by her tongue. And when his mother’s palm meets his cheek, in a stinging slap, his hair brushes Y/N’s skin.

“What was that for?”

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool.”

“The legitimacy of my children’s births were called loudly to question.” Rhaenyra informs the king. “Vile insults were levied against them.”

“What insults?” Viserys sneers.

“He called us bastards.” Jacaerys says.

“Where did you hear such things, boy?” The king demands of the injured prince.

Aemond is quiet then, not willing to tell the truth. He first heard it from his mother, long before his brother. But Aegon has said it, many a time, before he abruptly stopped. “It was Aegon.”

Viserys rounds the chair, to confront his eldest son, with his eyes cast downward.

By the gods, let this humiliation end swiftly.

“Aegon!”

Stand together.

Y/N must not abandon her post.

“Yes, father.”

“Is this true?”

“It is.” Aegon admits, “and I am sorry for it. I am the elder, I should not have poisoned Aemond’s mind with such hatred. Especially as…these allegations are untrue. It was my mistake, forgive me.”

King Viserys takes a step back, “the next tongue to question the parentage of Princess Rhaenyra’s children will be removed.”

Y/N lets out a shuttering breath, catching her grandsire’s attention.

He offers her a reassuring smile, after threatening to cut out his children’s tongues. It feels wrong to be treated so differently, standing inches apart.

When the preceding is at an end, and Rhaenyra’s blood has been split, Y/N goes to find Aegon. He is tucked in against the grand archway, drowning in cups. "I brought you more wine."

Aegon eyes her warily, accepting the glass, “and what do you want?"

"May I sit with you?"

"If you wish."

Y/N takes a seat on the cool, stone floor beside him. "Thank you, for saying what you did.”

"My mother did not appreciate it."

Y/N hesitates, "I know it is not my place, but I do not like when she strikes you. Perhaps I could discuss it with your father?”

"My father? Who loves me least of all his children?" Aegon shakes his head. "A lot of good that would do.”

"They should not treat you that way."

“You care for me," he realizes. The thought alone makes his stomach turn.

"Should I not?”

"I would not know how to care for you in return."

"You defended me, in front of both our families.” Y/N challenges. “If that is not caring for me, I don't know what is."

Aegon feels the weight of her head resting against his shoulder, and he does not pull away.

"I am sorry for what happened to Aemond. I hope he finds peace and swift healing."

"If it were either of your brothers who’d been maimed, my father would pluck out Aemond’s eye himself and present it to Rhaenyra on a platter. There is no peace in that.”

Aegon becomes fiercely protective of his brother after that.

Y/N does not fault him for it.

The debacle of Driftmark sets their nuptials back several years. The blacks and greens remain in negotiation until Aegon is twenty and one and Y/N is ten and eight. At which point, Viserys proclaims they must either marry before the moon turns, or end the engagement to free both their hands for marriage.

Reluctantly, they are bound before the eyes of thousands.

Stand together.

They recite traditional Valyrian vows, sealing their covenant in blood. Sharing a dance or two before being whisked away to consummate said marriage, as other members of the wedding party drink merrily in the grand hall.

————————————————————————-

“Are they gone?” Y/N asks, toying anxiously with her wedding ring.

“They have strict orders,” Aegon sighs, “the appointed members of council cannot leave until they’ve heard a proper consummation.” He climbs into bed with her, both fully dressed in their marriage attire.

“We best get to it then.” Y/N begins plucking pins from her hair. The tapestry of braids falling free.

“Unless you’d rather have a bit of fun.”

“How do you mean?”

Aegon grins, “we could pretend.”

“Really?”

“This marriage is ours, no one else’s. When I bed you that will be ours and no one else’s.”

Stand together.

“How would we-”

Aegon rises up on his knees, gripping the headboard. “I will do the heavy lifting. Just lie back and think of the crown.”

Y/N covers her face with both hands as he begins thrusting at the air. The springs beneath them groan and crackle.

Aegon peeks down at her to find a smile painted across her lips, despite her shielded eyes. “Let them hear you, sweetheart. Make it believable.”

Y/N nods, releasing a sound she imagines a person might make while exchanging intimacies.

“Not like that.” Aegon chuckles, “they’ll think I’m murdering you.”

“I do not know how.”

“Have you never touched yourself?” He breathes.

“Never.”

Gods, he’s going to enjoy her. “That’s alright,” he continues his movements to jostle the mattress. “Just do as I do.” Aegon lets his mouth fall open, releasing a low moan.

The sound that escapes Y/N in return is not entirely forced. It makes her belly burn with desire.

They continue on like this for a while before Aegon murmurs, “big finish.”

“So quickly?” Y/N��s brow furrows.

Aegon’s eyes flicker about her, “I can’t imagine it will take long.”

As the grand finale comes to a close, Aegon makes for his dagger. Slicing his finger at the tip and allowing blood to pool before dragging the crimson stain across the bed sheet. He strips it from the bed, walking it to the door. “Deliver this to her majesty the Queen. I know she is impatiently waiting.”

Y/N begins pacing, beside the bed.

“They are gone. We are alone.”

She nods, “thank you, Aegon. For all of it.”

————————————————————————-

When Aegon does eventually bed her, it is well worth the wait.

“By the gods, that is not going to fit inside me.”

Aegon huffs a laugh, “I promise it will, darling girl. We must prepare you first.”

“How,” Y/N squeals.

He hushes her, lying open mouthed kisses across her collarbones.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not if I can help it.” He plans to burying his face between her thighs and bring her to the heavens. But the sweet little thing wants only to be held, kissed. Aegon lies beside her, one hand stroking her dark hair, the other moving down to her breasts, kneading them gently.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes.

“As are you.” She pants, moving her lips against his.

Aegon chuckles, “flattery will get you places.” He rolls her nipple between his fingers, flicking over it with the pad of his thumb.

Her hips rise of their own accord, grinding herself against his entwined leg.

“Slowly, my darling.”

Y/N nods, kissing him again to distract herself from the building ache between her legs.

Feather light caresses trail down to her sex, collecting a bit of wetness and slipping a finger into her heat. Pumping slowly, getting her used to the sensation.

“That feels nice.” She breathes, tugging at his hair.

Aegon smiles, “can you take another?”

“Yes.”

Aegon adds a second digit, working her open, pushing a bit deeper to her sweet spot. His fingers curl against it, relishing her little gasps. The princess is close now.

“Ahh,” she grasps his forearm.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.”

“I-”

“Don’t cry.” By the seven, she is gripping his fingers like a vise.

“I cannot help it.” Her thighs tremble in earnest now.

“That is your peak, darling girl. You’re alright, I promise.” He continues stroking, pressing the base of his hand flush with her swollen pearl, applying gentle pressure until she finds bliss. He pets at her hair as she cries out. “Good girl,” he coos, working her through the crest and bringing her back down.

“That was heavenly,” she sighs, steadying her breathing.

You are heavenly.

“Might we do it again?”

Aegon chuckles, “as many times as you’d like.”

————————————————————————

In the early days of their marriage, Aegon realizes that his wife has a nasty habit of bedding him and waiting until he finds sleep to sneak off. Holding after hours council with her mother.

The practice itself does not upset him, but this night, her absence is especially troubling, as they have been drinking since dinner. His sweet wife is not well versed in wine drinking. She laughed so hard she cried and then rode him to kingdom come.

Aegon tosses back the covers, pulling on his clothes and moving quickly through the halls of the keep. He rounds the nearest corridor, colliding with his wife, running at full speed. “Sweetheart?”

“I was looking for you,” Y/N smiles.

“Where have you been?”

“Well, I could not find sleep so I went to the maester to ask for a draft.”

“Then you’ve been to the maester?” Aegon holds her at arms length, searching for any sign of harm.

“I was on my way to the maester when I happened across one of the groundskeeper’s wives and we got to talking.” Y/N admits, with a hiccuping laugh.

“What could you possibly be talking about for over an hour?”

“Just about everything, she is a lovely woman.” Y/N tells him.

Aegon nods, with a patient smile.

“I might have stayed longer, but it came up in conversation…all the ways a woman might please her husband. And I could not wait to tell you.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon groans.

“The smallfolk share things in the marriage bed I’ve never even heard of.” Y/N muses. “She told me that, on occasion, she puts his cock between her breasts and he-”

“Who is this woman, my darling? Did you get a name?”

“I do not remember her name. I’ve been drinking.”

“I’m well aware,” Aegon’s face softens. “Next time you cannot find sleep, wake me instead.”

Y/N nods.

“In return, I will teach you all the things a husband and wife might do together. I will even demonstrate, should you find it necessary.”

“Oh, could you?” Y/N grabs for his hands, in excitement.

Aegon sighs, “you will be the death of me.”

She leaves him little notes each time after, when she must go to attend her family.

‘My dearest Aegon, I will return soon. I could not stand to wake you from such a peaceful slumber. Worry not, I will always return to you.’

And she does, after council meetings and late nights with her mother. She always returns.

————————————————————————

After a particularly long week, Aegon avoids Y/N purposely. Attempting to clear the room when he finds her there.

“Have I done something?” Y/N stops him.

Aegon shakes his head, “it has been a long day. I do not wish to burden you.”

“When you are upset you may come to me.”

Aegon fights the urge to pull away, to ignore her until she leaves.

“I will hold you.” It isn’t much, but it is all she knows. The way her mother comforts her.

Aegon says nothing, sitting down to bury his head in his hands.

Y/N sighs, winding her arms around his shoulders, feeling them begin to shake.

He reaches for her slowly, as if such comfort might burn him, or she would simply bat his hand away. She doesn’t of course, she allows him to bring her closer, now seated in his lap.

The princess says not a word as her husband works himself free of his breeches. Taking her small clothes and skirt aside.

“It helps,” he tells her. “You help.”

He goes to her then, when the day is long. When there is news to share, on occasion, just to say hello. He goes to her because he can.

————————————————————————-

During dinners at the Red Keep they whisper secrets and share hushed laughter. When he grows tired of that, Aegon’s fingers toy with her pretty little cunt beneath the table, to watch her squirm.

“I love you.” He confesses, meeting her gaze as she turns to him at the height of her pleasure.

Y/N bites down on the inside of her cheek, holding perfectly still as Aegon works her through her peak. Withdrawing his fingers and wiping them clean on the fabric of her skirts. “I love you.”

No one is the wiser. Save for Otto, who knows all; or rather likes to believe he does.

Gone is any hope that the blacks or greens might use their influence to sway the tides from one side to another. Y/N and Aegon belong to each other now, a danger in its own right.

News of the princess’s pregnancy sparks a joyous celebration throughout the realm, only to be outshone by news of the birth. Two perfect little girls. Twins, named Dahlia and Visera, respectively.

“They are perfect, my dearest love.” Aegon marvels when they are placed in his arms.

Y/N nods.

“Are you well?” He asks, swaying from side to side.

Whether from weariness or the question itself, Y/N bursts in to tears.

Aegon carefully gives his daughters over to the maids. Climbing onto the freshly dressed bed with Y/N to hold her, stroking dark locks. “Shh, it’s alright.”

“It was awful,” Y/N sobs, clutching at him.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Everyone was barking commands at me, trying to rush the babe out, even worse with the second and my mother was the one person speaking against it.”

“Oh, my darling girl.” He sighs.

“I was tired and frightened…and the pain is unimaginable. I do not wish to do it again.”

Aegon sways her gently, “I am so terribly sorry.”

“You are the only person I wanted and I could not h-have you.”

“We will deliver the next just the two of us, if it pleases you.” Aegon promises.

“Your mother will never allow that.”

“She will not know.” Aegon kisses her cheek.

Y/N pulls back just enough to see him. “If you’re certain.”

“I am. Calm yourself now, my only love. This is a day of happiness.” Aegon dries her tears, “I should like to soak up every moment here, with the three of you.”

Y/N nods, “I would like that very much.”

At the prince’s request, Visera and Dahlia are returned to them.

Aegon takes his second born, tracing the soft lines of her little face, committing them to memory. “Papa loves you.”

Y/N grins at the sight, her own finger clutched in her eldest daughter’s fist.

It comes as a shock to only Alicent when Dahlia Targaryen is named their heir; with her claim upheld by Viserys himself. Aegon does not need a son, his daughters are his legacy.

They attend small council meetings as they grow, with Dahlia seated on her grandsire’s lap.

“Mama,” Visera pounds at the table, drawing attention from the other seats.

“What is it, my darling girl?” Y/N hushes her, hoping to hear their current positions on livestock.

The little girl reaches for the ball again. “Please?”

“What is it she wants?” Aegon asks, from beside his wife, pecking kisses to his daughter’s outstretched hand.

“The ball.” Y/N whispers.

“Ahh,” Aegon smiles, taking his ball in hand and turning it over to Visera. “There we are.”

“You’ll spoil her rotten.”

“Just like her mother, hmm?” Aegon jests, “that is the goal.”

Y/N bites back a grin, passing a hand over her daughter’s light hair.

Their daughters celebrate their third name day before the princess is expecting again.

“There seems to be only one of you in there, I fear.” Aegon whispers to the child in Y/N’s belly, pressing kisses to her skin.

“You fear?” His wife smiles.

“You see, three is an odd number, this child will need a companion.” The prince reasons.

Y/N doesn’t argue, listening to Aegon speak with their unborn babe until she falls asleep.

————————————————————————

Y/N’s term is nearly complete when Aegon finds his wife, holding their wailing daughters in her arms. One on each side of her belly.

“What’s happened?” Aegon asks.

Y/N looks to him, “the girls were playing and Visera closed the door on Dahlia’s finger by mistake. Now they are both inconsolable.”

Aegon reaches for his eldest daughter, “let Papa see, which finger is hurt.”

“My little finger,” Dahlia cries, presenting the red, angry digit.

“That does look terrible painful, my dearest love.” Aegon says, after carefully examination.

“I must have the maester.”

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Aegon presses feather light kisses to her hand. “We need a cold compress is all.”

The maids rush out to fulfill his request.

Dahlia rests her head against her father’s shoulder as she waits, sniffling while he rubs circles into her back.

“See there, darling girl? Your sister is alright.” Y/N gentles Visera, who is feeling incredibly guilty.

“I did not mean to.”

“Of course not, my love.” Aegon says, “twas only an accident.”

The rest of their day is spent playing dolls and Aegon giving pony rides. Which, while ridiculous, does serve as a form of entertainment for Y/N who sits aside to watch.

She may give birth any day now and she feels every bit uncomfortable, still she welcomes Dahlia into her lap as she waits for her turn on Aegon, the noble steed.

“Trot,” Visera orders, with a smile across her face.

“Trot?” Aegon laughs, “shall I do tricks for you as well, your grace?”

Y/N shakes her head, locking eyes with her husband; she mouths a single word, “spoiled.” She kneads the ache in her lower back with her free hand. Ignoring it through supper and long after Dahlia and Visera are asleep.

Aegon notices the way she keeps clutching at it. “Perhaps a warm bath might help.”

“That would be nice,” she croaks out.

“Might it be your labors, darling girl?”

“It is all in my back,” she does not recall hardly any pain in her back, whilst laboring with the twins. “I must have pulled it.”

“The girls are getting bigger, perhaps it’s best if you do not lift them, in this condition.” Aegon kisses her cheek, dashing off to find a maid.

Y/N inhales, closing her eyes to the dull throbbing ache. Even the tub does not help, she climbs back into bed, hoping to sleep it off, but the pain only intensifies.

“This must be more than a muscle.” Aegon whispers, lying behind her. Continuing to knead her hips at her request.

“It is my labors.” My chokes out.

“You’re certain?”

Y/N nods, “my waters just broke.”

Aegon presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Is there anything I might do for you?”

She shakes her head. “Walking will help the babe come down, I must stand.”

Aegon springs from the bed, helping her upright.

“Fuck.” She hisses, beginning to pace their rooms.

Aegon follows, unsure what else to do.

She reaches out for him after a while, when the pain is so great all she wants is an ounce of comfort.

“I’m here.” Aegon murmurs, wrapping her in his arms as she sways gently from side to side.

Y/N clings to her husband, breathing him in. Focusing her attention on the sweetness of his words, to distract herself from her labors. “I’ll need to push soon.”

“Of course,” Aegon’s done his best to prepare himself. Studying whatever books he could manage, without drawing attention from prying eyes. Highborn ladies do not have children delivered by their husbands.

Queen Alicent will be livid when she finds out, but it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Y/N climbs atop the bed, remaining modestly covered.

“There’s no reason to be nervous, my darling. I’ve seen your cunt a hundred times.” Aegon flips her nightgown up, positioning her legs apart, bent at the knee. “There we are.”

“This is different, surely.” Y/N bares down as her belly contracts.

“Yes and no,” he pats her thigh.

She keeps a firm grip on his hand, crying out despite her best efforts.

“Alright, that’s alright.” Aegon scrambles for something to muffle it. “Might this work?” His belt.

“Yes.” Y/N takes it from him, stuffing the leather strap into her mouth. She is not entirely silent, little whimpers escape, though not enough to alert the guards.

Aegon is patient, kind, whispering words of encouragement. He never rushes her, brushing his hands across her skin. “There you go, my dearest love.” He can see the child’s head now.

Her eyes water, gritting her teeth so tightly they ache.

“Breathe.”

Y/N draws in a breath through her nose, releasing it in a strangled manner, akin to a dying animal.

“Good girl,” Aegon is prepared to catch the infant.

The princess’s head falls back as the child emerges, connected to her by only the afterbirth.

“Slippery little fellow, aren’t you?” Aegon coos, holding his son in his arms.

The infant begins to wail.

“A boy?” Y/N pants, tossing the belt away to catch her breath.

“Yes, my darling girl.” Aegon grins, “how are you?”

There is still pain, there will always be pain, but it is largely outweighed by the image of Aegon holding their son. She bursts into tears, “I am well.”

“Oh dear,” he frowns, carefully maneuvering his newborn son. He lies the infant against her chest, leaning down to comfort her as best he can. “Was it not what you wanted?”

“It was better, my love.” Y/N assures him, counting their babe’s tiny fingers. “I am overjoyed.”

“Overjoyed,” Aegon huffs, clunking his forehead against hers. “Of course that is why you’re crying.”

The maesters come after a while, to be sure that Y/N and the babe are well. After receiving the all clear, they are finally able to rest. Waking early in the morn to present the newest member of their family.

Y/N is tired and sore, even now, lying abed doesn’t suit her. She sits upon a cushion, in a loose fitting gown, tracing the slope of her new babe’s nose. “Are you nearly ready, my love?”

“Nearly,” Aegon remarks. While fastening his breeches he discovers the shapes notched into his belt. He lets out a laugh.

“What is it?” Y/N smiles.

“Look,” he rounds the stool, jutting out his hips.

“Your cock?” The princess arches a brow. “I have seen it.”

“Here, darling girl.” He grins, tracing the outline of her indentations. “From your teeth.”

Her cheeks heat up, “you must take it off.”

“Take it off?” Aegon frowns, “this is a badge of honor. I will wear it day in and day out.”

“You are insufferable,” Y/N sighs.

Aegon pecks a kiss to her parted lips, silencing any protest and setting off to gather the rest of their children.

Y/N dearly misses her mother and brothers in Dragonstone.

————————————————————————

In the months after Laenor’s birth Y/N begins searching for a teacher willing to help her learn a skill most princesses never acquire. Leading her to seekout a man she never has before.

“I want to train by the sword.”

Aemond pauses his sparring practice. “Surely I misunderstand you, dear niece.”

“You are the best, I require a tutor.” Y/N puts it plainly.

“I must be, if you are asking me, of all people.”

“I will admit, you were not my first choice. But Aegon refuses to so much as raise a sword against me and my brothers never cared for knocking me down; where as you will have no qualms about it.”

Aemond smirks, “this is true.”

“I also thought it might be a way for you and I to come together…as family.”

Aemond squares his shoulders, “very well then. Take up your sword.”

The two of them have something in common at long last, until Princess Y/N falls pregnant again, some months later.

Viserys’ condition continues to deteriorate, it is unclear if he will survive to see Y/N and Aegon’s fourth child. As luck would have it, he is lucid when the Prince and Princess present their second son, Prince Aegon, fourth of his name.

“Well done, my girl.” The king manages.

Y/N smiles, “Aegon helped.”

“I should expect so,” Viserys laughs.

“I meant only that he too deserves a job well done.”

Viserys looks to her, as if seeing her for the first time. Then turning to his son he whispers, “well done, my boy.”

Aegon is taken aback, “thank you, father.”

————————————————————————

News of Lord Corlys Velaryon’s injury in the Step Stones brings forth Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to be named his brother’s successor over Lucerys.

This business, however unpleasant, brings Rhaenyra and her children back to King’s Landing.

“We were planning to visit in a few months time, after the babe was born.” Rhaenyra tells her daughter. “But it is always a joy to see you, darling girl.”

Y/N hugs her mother, tightly, “I’ve missed you.”

Rhaenyra strokes a hand over her daughter’s hair. “I have missed you terribly.”

King Viserys musters his last bit of strength to affirm his position for Lucerys and make known that his daughter, Rhaenyra, will always be the true heir to the throne.

They break bread, the blacks and greens together, once the petition is settled. Getting along for a time, until the king is taken back to his chambers to rest. A fight breaks out between Jace, Luce and Aemond, causing Rhaenyra’s untimely departure. She intends to return alone, on dragon back, after the children are settled at home.

Y/N finds sleep that night with a renewed sense of peace, waking to anything but.

Aegon is in an odd state of dress, as if he’s thrown clothes on in the dark. Pacing at the foot of their bed; muttering to himself.

“Aegon?” The princess rubs at her eyes, hoping to make sense of it.

“My father is dead.”

Y/N sucks in a breath.

“My mother and grandsire are gathering the smallfolk for my coronation, in the dragon pit.”

“Why? Alicent herself said that my mother would make a fine Queen only hours ago.”

“In the end it was my name Viserys spoke,” Aegon whispers. “To my mother, on his deathbed.”

Oh no, gods no. Viserys wouldn’t. “What exactly did he say?”

“It matters not, my dearest love. I intend to uphold your mother’s claim.”

“How?” By taking her throne?

“I know you do not trust my family, as well you shouldn’t. You know my heart, you know what I want. They are rushing into this because they know it is wrong. I have pleaded with them, to no avail.” Aegon says. “If it is a performance they demand, so that we might seize the crown to later unfuck this line of succession, it is a performance they will have.”

Y/N nods, pressing a hand to her chest, in a desperate attempt to settle her breathing.

“We’re going to wash you up and dress you in the finest gown the realm has ever seen. Then you are going to stand at my side as they bend the knee, to try it on for size. Think of it as preparation for the day you are crowned our true queen, after your mother has ruled for a great many years.”

Again she nods.

“Are you calm enough now or do you still need me?” Aegon asks, stroking his thumb over her cheek.

“I need you.”

Stand together.

————————————————————————

In nearly two days time the realm is divided, half of them devoted to Rhaenyra’s claim, the other half to Aegon’s. After Aegon is crowned, Otto Hightower continues to play his hand.

“What are we to do?” Y/N wonders.

“My mother sent Aemond to Storm’s End. Lord Baratheon was easily swayed by the promise of Daeron’s hand for one of his daughters.”

“That is good, is it not? An ally of ours is an ally of my mother’s, in time.”

“There is more,” Aegon admits, wringing his hands.

Y/N laces their fingers together instead, “speak it.”

“I wish so badly that I did not have to tell you.”

“Please, Aegon.” She insists.

“There was an incident.”

Y/N nods, urging him to continue.

“Between Aemond…and your brother Lucerys.”

“What?” Her eyes brim with tears, as though her heart already knows.

“Lucerys was there, delivering a message from your mother. Aemond followed him, on dragon back. I do not think Aemond meant to truly harm him.” Aegon watches the lone drop of moisture cascade over her cheek. “Lucerys is dead.”

The princess’s knees buckle and she falls, with pain in her chest is so great, her lungs cannot expand.

Aegon gentles her to the floor, into his lap as she sobs so violently it shakes the pair of them. There is nothing he can say, and so he holds her, until she has no tears left.

The next weeks drag on quite the same, they pretend for their children, but Y/N struggles.

She sits the small council meeting, listening to news of Rhaenyra’s blockade and its effect on the kingdom.

The doors push open, revealing Aemond.

Y/N nearly churns. Balling her hands so tightly into fists the nails break skin.

“The key to victory is through the Riverlands.” Aemond narrates, “we need to establish a toehold there, at Harrenhal.”

Y/N pushes away from the table, trembling with the force of her rage.

Aegon reaches for her, feeling his heart sink as she backs away, with both arms wrapped around herself. Trapped beneath the watchful eyes of the council. “My darling, I did not invite him here.”

“Tis true,” Aemond confirms, “I am here of my own volition.”

There is that, at least.

“Do you have something to say, my queen?”

Y/N’s back remains to Aemond, and the strategy board, “Prince Aemond is a traitor and a murderer, who deserves to swing in the streets for what he has done. Instead he attends meetings of the small council. It is clear I hold little value to any member of this court. I will not sit here and listen to this depravity.”

“Y/N.” Aegon rises from his seat, shifting between feet, anxiously.

“I am through, my king.”

Aegon recoils as if she’s slapped him.

“Unless you are commanding me to stay,” she replies, with venom in her voice.

“Of course not, my dearest love.”

Y/N exits the double doors, moving down the hall at record speed.

Aegon twirls the council ball between his fingers to settle his racing heart. This was once his father’s seat, where his children would sit, back when all was as it should be. Now his children are not welcome and his wife would sooner abandon ship than remain at his side. “Get out.” He says to his brother.

Aemond sighs.

“Get out!” Aegon slams his fist against the table, “from now on, you will make yourself scarce amongst these halls. If you happen across my wife, you will make haste in the opposite direction, she will not be forced to look upon your face again. Do you understand?”

Aemond bows his head, “as you wish, your grace.”

Y/N retreats to her children’s rooms, finding them empty. They must be in with Helaena’s twins again. She finds the six of them in Jaehaera’s room, playing together while Helaena sews her tapestry.

“How is it coming along?” Y/N asks, taking a seat beside her.

“Quite well.”

“Glad to hear it.” Y/N taps at her wedding ring, “do you find it relaxing? Mayhaps I should take up sewing.”

“I’m afraid.” Helaena says, setting her work aside.

“Of what?” Y/N cocks her head to the side.

“The rats.”

Y/N nods, hoping to understand. “What is it about them that frightens you?”

Helaena falls silent, a far off look in her eyes.

“I could look into them.” Y/N offers, instead. “The rats.”

Helaena blinks at her. “Would you?”

“Yes, of course. Perhaps with proper knowledge of their ways you need not fear them.”

Helaena smiles, “that would be nice.”

“I will head down to the library then, once the children are abed.”

After their baths, princess Y/N brushes through each of her children’s hair in turn. Her two year old son sits in her lap first. Laenor’s hair has wave to it, like Aegon’s. She twists a bit of it around her finger.

“Mama,” the little boy begins bouncing, impatiently.

“Yes, sweet boy?”

“All done,” he tells her.

Y/N huffs a laugh, squeezing him in a hug before releasing him, “off you go then.”

Laenor giggles, bounding away happily.

“Alright, my darling girls, who is next?”

Dahlia looks to Visera, who stares back at her, exclaiming in unison, “I am!” The pair comes charging at her, landing in the small space, side by side.

“My goodness, you have gotten so big.” Y/N groans as she repositions them. Taking turns swiping the bristles through their long, silver, hair before weaving in simple braids, one down each of their backs.

“Where is father?” Dahlia wonders.

Y/N swallows, “performing his duties.”

“What about us?” Visera asks.

“Your father loves you dearly,” Y/N kisses each of their heads. “He wants nothing more than to be with you. Sometimes there are things we must do, for the sake of the crown that require us to be parted from those we love, for a short while.”

The girls nod.

“One day, when you are grown, you will understand. In the meantime, please know that his heart is with you, always. He will never be far.”

Visera and Dahlia turn, holding their mother tight.

“I will see you on the morrow.” Y/N pats their backs, watching them take to their beds.

Her youngest child is brought to her last, wrapped in a silk blanket and wailing at the top of his lungs.

Y/N stands to collect him. “Now, now, my prince, what business do you have causing all that fuss?” Y/N coos at the babe in her arms.

Aegon the fourth quiets instantly, staring up at his mother while kicking his little legs.

“That’s what I thought.” Y/N remarks, sitting down in the arm chair to rock him to sleep. “You are so loved, my darling.” She strokes his dark hair and his tired eyes begin to close, “sweet dreams.”

With the prince safely abed, Y/N leaves the children in the care of their guards and maids, to see what books they might have about rats in the library. The selection is limited, of course, so she decides on a bound copy recounting the great plague. Its pages contain great detail about the little critters and their lives.

She finds herself more engrossed in it than she could have anticipated. The princess hardly hears her husband enter their rooms.

“What story is that now, my dearest love?” He asks, shucking off his boots.

“It’s a book about the plague.”

Part 5

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago @kaysav608 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @wolflover384 @jaydemon99 @minttea07 @lightdragonrayne @baybaybear1

#house of the dragon #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen smut #aegon smut #aegon imagine #aegon targaryen fanfic

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irndad · 8 months ago

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kiss me (under the milky twilight)- s.r.

a/n: this took so long and i'm so sorry! based on this post- reader has an ex that she keeps running back to, and spencer just wants her to see him. fake dating and hijinks ensue. VERY long. 4.6k words!! thanks to @fadingplaidtrashpatrol for ur thoughts and ideas!! masterlist // ask

The unraveling begins on a Friday.

This is one of the rare Fridays where a full weekend is staring back at them, and Spencer is immeasurably pleased at his plans. He’s rented a Russian old movie, and his best friend had agreed to sit next to him on his shitty old couch while he whispers translations in real-time.

He loves spending time with her, a little hedonistically. She’s so kind, warm in both spirit and disposition, and Spencer treasures the time he gets to spend with her. Her desk adjoins his, and so one might assume that he could tire of her presence, but there’s something a little addicting about her, something he tries to have as often as he can.

On this fine evening, she’s wearing an oversized sweater tucked into jeans- her position is mainly out of the field, and so she takes full advantage of the dress-code flexibility. Lovely earrings hang around her face, adorning her lovely features like a frame.

Spencer’s more than a little in love with her.

This has never really been a convenient fact, but Spencer’s used to wanting things he can’t have. And it was never really feasible not to want her- anyone who’s ever been in her presence would know this. It’s a foreign feeling, looking over at someone he’s lucky enough to know, and wanting them enough for that desire to turn into fantasy.

“Spencer!” She greets him warmly, standing up to do so- if this wasn’t a workplace, if she was meeting him at the cafe like they do on Wednesdays, or his home, like she often finds herself in whenever he invites her, Spencer is certain she would wrap her arms around him in an incredibly warm hug.

Because they are in the BAU, she believes it is inappropriate to embrace this way (which Spencer would argue isn’t true, given the way Morgan and Penelope are with each other, but if he told her that, it might be a little too obvious how desperate he is for her to touch him.)

The way she beams at him almost makes up for the fact that he doesn’t get to hug her.

“I got you something,” he says in lieu of a response, clutching the bag of muffins in one hand. He’d woken up early to get her to stop by her favorite bakery, and it was worth it to see that look on her face. No one’s in the office now, the day long finished, and they’re getting ready to walk to his place. He lives so close by, and he’s grateful for this fact when they walk together back to his place.

She grabs the bag, and he’s just so endeared by her, the giddy expression written over her lovely face.

“Have I mentioned that I love you? Because I do. You need to marry me, immediately.” She says to him, eyes closed in bliss, and even though she’s clearly joking, Spencer finds himself preening at her praise- wouldn’t it be incredible if she meant that? It sounds so pretty in her voice. I love you.

He beams back at her, in a way he hopes doesn’t betray how much he wants.

“I’m glad you like them,” he says back, his heart in his throat.

“I have some news that you are going to be incredibly mad at me about.” She says, and a crumb is on her painted lip, and fantasy of kisses that he cannot have enters Spencer’s mind before he can shake it away.

“I could never be mad at you.”

“I think I have to raincheck tonight,” she says almost sadly, her voice apologetic, as though she has no choice in the matter.

“Is everything okay?”

He had picked up her favorite snacks yesterday night, tidied up his apartment top to bottom.

“Josh texted me- he’s going through something and he needs me to come over-“

“He doesn’t need you to come over.”

He rarely interrupts her, and he usually isn’t capable of being upset with her. He’s not really even upset with her now, but this is so exhausting, watching her deal with this asshole.

It is a continuous surprise to Spencer that someone like her can be in a position like this.

Through Spencer’s eyes, the idea that anyone can not be in love with her is almost an impossibility. It’s not even his bias alone that makes him think this- it’s the truth of her.

Josh is an asshole finance bro who works in the city center, and Spencer hates him more than most serial killers.

He’s fucking careless with the thing Spencer wants the most in the world. Josh knows what it’s like to be with her, to be the person to falls asleep with her in his arms.

Sometimes when Spencer can’t sleep, which is quite often, he pictures her soft cheek on her chest, pictures what she would feel like entwined with his own body, legs tangled with his and her fingers in his hair. It’s a sacred thing, this image- even though it isn’t real, Spencer knows he values the imagination of her presence more than Josh gives his attention to the real thing.

They’ve “gotten together” and “broken up” and “started talking again” about 12 times respectively.

Spencer could kill him.

“Spence,” she sighs, shaking him out of his angry stupor, “please don’t be mad at me. He’s really going through something right now- he needs someone to be around. Besides,” she breathes out, “I can’t dump him.

“Why is that?” He tries to temper his tone, but the memory of her mascara running down her cheeks as she sobs in his arms shoots through his mind, and manifests as a physical sharp pain in his chest.

“That wedding is coming up,” she murmurs, looking down at her shoes. They’re scuffed, and Spencer thinks she might be embarrassed. Why should she be? He’s the asshole. “I told people I was going to have a date. Do you know how many people are going to be there, Spence? How many people are expecting me to bring my boyfriend?”

Her best friend is getting married. Spencer knows this because she’s told him, and told him gleefully when Josh had agreed to go with her. Spencer remembers thinking that he’d like to punch a wall.

Anyway.

She’s the last of her friend group that’s not in a long term relationship, and in some twisted way, he kind of gets how Josh would be better than nothing, if you didn’t want to be seen as alone.

“You don’t want to go alone.”

“Yeah, Spence.”

“I could go with you.”

It escapes his mouth without his permission, and he regrets it almost instantly. Because there’s no fucking way she’d go with him. He’s lanky and awkward and his blazers never fit and his ties are always tied wrong, and she’s beautiful and wonderful in ways he finds new ways to see everyday. He’s not a solution to her being worried about how she’s seen, he’d only make it worse-

“You would do that for me?” Her voice is small as she asks, and it shakes him out of his thoughts. He looks down at her, eyes softening at her lovely face. She looks touched, and he has to wonder, doesn’t she know?

He’d do anything for her.

“Of course,” he breathes out, a nervous hand playing with the strap of his bag, “If it gets you to stop giving that asshole the time of day, I’d do it a million times.”

Her face shifts in a way he can’t read, and she swallows.

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I want to,” he says, “Please. It would be fun, C’mon. You’re always saying I need to get out there and do things.”

“Being my fake boyfriend at my friend’s wedding is not getting out there and doing things,” she pouts, and his heart nearly jumps. It’s pathetic, but hearing her refer to him as her any kind of boyfriend is intoxicating. He wants to hear it, over and over.

“It’ll be fun,” he says, touching her hand as it rests on the table, making intentional eye contact. She has been prettiest eyes. “C’mon, let me do this for you. I’m sick of this guy.”

She gulps again, an endearingly confusing gesture, and he finds the feeling a little desperate. Pick me, choose to be with me, even if it’s just pretend.

“He’s going to be there anyway,” she breathes out biting her lip in a nervous gesture, “I- I’d owe you so much, Spence. It would make him jealous, I think.”

It’s a little hedonistic, how much he would enjoy that, he thinks. Someone would see her as his girl. He knows she might be doing this to get Josh’s attention, but still- the evening together seems like too lovely of a thing to turn down- too wonderful of a chance to not offer. He’d take a night of pretend over never getting to be with her at all.

It’s enough to make him ignore that making Josh jealous is probably the reason she’s saying yes.

“Okay, okay! Spencer, will you do me the honor of taking me to Julie’s wedding?”

“I would be honored.

The weeks approaching the wedding are a bit of sweet torture. She’d had the idea that they could practice, whatever that meant, and the memory of it lives in his mind rent free. They’d been watching the movie, already touchier than most would allow of best friends. (She’s his best, Spencer’s just the tiniest bit resentful of Julie).

She’d been sitting next to him on his worn out couch, her legs thrown across his, and true to his word, he was whispering the translation along to the movie. She smiled at him, watching his mouth move instead of the movie, and he felt tingly under her stare. How wonderful and bright it is, to be under her gaze. He kept speaking even though she wasn’t watching, because he imagines that if he stops, she might look away.

Then, she had held his hand.

Grabbed it really, fingers lacing with his own, and Spencer’s brain had short circuited. She has soft hands, he had thought to himself, and it was about the only thing he could manage to think.

“We should practice,” she had whispered, even though it was just the two of them in the lowlight of his home, “Y’know, so people believe us.”

He didn’t say that he’s pretty sure no one needed to be convinced he’s in love with her.

“Sure,” he had nodded, and squeezed her hand, “I think that’s a great idea.”

So they’ve been practicing.

This has been in equal measures wonderful and torturous. She walks with him to work on half the days, with her fingers twined with his own, and Spencer finds it intoxicating that any passerby would assume he belongs to her.

More than he already does, anyway.

Her affection is her own, just turned up to 11. She’s gorgeous- this is a fact that was not instrumental in his love of her, but ornamental- still, this is hard to ignore when she touches him as much as she does now. When she’s out with the team at the bar, she rests her hand on the small of his back- he preens every time at this. This is simple, her domesticity, her claiming his presence as her own- it’s more than nice, Spencer realizes. It’s wonderful, to be wanted by her. Even if it’s not real.

On this night, they’re celebrating. They caught the unsub before he’d been able to kill his first victim. This is a rarity in their field, and she’d given the interview that had gotten the confession. It’s the closest to field work she’d gotten, and they’re all celebrating their win. Her win.

She looks like a figment of imagination, lovely in a way he literally cannot believe he didn’t conjure up in fantasy. Her favorite song is playing out of pure serendipity, and Spencer likes that word for her. She is serendipitous as a whole.

“Do you want something to drink, honey?” The endearment feels warm and natural as it comes out of his mouth. His hand is resting on the small of her waist, and he knows he’s being egregious with the practice thing. But this is so nice, her leaning into him, one drink deep and touchier than she is tipsy, and he loves this. He loves that under this pretense, he gets to know what she feels like in his arms.

He hands her the water before she gets to answer, and she happily sips it.

“Are you proud of me, Spence?” Her voice is immeasurably fond and he drinks it in like a man starved.

“Of course,” he smiles at her. I’m always proud of you, he thinks. “You did so well, love.”

He’s not used to endearments, but she showers him in them. Before their little pretending, too. Called him dove, honey, darling. Packed an emergency lunch in his go bag in case he forgot his. She’s such a good friend, and he wants to be her lover more with each breath.

He tries to return them, now.

“Good,” she says serenely, looking at him in a way that kills him, because he will never, ever kiss her. She can hold him, and look at him like that, and he will never get to be with her, “I think my cider is too sour,” she scrunches her nose, and his heart swoops.

“I’ll get you something sweeter, baby.”

“Yeah you will!” He hears Morgan laugh, and he flushes bright red. No one seems surprised, by how touchy they’d been. Even Hotch- he’d expected a talk, but then got a stern nod of understanding in its stead.

She sips the sweet drink he got her, a little cherry on the step, and he thinks he’d do anything to keep looking at her.

Five weeks to the wedding.

He can do this.

“Could you do me a favor, Garcia? I come bearing gifts.”

Spencer’s snuck into her office- there’s not much to do today, but she hadn’t wanted to take PTO for no reason, so here she is, in her feathered and pink glory.

“Is that a hot chocolate? From Dominicks? Ooh, you play dirty, Dr. Reid.” Penelope almost squeals, and despite his nefarious purposes, he finds himself joyful- it’s alwaysgood to talk to her.

After a joyful, eyes closed and serene sip, she asks, “Alright, my sweet furry friend, what can I do for you?”

“Could you check on a Josh Collins for me?”

“Isn’t that your girl’s ex?”

“No,” Heat rises to his cheeks, before he can help it. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh, and my favorite color is black.” Penelope scoffs back, but begins typing furiously anyway.

He needs to know what is so fascinating about this guy. Because lately he can’t figure it out. He’s always fucking hated the guy, even though he’s never met him. He never had to- she’d shown up enough times at Spencer’s door crying, been broken up with and brought back enough to know that this guy is awful. Doesn’t even come close to deserving the woman that she is.

“He’s a financial analyst at a Marketing firm, went to state school for his Bachelor’s, says here that he played football in college, but I don’t think they met until after,” she says, “Oh, he has a scuba license. And skydiving! Looks like he’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie.”

It’s an evil thought. Is that what she likes? He finds it hard to imagine, picturing the moments where she’s wrapped up in his arms on a movie night- that always seemed to be her preference. In, not out.

“Is that him?”

There’s a picture of him on Penelope’s screen. Josh is chiseled and strong, smiling brightly in a polo on a jet ski- this is a photo posted on his social media, and Spencer has met a million of this guy. They bullied him in school. Spencer as genius and he’s a lot of things, but that will never be one of them. It’ll never, ever be him.

Good to know, anyway. Better not to fantasize about what he knows he can’t have.

On the day of the wedding, it’s actually a 6 hour drive. She’d offered to get them plane tickets, but he enjoyed his time with her. He was also desperate to extend the time until the wedding was over, and she’s probably the only person he wants to be trapped in a car with.

They’re sharing a hotel room. She’s booked two beds, which he’s honestly grateful for- if they’d shared a bed, he might’ve combusted.

Still, there is so much intimacy. She sings in the shower. He imagines a world where he’d know that in domesticity, where after a night spent in laughter and something like love, she showered in his home. But that’s not how he knows it. He knows it because he’s at her best friend’s wedding, pretending to be her boyfriend.

When she comes out of her bedroom, she’s gorgeous.

She’s got a green and purple dress on, a cinched waist and a sweetheart neck, a dash of plum lipstick on her lovely pout, and he’d like to kiss that smile very, very much. She’s a delicate kind of lovely, saturated in sweetness, and it’s sweet torture to have her this close.

“You look...” He struggles to find words, an uncommon occurrence in his life, “Like a vision.”

It’s sentimental and warmer than he wished he sounded, but god- she’s stunning. She looks like she’s made of old film, beautiful in that way that’s just a bit too good to be true. He adores her more with each breath.

“You think it’s okay?” She speaks to him with her doe eyes adorned with a concerned expression. He wants to kiss it away.

“You look lovely,” he says, a vast underselling.

The ceremony is a lovely affair, and Spencer learns that she cries at weddings. The bride and groom have lovely, saccharine vows, and Spencer tries not to picture a wedding that he will never get to have.

It’s a little bit impossible with her at his side.

She’s touchier now, even mores then when they were ‘practicing’. Her hands are warm laced with his own, her head leaning on his shoulder, and he feels lucky to have even a piece of getting to be with her.

At the reception, she is tackled by her friends, and he performs dutifully as the caring boyfriend. It’s not hard.

It’s a lovely night. His arms glued to the small of her waist, and he’s been introduced as her “genius FBI agent boyfriend” many times tonight. He turns bright red every time.

“This is my boyfriend, he’s the smartest ever,” she brags when she’s half a drink deep, and he cherishes the ability to draw circles on the small of her back in this moment- his words fail him in moments of praise, and touch is an avenue that he is rarely allowed to use.

“I don’t believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified-“

“Which is a thing that humble geniuses say.”

So he’s having a great tine.

Her lipstick is transfer-free, and his cheek is proof. She’s so affectionate his heart keeps doing somersaults. There’s a signature cocktail with some pun in the couples name.

“I’m fucking obsessed with these, Spence,” she says, a light airiness to her voice that he recognizes as her tipsy voice, “Can you get me another, my love?”

“Yes, honey.” He smiles at her, and kisses the crown of her hair before leaving her in the company of her friends. He’s indulging a bit too much, he’s aware. He’s going to have to give up this up when the sun rises, like some fucked up fairytale where Cinderella never gets the guy because she’s not worthy of it without the pretense.

“Could I get the house cocktail?” Spencer asks the bartender, flashing a smile at her with the giddiness of knowing he will return to her.

Spencer had nearly forgotten that part of the reason he was here was because of Josh.

Who is at the bar.

“Hey man- you’re the dude she brought, right?”

Josh is actually about 2 inches shorter than Spencer, and Spencer makes the most of this difference. He’s a broad chested muscle man, but he looks woefully underwhelming.

“Yeah, I’m the lucky guy.” Spencer replies in a deadpan tone, turning to face him with a stony expression.

“Careful, man,” Josh says, and it’s a little pathetic how he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t care, “She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

“Really? Because it seems like you’d leave a bad taste in anyone’s mouth.”

“Whatever, dude. It’s clear that she just brought someone to make me jealous.”

“Actually, while I can’t read her mind, I imagine you’ve slipped hers entirely. Clearly your entire energy is based in whatever ego-driven shell your youth has shaped you into- and maybe one day someone will care enough about whatever tragedy made you the way you are, but I am deeply uninterested, and I’d wager she is too.”

He’s not sure if this is true, but Spencer’s noticed that in the time since their ruse has begun she hasn’t mentioned Josh. Not once. She might not love Spencer, but she might not see Josh anymore.

“Also, if you ever speak disrespectfully of my girlfriend again I promise you it will not end well for you.”

His voice is even and has an underlaying of quiet rage. It’s wonderful to call her that, even more so as she enters into his eye line.

“You looked mad,” she says in lieu of a greeting, her nimble arms wrapping around his waist with fluid ease, “Is everything okay?”

It’s only then she sees Josh, and there’s something wonderful about knowing that she came here to check on him. Josh is about to say something, he can tell even though he’s only visible in the corner of his vision.

It’s a calculated risk but he chooses to do it anyway.

When he kisses her, he doesn’t know what to expect. It falls into line like puzzles into place, one of her hands falling to his waist and the other cradling his jaw with a delicate softness. She leans into him totally and this is an intoxicating feeling- her lips are so, so soft and it’s what he’s been fantasizing about since she first smiled at him and asked him to keep going when he was rambling about Russian literature.

It’s actually better.

When she pulls back, she scans the space. Josh is gone.

“Well that had the intended effect,” he says- it seems better than anything else, like confessing that the only reason he did it was that he could. He kissed her.

She nods, clearly a bit frazzled, and fuck-

“I should have asked, fuck, I’m sorry-“

“No, no, you’re okay, um-thanks for getting rid of him.”

Her voice is hollow.

Despite the awkwardness of the kiss, which Spencer cannot stop thinking about.

Did he imagine it, or did she lean in? Did she sigh into it? How is he going to ever get over the fact that he’s never going to do that again?

Her lipstick is grape flavored. Now they both know that.

They get back to the hotel at half past midnight, and she’d been a little distanced- not so much they still didn’t look like a couple, but enough that Spencer knows. They’re winding down the artificial love affair, and all of the things he’s become kind of addicted to are going to go away. Her fingers running through the tendrils of his hair, her delicate fingers rubbing tiger balm on his temples when he’s got his migraines. Her cheek kisses, the honeys, my loves, sweethearts.

Kissing her.

When she drops her bag on the hotel bed and sits on the edge of it, he sits next to her. She’s been quieter, since the kiss.

“Hey.”

“Hey back,” she replies, bumping her knee with his in fondness.

“I’m sorry I surprised you with, you know.”

“Kissing me?”

“I should have asked- I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset that you kissed me,” she says, looking down at her shoes, “I’m upset that you only did it because you wanted to spite Josh.”

“What?”

“I know that this is my problem, Spence,” she says, “You never… led me on, you know? I know that this was always my thing to deal with. Being in love with you was never something that I thought would be a problem. But when you offered to go with me- to pretend to be my boyfriend, how could I pass that up?”

This makes no sense.

“I know,” she runs her fingers through her hair in a frustrated motion, “I know that it was never a good idea. But the idea of getting to be with you was just too much to turn down, even it it wasn’t the real thing. And now we’re going back to normal and I promise that I will go back to being your friend. It might take me a second, though-I might need some space.”

She needs space from him? Because she can’t transition away from being his fake girlfriend?

“You don’t need space from me.”

He’s so fucking bad at talking.

“Spencer-“

“No, no,” because now he has a shot- now there’s a reality where the pit in his chest doesn’t have to live there forever. He can be with her. Because for some crazy, insane reason, she wants him. “You don’t need space from because I don’t want space from you, okay?”

He sits next to her on the bed, eyes a little crazed with want with nowhere to go.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Her voice is tempered, and he thinks he hears hope.

“I love you. I am in love with you. I’ve been in love with you as long as I’ve known you,” he grabs her hand-it feels desperate to say and he sure he sounds it, “I didn’t kiss you because I wanted to spite him. I did it because I couldn’t live with the idea that I would spend the rest of my life never have kissed you.”

He probably would say more- so many things are coming to mind, most of which are pleading. She’s the only thing he’s ever wanted this much. Before he gets to, though, she kisses him.

It’s sudden, as all things of this nature are, but he pulls her close on instinct. She ends up on his lap, her hands around his neck, and it is so rare that fantasy lives up to reality. But this is better, the feeling of the weight of her pressed against him and the taste of her grape lipstick.

It’s a minute when she pulls back, and it takes everything to not chase the contact.

“I love you too,” she says, the sweetness of it dripping from the sound of it. He wants to hear it again, and again, and again.

“For real?”

“For real.”

When the run rises in the morning that follows, he’s wrapped around the length of her like a vice, right and close to him, Her head rests on his chest, and while there is another bed there, it’s clearly not seeing any use.

He’s never slept better in his life.

#spencer reid #spencer Reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic

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neo-nomatrix · 2 years ago

Text

Hate the AM, Hate the PM, But love you

Hobie Brown x reader

word count: 969

find the mini series here

tags: @maxjesty @marshallowy @sh-tposter2021 @ilovebhna @ladyagagaslefttoe

synopsis: Hobie is still a slightly infuriating neighbor, but there’s something about that jacket and guitar that are all too familiar.

a/n: DRUNK CONFESSIONS!! Part two of this fic. I wasn’t going to write another part to it but i caved 😔

You stood him up. You fucking stood him up. Hobie spent the entire show looking out into the crowd, ignoring the blinding stage lights, to try and find you. But you were nowhere to be found. He asked so nicely too! Despite his nonchalant attitude it took him so long to build up the courage to ask you out. He had dinner reservations planned, which he has obviously never done, looked up places to get a Mr.Whippy and even found a small secluded area where he could play his guitar for you.

The worst part is how it made him feel. He genuinely liked you and it hurt him to think you didn’t feel the same when he thought you did. So what was his solution? Go out with his mates to a pub until 3 am to drink his feelings. Hobie was a bold drunk, bolder than he usually is. He’s also a sloppy drunk, tripping when he walks and slurring his speech like it’s all one word.

You’re peacefully sleeping in your bed with your spiderman eye mask cuddling with your Spider-Punk plushie. It’s not a random occurrence to hear Hobie stomping his boots late at night but it was different today. You heard his boot buckles dragging across the floor and a loud bang against your door. Not necessarily a knock, more of a body slumped against the wood.

“Love! You in there?!” You hear him yell.

You try your hardest to ignore him but as he keeps yelling and pounding against the wood you start to feel sorry for everyone else on your floor. You force yourself out of bed and towards the front door. As you reluctantly open it a drunken Hobie falls into your flat.

“Hobie get your arse up,” you roll your very tired eyes.

He surprisingly agrees and makes his way to your bed.

Great, you think

He tosses his guitar to your couch and gets into your bed like it’s his. Conveniently throwing the spider-punk plush off the bed. He cuddles up with your blanket and closes his eyes. You cannot let him fall asleep.

“Hobie! Hello? That is my bed. Get out!” You yell at him.

“Why’d you do it?” He whispers.

“What,” you ask, still annoyed.

“You stood me up. I asked you to come to my show and you didn’t. Why,” he asked less of a question and more of a statement.

You sigh, of course you knew that was tonight. In all honesty you don’t quite know why you didn’t go. You weren’t doing anything special and it probably would’ve been nice. But you were scared. Scared of what? You also didn’t know that, you just were.

“I… I don’t know,” you admit.

“Really hurt me, Love. I wanted to see you and take you out on a nice date,” he looked away from you.

Your heart shattered. You knew Hobie liked you but not to that extent. You thought he was just playing around with you and didn’t mean anything by it.

“I’m really sorry, Hobie. We should go out some other time, okay? My treat,” you promise.

“Nah, don’t think i’ll have the time,” He says, clearly less sad than he was a few moments ago.

“Oh yeah? Busy with what? Trying to tear down the government from the inside?” You laugh.

“Of course not, that’s for the first saturday of every month. I’ll be busy being Spiderman,” he says, cuddling closer to your blanket.

You stop immediately. Your mind goes blank, the world around you stops. You’re suddenly much more awake than you have ever been. Hobie is… no you can’t even say it. The man you’ve hated ever since you had moved in was the person you loved more than anything else? That can’t be right, he’s having a laugh. That’s gotta be it.

“I don’t believe in comedy,” you remember him saying.

Fuck. He’s not joking, is he?

“What?” you manage to get out.

“I’ll be busy, being spiderman and all. Yknow who that is right? Don’t know if you noticed but he’s- i mean I’m kinda all over your room,” he lets out a drunk giggle.

He pulls out his mask from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to you.

“See?”

You grab it in disbelief. You run your hand over the spandex in awe. Spiderman is right in front of you, you realize.

Oh. My. God. SPIDERMAN IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.

You just can’t believe the man you’ve idolized for years was in your bed. YOUR BED.

Hobie takes the blanket off of him, lifting up his shirt to reveal his suit. Blue and fucking red material.

“I don’t believe in the labels though. It’s stupid,” He says in the most Hobie way possible.

“You’re a superhero,” you say, still a little shocked.

“No. No, don't say that. I'm not a hero, because calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologising, narcissistic autocrat,” He says. God even drunk he’s still a smart ass.

“So you still wanna go out?” He asks.

“What? I just found out you’re fucking Spiderman and that’s what you’re asking me? If I want to go out with you?” You respond.

“I mean what else is there to say? I already know you love me,” he nods to the spiderman memorabilia.

Even in this state he still leaves you speechless.

“Well- yeah I guess. We can go out,” you say slowly.

“Cool,” he nods.

He lifts up the blanket and scoots over, inviting you into your bed with him. You roll your eyes and get in with him. He wraps his arms around you and smiles.

“I knew you wanted to snog me from the start,” he laughs.

Hobie is still pretty infuriating, but that is slowly becoming one of your favorite things about him.

#spiderverse x reader #spiderman x reader smut #spiderman atsv #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #hobie my beloved #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #spiderpunk x y/n #spiderpunk x reader #spider punk #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv x reader #marvel x reader #spiderman #spiderman x y/n

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t1red-twilight · 5 months ago

Text

soft dean headcannons

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, mentions of trauma

notes: i don’t think i’ve binged a show as much as i’ve binged supernatural lol

word count: 0.4k

masterlist d. w. masterlist

- no matter what he admits, dean is clingy.

- everyone, including sam, bobby- everyone is aware.

- sam teases him hardcore when they’re alone, but dean honestly doesn’t mind.

- he is very touchy.

- like super touchy (because of his dad, he has some flavor of abandonment issues. this manifests in dean always having a hand on you in some format. you don’t mind.)

- loves holding your hand, and he’ll do that thing where he pokes your hand until you grab his

- loves hugging from behind, and he kisses your shoulder when he does

- hand on your thigh when he drives 😩🤚

- every now and then he lets you pick the music in his car

- has super chapped lips, but at your request starts wearing chapstick

- wears fun flavors like cola or bubblegum and tries to have you guess the flavor

- he likes the grape one.

- almost always smiles when he kisses you

- just like out of force of habit

- brings you on hunts, but not to the fights. but when he gets back he’ll just hold you in a tight embrace for a really long time

- enjoys domesticity

- such as: non-sexual nudity, buying you the snacks you like when you get groceries, puts on/takes off your jackets for you

- keeps a list of things to remember about you so he’s sure he never forgets

- he’s not sentimental, not in the typical way at least

- he’s not rom-com love interest by any means, but he never forgets anniversaries (even without his list)

- cannot get close enough to you-

- he’s always inching his chair closer to yours or pulling you infinitely closer to him when you kiss

- you catch him looking at you all the time

- he’s just 👁️ 👁️ __ __ 👁️ 👁️

- his little soft smiles when you enter a room

- you can always tell when he’s upset, but he’ll never outright admit it. but you’re always there when he needs you

- if he has a hard day, he’ll come back to you and lay on your lap or nap with you

- tells you about his scars as you trace them (cliche😔)

- still stumbles over his words when he talks to you. his crush on you never really went away

- BIG on inside jokes. can and will quote them to make you laugh in serious situations

- took him a long time to realize that he actually liked you and wanted to be with you, and even longer to realize that you liked him just as much.

- anyways live laugh love dean

#lee’s writing <3 #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #supernatural #supernatural x reader

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untilhiseyeheals · 1 month ago

Text

Pretty Performer - Silco x fem!reader one shot

Warning: Smut. Shameless smut.

You opened the heavy wooden door to the bar and stepped cautiously into the warm, dimly lit room, already filled with people and bustling with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Taking in a deep breath you let it fall shut behind you, the sound of the heavy wood hitting the frame drowned out by the constant hum of voices and background music of the bar. You looked around, unsure if to just make yourself at home and prepare for your upcoming performance as this decision was justly taken from you by the grab of two nimble but strong hands that dragged you into the bar. “You came! I’m so excited! I had to beg beg beeeeeeg Silco to invite you to perform, you know, the bar doesn’t usually do live performances but I have been listening to your stuff alllll the time when I am tinkering and I just had to have you play here!”. Two long blue pigtails swung through the air as Jinx dragged you eagerly towards the little prepared stage in one corner of the room. A breath caught itself in your throat as you were well aware of what a dangerous environment you found yourself in, even with this situation being painted by a welcoming atmosphere, you couldn't help but feel a little on edge. “Thank you, Jinx. That really means a lot to me. I’m glad you like it. Hm… Is there any song in particular that you like? I can perform it for you, you know?” you managed a smile, thinking it's probably best to make as good an impression as possible with one of the most dangerous people around. She had already dragged you all the way over to the little makeshift stage as she whirled around to face you, eyes glowing with anticipation. “Animal Cannibal”, she exclaimed without a second thought and you smiled knowingly. Of course, one of the more, well, interesting songs. “Great choice. Will do!” you lifted your hand to your head and gave a joking salute as you turned to prepare the stage for your gig.

When the background music in the bar started to fade out and the lights dimmed, centring at the corner of the room you and Jinx found yourselves in, she jumped up onto the stage and grabbed the mic. “Hello and welcome everyone to The Last Drop’s first-ever live performance! No, we don’t care if you asked for this and we certainly won’t take any requests! Now lean back, lean forward, or to the side. Dance, stand, sit, drink, do whatever you want because you cannot stop what’s about to come! Give it up for (y/n)!” she shouted into the mic, twirling it around and pointing towards certain individuals that apparently had some sort of a reputation in the bar, as they gave a knowing smile and shrug before returning the attention to their glasses. She then jumped off the stage and joined the small crowd that assembled in front of the stage. Not much, by any means, but that only served to soothe your nerves that started to act up quite a bit. You couldn’t help but huff out a breath in disappointment as you let your eyes scan over the people in the crowd, not seeing him anywhere. Of course not! What were you thinking? It’s better he wasn’t here right now, the last thing you needed was the attention of arguably the most powerful and dangerous man of the Undercity on you. You took in a deep breath as the music started playing and decided to just go and get this over with.

So you started to sing. "I bite at the hand that feeds me. Slap at the face that eats me. Some kind of animal cannibal. Animal. Cannibal.” When the music started playing, the strain washed from your nerves and your muscles loosened from their tensed state. Your usual persona was swapped out to your on-stage persona, much more confident and slightly suggestive than your normal self. You can’t help it. You sang the song in a sultry voice, letting your hands roam your hips and down towards your legs as you scanned the room through half-lidded eyes. You didn’t catch him, too engulfed in your performance to notice the set of eyes that were glued to your form as you traced along the hem of your black dress. One eye blue and cold as the deep ocean, the other seemingly opposite a struggle of black and ember, like darkness fighting to engulf the flames of a smouldering fire. And he was watching you. Intently. Eyes never leaving you, he studied your movements, listening to your sultry song that you completely let yourself sink into. “How do I meet the strangest men? They always seem to find me.” How fitting. If only you knew that possibly the strangest man had become totally lost in your performance, in the way you seemed to ignore everything and everyone that existed in the world, becoming one with the song you performed and feeling the lyrics as if they were your own personal story.

That's what you were. A performer. So you opened your eyes, straightened up and let a dark, dangerous gaze skim through the first row of people looking back up at you as you sang the next words. “Who knows how some people turn to strange ones. Is it up to me to make them into dead ones?” a sickly grin spreading over your features as the last words left your tongue, hands raised to your neck, drawing a slow line once across as your tongue skims your teeth and licks over your sharp canines. You were looking dangerous, psychopathic, insane, for only as long as it fit the part of the song you were singing. A perfect performer. It was only between this verse and the upcoming last chorus you let your eyes wander further out, scanning the entirety of the room, eyes having become used to the glare of the lights that were turned onto you as your gaze fell on the man standing at the outer corner of the bar right next to the stairs up to the second story where the offices were located. You moved your head back from the microphone so as not to let the entire audience hear the sharp breath that you took in as you noticed his eyes locked attentively onto you, expression unreadable. He always had a certain look of anger, fury, and general disdain on him that made your skin tingle. As you studied his features a bit longer you noticed that this look was not the only thing you could see in his eyes. They were darker than usual, pupil dilated and fixed upon you, the grip on his glass unnecessarily strong as his knuckles turned white with the pressure he put on the poor object. He seemed like a predator stalking his prey and a set of strong goosebumps washed over your body as you realized with full force that in this scenario, you were the prey. It was a dangerous look that normally would have you avert your gaze and cower into the corner with the sheer force it seemed to emit. But not when you were on stage.

You drew in a final, long breath before it was time to finish the last chorus of the song, stepping closer to the microphone again, your eyes never leaving his. If anything, this drilling gaze of his only spurred you on in your performance. “I bite at the hand that feeds me.” you lift one of your hands from the microphone and bring it up to your mouth, slowly dragging it across your lower lip, opening your mouth and biting down hard as you show your teeth at the bite, letting your fingers slowly graze down your chin, dragging some saliva down your neck. “Slap at the face that eats me” Quickly you lift that hand and bring it swiftly down at your cheek, emitting a beautiful slap that reverberates through the room in the microphone. “Some kind of animal cannibal” Your hands continue their way around your neck and down to your collarbone, head leaned slightly to the side, eyes half-open again. “Animal? Cannibal.” You continue your sinful performance until the last note of the backing track has rung out through the room. Only then do you fully open your eyes and stand up straight again, looking over to the spot at the end of the bar. Empty. You huff in frustration and … disappointment? as you take a step back from the microphone and give the audience a dramatic bow.

Jinx was jumping up and down in excitement, dragging you off the stage the second you stopped your bowing and the light in the bar returned to its normal state, background music resuming more quietly. “That was AMAZING! It was EVEN BETTER than hearing it on my big boom boxes over and over again and that’s honestly saying something!”. You found it hard to keep up with her rambling, smiling courtly and nodding along so as not to infuriate the girl you just made so happy with your performance. Although you wished you had made someone else that happy. Your eyes scan through the bar, desperately looking for the enchanting set of eyes that so drilled through you just minutes ago. You couldn’t find him. Defeated you made your way over to the bar and plopped down on one of the barstools, gesturing to the bartender for a drink. Only it’s not a drink that hit the wood of the counter in front of you, but a similar little envelope to the one that fluttered into your room only days ago. You felt your heart stumble in your chest as your shaking hands picked up the paper, nails slicing through the envelope and trembling fingers unfolded the paper inside of it. You read faster than your eyes can manage, stumbling over the words on the page that turned out to be very few, and very direct. Upstairs. Second door to the right. Now. – S. In any other state, you would have chuckled over the way he signed the note as if it wasn’t painfully obvious who it was from. You knew better than to go into that office, what if was a trap? You dared to lay your eyes on him, lost in your performance, you were … lewd, desperate, horny. While your mind was still listing off the unholy effects his mere gaze had on your poor body, your legs already hit the ground and you made your way up the stairs before you could even realize what you had done, your hands knocked against the wood of the office door. “Come in”. A low, rumbling voice beckoned you inside. You took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping inside the office.

You weren’t prepared for what you would find inside. Your eyes instinctively went to his big desk that stood in front of a beautiful big stained glass window, letting in the faint glow of street lights from outside that tinted the room into a hazy shade of green. However, you were surprised to find the chair in front of the desk to be empty. Confused you furrowed your brows as that dangerous voice made itself heard again. “That was quite the performance you put on there. I can see why Jinx took a liking to your… music.” You traced the origin of the voice to the opposite side of the room and your breath hitched as your eyes fell upon the slim figure of Silco sitting on a low plush chaise lounge, legs spread, cigar in hand and those damned eyes locked straight onto you. You felt like you walked straight into the cave of a bear, deep into the mountains, stupid little bunny hopping straight forward into its demise. You couldn’t help the deep blush that spread across your features at the small compliment. If it was a compliment at all, with him anything sounded like a threat. Just as you opened your mouth to thank him, he cut you off with a simple demand. “Come here.”, his voice was low, eyes never leaving you as you made your way over to where he was sitting, unsure where to start or stop or what to do.

Your mind was hazy, his damn smug grin as you got closer and closer drowning out every strand of thought your brain tried to form. It was to no avail. As you came to a halt in front of the lounge, he sat up and leaned forward to a little couch table with an ashtray and two glasses of liquor, pressing the cigar into the tray and taking up one of the glasses, not bothering to offer you the other as he let himself fall back onto the backrest. His eyes studied you intently, you could feel his gaze wander up and down your form and how the little black dress accentuated each and every one of your curves before it ended, making way for equally black stockings, held up by garters in the shape of a heart. Like a perfect little black dress is supposed to, it showed almost a little too much cleavage to be comfortable, eyes drawn to the necklaces around your neck that almost beckoned the gaze towards your chest. You forced yourself to take deep, steady breaths but your body failed you as he took a swig of his drink and set it back onto the table, hinting with a jerk of his head to come sit next to him. You obliged wordlessly.

That’s when you realised you hadn’t even spoken a single word since you entered his office, the air thick with tension which you hoped was sexual nature and he wasn’t going to end your life right here. Hell, not before making it worth it. He seemed to have picked up on your dilemma, offering you a smug grin as he finally broke the agonising silence. “What happened? Swallowed your tongue?”, his eyes skimmed over your face, taking in the effect that his voice had on you, “Pity. Your performance almost made you seem interesting.” Bastard, you thought before you took up all the courage that was left in you, riding the high that was left from your performance and the reminder of how his eyes practically ate you up. In one quick, swift motion you turned towards him, throwing one leg over his and placing yourself over him, knees to the left and right of his, straddling his lap. That earned you a low, dangerous chuckle, as his eyes started at your necklaces dangling in front of him, skimmed over your chest, you swore they lingered there for a quick second, before coming to rest once again on your face. Heterochome eyes locked with yours, and there it was again, this undiscernible look that only hinted at the fire festering behind those eyes. He kept a cool and collected front, always, if he wasn’t seething in anger and exploding like a volcano he was just quiet and very laid back. That was a front. Dangerous one. You, however, were determined to weasel your way through the cracks that you saw forming in his foundation and he let you.

You carefully lifted your hands from your sides and skimmed the collar of his vest, toying with his tie and carefully loosening it a bit. A low rumble came from his chest as his arm was quick to catch yours and pin them down in your lap, holding your hands by their wrists with only one hand and a very, very strong grip. “Tsk tsk tsk…” he scolded as he used the leverage he had over you to push yourself off him to the side, never letting go of your wrists. “Seems like my eyes didn’t deceive me then. You’re a feisty one. I can appreciate that.” Well, it was fun while it lasted, you thought as he pushed you off him and took that as a sign that this night was not going to go your way. “What I cannot appreciate, however,” he continued, voice low and scolding as he used his second hand to fully undo the tie you so carelessly loosened before and bring it over to your wrists. “is someone acting so incredibly unduly in front of all of Zaun.” With that, he quickly wrapped the string of the undone tie around your wrists and tied them together in a strong knot, not being gentle and making sure it was tight. “Looks like someone needs to be taught a lesson on how to behave.” he finished, letting go of your tied arms and letting them drop into your lap again.

“Lean back.”, he ordered and you were in no position to disobey, leaning back on the plush velvet of the lounge, resting your back against the backrest. With a small, approving nod he slid off the lounge from beside you and stood up, bending down towards you. He seemed to be taking in the sight of you, breathing already shallow and ragged from anticipation, anxiously biting your lip, hands tied together by his tie, looking up at him with big eyes that gave no hint of opposition. Just how he liked it. “There. I had a feeling you’d be a quick learner.” he cooed as his bent-down form started to come closer to you until his head was right next to yours, breath warm and tickling your ear. “So pretty and willing, all tied up and submissive it’s almost a shame having to ruin you.” he whispered in your ear, voice low and gravelly, lips just barely grazing your ear. You couldn’t stop the desperate whine that left your mouth, which made his eyes flick towards yours as he slowly leaned back away from you. “Patience.” was all he said, as his long fingers found the soft flesh of your thighs, tracing a line up and down and along the heart-shaped garters. You sucked in a breath, skin tingling at the touch you waited so long for. His hands made their way, slow, oh so painfully slow, up your thighs under your dress, skimming the band of your cotton panties that had a little lace rim on top which his fingers quickly found. You could tell he thoroughly enjoyed feeling up every inch of you, making you wait forever and ever, each touch feeling so painfully slow that you wished you could just grab his hand and drag it directly to your aching clit. He was revelling in your desperation, eyes closely on yours as he observed each subtle change of your facial features as his hands roamed your body. Then he pulled back his hand from under your dress, making you wince at the sudden loss of contact. He smirked a devilish little smirk as he straightened up and sat back down next to you, picking up the glass with liquor as he watched your slumped-down form, already so messy and dishevelled from this little touch. “Stand up.” he ordered, placing the glass at his lips and taking a swig. You rolled your eyes. What was this supposed to be? Did he order you up here only to make you stand up and sit down and turn around like a little puppy? You weren’t having it. With one swift motion, you stood back up on your feet and made a step towards the door of the office.

Suddenly you could feel yourself getting yanked back hard and crashing into his tall frame. He was just sitting there with a glass in his goddamn hand, how did he manage to pull you back so fast? You could only hear a dangerous, low chuckle as you turned your head to look directly into his eyes. Now they really seemed like they were set ablaze. “Thank you, pet. I thought you weren’t gonna put up a fight at all.” his voice was barely a snarl, a sickly grin spreading over his face. Sick bastard. He didn’t want you to silently obey him, he picked you out because you seemed like you had a fire within you, so different from all the mindless idiots he was left to deal with every day. And finally, he got a glimpse of it. Before you knew it, he had lifted your tied hands above his head so that they came back down around his neck, which left you straining with no way to move, your bodies almost pinned together. That’s when his smug grin was instantly washed from his face as you closed the difference and started planting sinful kisses along his jawline, trailing them up towards his ear and down his neck. Your tongue slipped through, you licked your way along his neck, kissing, sucking, tired of this game he wanted to play. You could feel his head snap back as his own arms snaked around your waist and found your ass, cupping your cheeks with his hands and giving them a squeeze. That elicited a husky moan from you, spilling from your lips between the sounds of sucking and kissing the skin of his neck. He maneuvered you back towards the lounge and when you could feel it against the back of your shins he stopped, releasing your ass from his grasp to free your tied hands from behind his neck. Taking a step back which meant you had to stop your assault on his neck, he smirked as he undid the knot around your wrists, tie discarded to the floor in one swift motion. That, however, didn’t mean he allowed you any more control than he wanted to. “Strip.” he ordered, and you were only too happy to oblige.

Your hands found the straps of your dress and slid them down your shoulders, leaving it to pool on the floor. He once again started looking you up and down, although your undergarments were nothing too special since you favoured comfort over looks and, well, you didn’t count on anyone seeing those today. He took a step towards you, piercing gaze never leaving you, as his arms came around your back to unclasp your bra, fingers pushing it off your shoulders to join your dress on the floor. “Magnificent,” he murmured, as he took another step to close the distance between your bodies and started returning the favour of kissing your neck, hands finding your breasts and cupping them. You let out a soft moan, to which he responded with his fingers finding your hardened nipples, flicking and toying with them as his mouth slowly made its way down your neck to your collarbone. Again, he seemed to find special pleasure in making the process painfully slow, dragging out the moment as long as he possibly could, before the warmth of his mouth finally found one of your nipples. His tongue swirled in circles around the hardened bud of your nipple, teeth grazing it ever so gently before he decided he was gentle enough and took it between his teeth. “F-Fuck…” you moaned, hands darting forward to find his perfectly slicked back hair, burying your fingers between its strands, dragging your nails over his scalp. This led to him letting out a grunt against your nipple, sending a jolt through your body that settled right in that ever-tightening coil in your core.

Seemingly feeling this jolt, he let go of your nipple, guiding you to lay down on the lounge, joining you by crawling his way up, pushing your legs apart. You sucked in a breath in anticipation, as his hands found the waistband of your panties, dragging them painfully slowly down your legs and discarding them on the floor next to the lounge. He began kissing his way up the inside of your thighs, getting dangerously close to the wet mess he made of your cunt. Enjoying every second of this juicy anticipation, his mouth made its way all the way up to your upper thigh, directly next to your dripping cunt, nose skimming your folds for just a second, already enough to make you buck your hips involuntarily. He chuckled lowly against the soft flesh of your thigh. “My, my…” he trailed off and suddenly his head turned from the side of your inner thigh and the next thing you felt was his tongue licking slowly up your folds. You bucked your hips again, arms darting back to find his head again, getting a handful of his hair, destroying what was left of its slicked-back state. He ate you out like it was what he was destined to do, tongue swirling in circles around your clit, toying with the willing hole and slurping up all the delicious juices that you had for him. That’s when he felt like that wasn’t enough, and while his eyes flicked up to catch your reaction, two of his fingers joined his tongue. You threw your head back, muttering and moaning a string of words that loosely resembled his name as he slid his fingers into you. They met with no resistance as he pushed them in all the way, curling them up to hit that sweet, sweet spot that almost made you scream his name had you not turned your head and bit your lip. His mouth left your aching clit while his fingers kept relentlessly pumping into you, lifting his head to watch you squirm and hold back noises. “Come on, let me hear you.” he growled, as he once again curled his fingers right where you needed them and thrust them into you. “F-Fuck. Silco. Your fingers feel so good. I’m… I-... S… So close” you muttered against the side of the lounge, breath ragged and speaking made hard by the continuous assault of his fingers that felt like knocking all the air out of your lungs. That only seemed to spur him on more. “Good. Come on my hand for me.”, he ordered and slipped in a third finger, curling them once again, one last thrust sending you over the edge and bringing the knot in your stomach to explode. “Yes… S-Silco!”, you almost chanted his name like a prayer as the feeling of sweet release washed over you, making your vision blurry and your head fuzzy. His hands slowed down their movements, letting you ride it out as you bucked your hips lazily against his hand until he withdrew it.

You carefully opened your eyes and the knot in your stomach began to churn anew as you took in the sight before you. Silco had straightened up on the lounge, still between your thighs, vest slightly agape for a lack of tie, hair dishevelled with strands falling into his face. His face, gods, his face. It was flushed from the heat, his sweat mixing with your juices that coated his nose and mouth and that bastard was grinning as he took the fingers that were just inside you to his mouth, licking them clean of your remnants. You were determined to wipe the grin from his face once again as you tried to use your elbows to prop yourself up and get yourself into a halfway seated position resting on your palms. Well, you made it halfway from the elbow stance to the palms as your arms remembered they felt like jelly and gave up on you, leaving you plopping back onto the velvet cushions of the lounge with the back of your head. Silco watched this and chuckled. “Dear, don’t overestimate your strength. Give yourself a moment.” You didn’t want a moment. As you set to try your endeavours a second time, he suddenly bent back down over you, his arms resting on either side of your chest, face flush to yours. “I said, give it a moment,” he warned, voice low and dangerous again, a glint shimmering through his eyes. You shook your head and decided that if your arms could not support you to steady yourself, you might as well use them to pull him in.

Easier said than done, you lifted your arms and dropped them behind his neck, hands gripping the fabric of his vest on the shoulders. He let out another chuckle and shakes his head. “You won’t let go, hm?”, he cooed as he brought his face closer to yours. He hasn’t kissed you yet. You hadn’t dared to- this didn’t seem like a situation… You couldn’t finish your thought before his lips found yours, hungry, devouring you, tongue pushing its way into your mouth. He didn’t need to ask permission or wait, be gentle, or anything. And he knew. You moaned into the kiss as you felt his tongue twirling with yours, pushing hungrily into your mouth, determined to explore it in its entirety. Even though the kiss was drenched in desire and want, it almost felt a tinge gentle. You were sure you imagined that part. The knot in your stomach tightened at the feeling, itching to be released anew. “S-Silco… Please….”, was all you managed to pathetically wince out between kisses. He broke the kiss and leaned back a bit. There it was again, this grin. “What is it? Use your words, dear.” he spoke, voice dripping with sarcasm. You looked back up at him with the most longing and pathetic look you had in you and said “Please… Fuck me.”

That was all he needed, hands quick to unbutton his pants and sliding them down just enough to free the length of his hard cock that surely was similarly aching to be freed like the knot in your stomach. He was already dripping precum which made you a little proud of yourself, seeing that all this mess hadn’t just affected you. He was human after all. You didn't have a lot of time to revel in that thought though, as he quickly came back down towards you, tip of his cock hitting your aching clit. You winced and at this point, you didn’t care how you sounded anymore. “Please, please Silco”, all you could do was whimper his name in pleas to end your suffering and finally fuck you. He seemed to enjoy that most as he took his sweet time, dragging his tip through your folds, playing with your clit, lining himself up only to let it glide upwards between you again. You had enough. Determined you bucked your hips against him as he toyed with you once again, pulling him in just enough so his head was entering you.

He hissed, seemingly pissed off for just a second before the feeling of your cunt around him soothed all his anger and he couldn’t help but fully push himself inside you. You gasped, and let out an unholy animalistic noise as your hands tried to grasp onto the velvet of the lounge in support. That did it, the last part of resolve he had in him was crumbling at that unruly noise you just let out. He was relentless, quick-paced thrusts deep into you, losing himself in the way your walls clenched around him. Your hands, not finding any support with the lounge, latched onto his shoulders and dragged down his back, nails leaving marks in their wake. The noises he made were impossible to describe and even more impossible to endure. Your own were similarly unruly, you simply didn’t care anymore. There was no way you were withstanding this long, as you could feel your release inching closer and closer. He could feel it too, your walls clenching around him as he bottomed out into you, thrust after thrust, again and again. “S..Silco.. I’m.. I’m gonna..”, you tried your best to form any semblance of words as you felt yourself approaching the edge. One of his hands found your clit, fingers circling over it as he kept fucking you at a relentless pace. That did it and you felt yourself being thrown over the edge as the knot in your stomach exploded again making you clench uncontrollably around his cock. His breathing grew more ragged, thrusts sloppy and losing their rhythm as he fucked you through your high and chased his own. Just as he started to twitch he pulled out and spilt himself all over your stomach, panting heavily, letting out more of these groans and sounds that you would for sure hear in your head for days to come.

He remained hovering over you for a second, lazily stroking himself before getting up and grabbing a box of tissues off the nearby table. You thought he would take a few and toss you the box or something, but he cleaned himself up at the table, discarding the used tissues and heading back over to you with the rest. He sat down on the lounge in front of you, taking one tissue after the other, gently wiping his cum from your stomach and discarding the used tissues… well, into the general direction of the waste bin. You studied his face as he did so, usually furrowed brows relaxed and eyes steadily fixed on his task at hand. For how relentlessly he fucks, kills and acts otherwise he was being… gentle?

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