#not watched any of them but I at least recognised them

[sleepymccoy]

So I've seen a few seasons of supernatural in my life. Got to season 5 then trialled off and have seen a fair bit of the rest but not consistently and def not to the end. Haven't watched any in years and years, too

Anyway, I say this to highlight how bizarre it is that I had a lovely destiel dream last night

It'd make a killer fic I think, so enjoy this synopsis

Premise very much like that ep where Dean forgets his life and works in an office dressed like a lil fruit

^ that ep

Anyway the idea is that Dean forgets his life but is otherwise the same. But without the hunting stuff he's semi deadbeat working in a bar and hooking up with random women. Also Sam wasn't part of his childhood I guess, the dream didn't explain why Dean wouldn't know Sam but whatever

Castiel and Sam keep coming into the world to try and get Dean to perform a series of actions he needs to perform in order to be released from the spell. They're kinda bizarre tho and Dean doesn't recognise these guys so it's a challenge. Like, eat this daisy and have a tequila chaser. Sleep in a bed with bay leaves stuffed underneath. Stand in one spot for a minute while the sigil to release you gets engaged. That kind of thing

Dean has like feelings for them, but doesn't know them. He trusts Sam completely and they click but he's kind of weirded out by how comfortable he is with the stranger. And Cas, he wants to protect and fuck Cas in a way that's so overwhelming he can't handle it

Anyway, this is a longish post so click through for the blow by blow

Sam manages to talk him into having the flower and drink by doing it himself and pretending it's a fun way to drink. Dean takes part and is totally unimpressed but has a laugh about it

Cas slips in next with the intention of watching Dean hook up with someone and sneaking bay leaves under the bed before they get down and dirty. Because Cas can fly out the window if he needs to escape quick they figure he's the better choice for that gig. But as soon as Dean sees him it goes sideways because Dean has an immediately unavoidable crush on the raggedy middle aged dude in a Columbo coat

But this Dean didn't have the same loyalty to his father in youth cos there was no hunting to help make sense of the abuse he suffered. So he's not as caught up in his internalised (and externalised) homophobia and maybe even hooked up with a guy or two at school

It's still not normal for him and he's a bit surprised, but it takes him one beer and some disconcerting staring to get over it, and then he approaches

Cas is Unprepared™ for a full flirt from Dean and is very quickly taken in by it. It's fun and cheerful and Dean keeps swapping their drinks and stealing chips and leaning his hand on Cas' thigh when he whispers a joke to him. Cas is just dizzy and swimming in it and doesn't know what to do. He's totally lost track of what's going on

Eventually he excuses himself to go to the bathroom and checks in with Sam, who's had an hour of watching them flirt outrageously and is thoroughly bemused, amused, and has his eyes on the goal. "Get him into bed and put the damned leaves in place!"

So Cas goes back and Dean's paid the tab and is offering to drive and Cas just like you're drunk absolutely not. They make out against the door of Dean's beat up Ford Focus and Cas knows he's not gonna come back from this

He's loved Dead a long time, and there's something painful in the kiss and feeling the immorality of it. But there's something so wonderful too. And if it's got to happen, and Sam says it's got to happen so he can outsource that decision, he can take it as far as it needs to go. Save Dean, then apologise and skedaddle

At least he's got Sam's permission, so Sam can argue his side in his absence until Dean forgives him

It doesn't take long for Dean to kiss Cas into forgetting to feel guilty, tho. Then Dean starts talking about how Cas feels different to anyone else he's ever touched before and he doesn't understand why but he wants him so damned bad.

The Dean pulls back and offers to go slow. Pick you up for breakfast, go on a few dates before what's next

And Cas wants that so bad, he wants to be special, his skin aches for it. But he needs access to Dean's bed so he spearheads getting them into a motel together for the night, feeling slightly cheap and awful about it, but Dean's smile is unparalleled and the awful slides away every time he looks at him

They fuck a bit. Cas' guilt about it all isn't his focus, as soon as Dean's hand is on his dick he's only in the moment. I think Cas keeps it to mutual blow jobs, tho, he wants to save anything more for a Dean who knows him. He lies there's thinking about that afterwards and remembers that the Dean who knows him doesn't want him like this, this is some confused fucked up neuron thing.

Anyway after a bit of post coital bliss Dean gets up to piss and Cas shoves bay leaves under the mattress. Cas then insists on laying together a bit longer, they make out sloppy and Dean is very sweet and Cas loves him and eventually Dean dozes off. Tick off the second ritual

I reckon the last one ends up easy enough. While Dean sleeps Cas holds him and hums while Sam awkwardly and without looking directly at them carves the sigil in the floor. When Dean wakes up Cas makes a big deal about how pretty he is in the light and stay right there so I can take a photo of you

So Dean's striking a stupid sexy pose when the spell fades. And he realises everything that's happened and the significance of it all

Also Sam's in the room now and that's just a bit fucking awkward

Cas just leaves, cos he doesn't know what else to do. He texts Dean an apology. Dean doesn't respond for like three days which is just hellish but eventually he texts back saying come over and talk.

So Cas does. Dean's sorry too, Sam has talked him into recognising that he really got the ball rolling and Cas was a bit cornered. And Cas, desperate to not have Dean feel guilty, talks about his feelings in this vague and uncertain way. But ultimately says he glad he had a chance, even in a false world. Nice to have the memories

And Dean's just like. Okay. So you didn't hate it? And I didn't hate it. And now that there's no crazy spell to work through, do you want to take it slow?

What? Cas says

Breakfast date?

Cas is useless at taking it slow. He goes on this breakfast date and does his ridiculous I love humanity because I loved you first speech and Dean's like fuck man this is intense to hear over eggs and shit coffee! But yeah I'm sitting on some feeling that've kicked passed loyalty into devotion and I also kinda want to suck your dick again so shut up and let me come to terms with being gay a bit slower, fucking hell. You're beautiful, give me a kiss

They figure it out

[fall0utmind]

the finale

Chapter 17 is here... it's done.

Guys, i CANNOT thank you all enough for everything this fic, this community and you all have given me. I have never written anything before so this has been a real labour of love and a bit of a process.

Anyone who has liked, commented, reblogged, left me an ask, messaged me, or even silently enjoyed -THANK YOU.

ao3 here

epilogue and alt ending will be here soon!!

Last one is for all of you - lmk what you think.

CH17 -(You are) Home

The champagne flows for a long time afterwards. The team is rowdy with it, pulling the brothers around as they dance and sing, rejoicing in the feeling of another win.  Marc somehow ends up being thrown into the air by a group of mechanics, he tosses his head back and grins, laughing loudly in exhilaration. Someone is filming it; he just prays they don’t drop him. His mum only seems slightly concerned, standing aside with glistening eyes. Unlike his dad, she rarely comes to their races, so he’s delighted he could pull this off with her here.

There isn’t a time without a hand on his shoulder or around his waist. Frankie pulls him into a tight hug and Nadia holds him like his mother would, kissing his cheeks and patting his hair. Marc clambers onto Alex’s shoulders and lets his brother parade him around. His parents watch fondly. Marc laughs until he can’t breathe and wants to stay in this moment forever.

In the interlude of celebrations, Marc sneaks off to throw himself into the arms of his old Honda team. They welcome him enthusiastically, congratulating him with fervour. Luca is there too and Marc accepts a firm hug from him, thankfully devoid of any awkwardness from last night. He misses Honda dearly but knows they will always have his back and be there to celebrate his wins. He tries to wipe a tear away surreptitiously; the hand Santi lays on his shoulder suggests it’s redundant.

They dump a bottle of champagne on him when he returns to the Gresini garage. He tries to shuffle in without causing a commotion; to pretend he hasn’t just left for ten minutes without telling anyone. It is obvious that they notice, but no one says anything. He is grateful.

It is what he loves about this team, they recognise his strengths alongside his weaknesses; turning a blind eye to his oddities. Instead, they once more soak him with champagne and love. They party with him and match his energy with loud laughter and stupid dancing. He joined Gresini to enjoy racing again; he didn’t think he would find a family. Suddenly, he understands that he regrets nothing. Being here, surrounded by so much love and joy, makes every sacrifice worth it.

He’s soaked and sticky by the time he leaves. Begging off for a shower before he is dragged into more celebrations. There have already been extravagant promises of a fun night – Marc has left someone else to organise it. He knows with their parents here, it will at least start with dinner and drinks as a team, and maybe progress to a bar, or a club - somewhere private and tucked away. The whole team will attend and inevitably meet a bunch of other crews and riders while they’re there. There’s an aching familiarity to it.

Familiar in the same way that it's Valentino who seeks Marc out first. It is inevitable, in a way, how Marc is freshly showered and halfway through attempting to tame his hair when someone knocks on his motorhome door. How the shock courses through him when he opens the door to see Valentino on the other side. Marc thinks his poor motorhome has been the domain for enough drama in the past few weeks. 

He lets Valentino in any way.

(He always does)

Valentino slips through the door quietly, shutting it behind him. It is the only sound that rings in the space between them. Marc looks at the man in front of him and prays that he hasn’t read this wrong. He begs the universe for this one last thing, that Valentino wants him back and will learn to treasure him like Marc so desperately wants.

Mercifully, Alex left a little while ago. Marc has his suspicions about that. The timing is awfully convenient and his brother smiles at his phone more these days.

(So does Franky)

Marc observes Valentino, standing in front of him, on this random day in 2024. He thinks about how much has changed from 2013, 15, and 18. It feels like a world away. Marc considers the longing in Valentino’s eyes, the differences in his behaviour, and the way he stared whilst Marc was on top of the podium. Like Marc was the sun, the stars, and all of the planets.

Marc takes a step closer.

It feels monumental – make or break.

It has been years, years of aching, of pain, of hatred.

Valentino meets him halfway. Wrapping his arms around Marc and pulling him in; he presses his cheek against Marc’s hair. There is comfort in the way Valentino sighs and the warmth of his breath against the crown of Marc’s head. It feels like home. A long abandoned, slightly dilapidated place, but home all the same.

Marc pulls back, which makes Valentino tighten his arms on instinct, unwilling to let go. It has been an age since he last had this.

Marc finds himself tipping his head back to meet Valentino’s eyes and tentatively brushing their lips together. Squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for a rejection which never comes.

“I’m so proud of you” Valentino murmurs in between kisses, his breath ghosting over Marc’s face as he speaks.

It is that which tips him over the edge, breaking his fragile self-restraint and sending shock waves through him.

Marc pushes forward, crowding Vale up against the wall and laying his hands on firm shoulders. Distantly. Marc knows this is too brittle to rush, to sustain any kind of pressure. He doesn’t care.

He’s been waiting too long - to win again, to heal, for Valentino to come to his senses.

He pushes himself onto his toes, screwing his eyes shut as he takes and takes, everything he’s ever wanted. He kisses Valentino like a dying man. as if Vale is oxygen and Marc is suffocating. He refuses to break for air.

He revels in the way their lips seem to fit perfectly, how Valentino still automatically nips at Marc’s lower lip whenever they part and are pulled back together, like the tide. Valentino’s tongue swipes at the seam of Marc's lips and Marc opens his mouth on instinct, humming into it. He is starving for this.

Eventually, they have to part, their foreheads pressed together as they gasp into each other’s mouths. Marc is the first to recover, trailing open-mouthed kisses across Valentino’s jaw and down his neck. It makes the older man groan softly.

A hand pushes at his shoulder.

“Marc,” Valentino whispers, choking off a quiet groan as Marc sucks lightly below his ear.

The hand pushes harder.

“Bambino, stop, we need to talk”, he urges.

Marc hums against his skin, Valentino’s not being particularly convincing. He doesn’t stop.

Valentino huffs but doesn't sound too annoyed.

“Gattino,” He warns. Marc shifts slightly, it’s been a very long time since he’s heard that one. He hates the way he goes ever so slightly pliant.

It gives Valentino enough time to switch their positions, pushing Marc away from him and spinning him around until his back meets the wall. Marc pouts at him grumpily.

“Unfair.” He mutters, but won’t meet Vale's eyes.

“Later, I promise. I’ll take care of you, but you deserve more than this, than here.” Vale pushes, pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek. He steps away, putting some distance between them for his own sanity. He has to get this right.

Valentino sighs, eyes flitting across the room before falling back to Marc, who has finally gathered the strength to meet his gaze.

“I know we have so much to work through” Valentino reflects; Marc nods in agreement.

Valentino pushes down the bitter reflux which tells him this would be easier if he’d done it a decade ago. He continues.

“I think we both know that it’s not going to be easy. There’s a lot for me to atone for. You’re worth every second of it. Every argument, every second of my discomfort and pain.”

Marc scoffs. Valentinos sighs,

“That’s fair. I know you’ve gone through it worse than me”

There’s a pregnant pause; Marc waits for Valentino to continue.

“It’s not- I’m- cazzo.”

Valentino tries again, “I hate this, I hate admitting I was wrong.”

Marc replying laugh is brittle, Valentino winces.

“I know I’ve fucked up Marc, I know I’ve caused enough pain. Everyone came to see it clearly; I became stupid with it a long time ago. You make me stupid. Even the people close to me have been practically begging me to shut up for the last few years. I’ve become bitter, and cruel. The pain I felt back then has become so twisted and out of control, sour and rotten.”

He’s not meeting Marc’s eyes.

“there’s not much more that I can do to fix it. Just admit it, try to atone for it, promise to make it up to you.”

Marc frowns, “what’s changed?”

Deep inside Marc, alongside the soothed content, there is a burning injustice and rotting pain. Valentino looks so very sad. Marc doesn’t budge.

“Frankly, I’ve been an idiot. Last weekend was a big wake-up call. I re-evaluated, well, just about everything. I’m sure the boys told you just how much of a mess I’ve been. It turns out I’ve been wrong this whole time, I’m not sure that sunk in before. And I’ve managed to fuck both of us over in the process. I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused. I won’t lie to you; I still feel my hurt was justified after Sepang-”

Marc squints at him, mouth open to protest but Valentino beats him to it.

“I handled it awfully. And I was horrible. And I did irreparable damage to you and your family and I will never not be angry at myself for it. I was hurt, yes. But I was also the older one, I should have been the one to handle it like an adult but instead, I was too wrapped up in myself and my anger. I will spend every day for the rest of my life trying to make up for it if you will let me.” He implores.

“But you, Marc, you are the most incredible man I have ever met. I spent the week watching the races, and the documentaries. Looking for everything I missed, realising that I should have been there for you. You are so unbelievably strong. So brave.”

Valentino takes a shuddering breath.

“It felt like I opened my eyes for the first time in years. You truly are incredible, and not just on a bike. I see how the boys look up to you, how they could learn to love you if they don’t already. You’ve won over Bez and Pecco in a couple of weeks. I don’t think you ever needed to try with Mig or Luca. And well, your brother’s helping a lot with Franky.” He is choking on his words now, a small laugh escaping at the thought of the two together.

When Valentino looks up from the floor, there are tears in Marc’s eyes. 

“Please let me make it up to you. Let me make this right. I want everything. I want to take you out properly. Somewhere nice. Please Marc?” He begs.

Marc chuckles in disbelief, “You don’t need to ask twice to wine and dine me. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry we ended so catastrophically. I was so angry; I felt so small and stupid. It still hurts, I’m not sure if it’ll ever fully go. You realise that right? And I’m not the same man I was when I was twenty. I have scars now, physical and metaphorical. I’m weak, I cry, I have a therapist. I don’t want you to be disappointed that I can’t be the same person. I will always be too much.” Marc sniffs.

Valentino smiles gently.

“You could never be too much for me. I think you are everything I need. Everything I could ever want. I don’t care that you cry. I love everything about you, emotions and all. I want you to be happy, I want to make you happy.”, he assures.

Marc can’t help it, he can’t hold back any longer, he practically launches himself at Valentino. He knows all is not fixed, and it certainly isn’t all forgiven and they probably both need a fuck tonne of therapy but still.

Waiting is boring and Marc has never been one to do things at normal speed.

He fists his hands into Valentino’s shirt and slams their lips together, smirking when Valentino groans into the kiss.

Marc takes control immediately, pushing their chests together and trailing his hands up Vale’s body so he can lick into his mouth the minute he gasps. It isn’t gentle, maybe it should be, or perhaps the time for gentle has long since passed.

Marc tries to push them away from the wall but Valentino holds steadfast, keeping Marc bracketed by his arms.

Marc grapples at Valentino’s shoulder and then moves to dig his fingertips into Vale’s sides, underneath his shirt. Valentino smiles when he breaks the kiss, soothing Marc’s hands away.

The younger wiggles against the wall, trying to regain purchase on Valentino, who simply cups his jaw and pulls him into a gentler kiss.

Marc doesn’t want slow; he wants rough and preferably the bedroom. Valentino hums. Marc’s hands find their way under his shirt, running up and down Valentino’s smooth, flat stomach, trying to get a reaction.

Valentino shifts, and Marc follows. The older man pulls away, resting their foreheads together. He chuckles when Marc tries to kiss his neck, pulling the same dirty move as before.

He takes Marc’s hands in his own, his grip commanding. In one swift move, Marc’s arms are pinned above his head, straining against one of Vale’s own.

 Valentino raises his eyebrows, “behave” He orders.

Marc whines, high and girlish. His cheeks flush red instantly, embarrassment flooding him.

Valentino’s answering grin is wicked.

Marc forgets that they’ve not really done this before. Sure, they had a one-night stand, years ago. Not enough to know each other properly, to discover what elicits the best reactions out of each other.

Sometimes it feels like they are two sides of the same coin, prophesied to come together.

When really in some ways, they are strangers and have spent more time hating each other than loving. 

Marc can’t help but feel like he’s just let a big play slip.

“Like that, hm?” Valentino murmurs, pecking his lips, pulling him into a soft kiss, making him chase.

Marc wants to hide his face, to shy away, but there’s nowhere for him to go. He drops his eyes. Valentino tuts,

“Look at me” He commands.

Marc can’t help it; he brings his gaze up.

Valentino looks like the cat who’s got the cream, Marc scowls.

“Don’t make fun of me” He grouses.

Valentino laughs, but it isn’t cruel, instead sweet and slightly awed.

“Trust me, Bambino, I’m not. This is good. I’m looking forward to working out the best ways to make you come undone.” He smirks.

Marc can feel his cheeks burning. It’s been a long time since he’s been with someone like this in bed, someone who will make him work and reduce him to a babbling mess. Excitement stirs in his gut.

He tries to pull his hands free, to get this going again but quickly realises that he can’t move. He wonders why they haven’t been doing this for years and spares a thought for the fact that Valentino can apparently at least somewhat hold him down.

It’s such a turn-on, making him rut against Valentino’s thigh, looking up at the older man from beneath his lashes. The older man looks breathless, his pupils blown wide as he watches Marc writhe underneath him. Marc moans enthusiastically.

Valentino draws his leg away.

 “I’m sorry Carino, not today, okay? Slowly, we have to go slowly. I’m not ruining this now I’ve only just got you back.”

Marc’s eyes fly open, and he huffs miserably when he sees nothing but honesty and slight regret in Valentino’s eyes. He pushes against the arms holding him firm, and tries to arch into Valentino’s space, to push them together again.

“Come on Vale, just once? Please? I’ll be good” He pleads.

There’s a sharp intake of air, Valentino drops his head, looks like he’s gathering mental strength.

“Later, Tesoro. Not now.” He groans through gritted teeth.

Marc could push this; he could sway Valentino into fucking him up against the wall. But for once, Valentino is right. Marc finally relents and stops fidgeting, allowing them to calm down without increasing the space between them. He sighs, looking into Vale's eyes.

“I love you. It might be the worst decision I’ve ever made, but I love you so much” Marc whispers.

Valentino smiles gently, “I love you too, Gattino”.

“I just don’t want you to leave. I couldn’t do that again. Do you mean it, you love me, no matter what?” Marc searches, his eyes wide and sincere. 

Valentino hums. He presses a kiss on Marc’s forehead.

“I will always love you. I will spend the rest of my life proving it. You could tell me every worst thing about you and I would cherish those. Tell me all your darkest secrets, I will still love you. Always. Forever”

He whispers it against Marc’s lips and promises himself that he will never let this go.

Valentino holds Marc tight in a motorhome in Aragon and vows to be at his side for the rest of their lives.

Till death do them part.

*fin*

[lulublack90]

Prompt 6 - Shoulder

Wolfstar, February 6, word count 542

Previous part First part

Remus followed Sirius all the way to the top of the hotel. He’d set a timer on his phone; he only had two more loads to do before his shift ended, and he refused to leave them, even for Sirius. 

Sirius’s elegant fingers were wrapped around his rougher ones as he was dragged higher up in the hotel than he’d ever been. They came to the very top of the stairs and stopped in front of a door. Sirius held up a finger to his lips, silently telling Remus to stay quiet. He opened the door a crack and immediately closed it again. They stood in silence, listening to the footsteps on the other side of the door, but they soon began to fade away, and they both let out an audible breath. 

Sirius cracked open the door again, and this time, he led Remus through it and over to the only other door on this level. Remus watched as he punched in a code on the keypad and heard the sound of the lock clunking open. Sirius put his free hand on the handle and pushed it down, opening the door. The sight that they were treated with was not what either of them had expected. Sirius slammed the door shut and scowled at his bed. 

Barty was lying on his side, covered only by a thin sheet with a rose in his mouth. 

“Oooo, what’s this, Sirius, a threesome? Yes, please. And with Mr. Tall, dark, and yummy.” He purred. Remus barely recognised the rude man from the event on that Sunday. His hair was flopping into his eyes, and his face was full of mischief. It was only when he opened his mouth that Remus recognised him. 

“Barty, I am going to kill you!” Sirius growled between his gritted teeth as he took off across the room. Barty yelped and rolled out of his way, narrowly avoiding a knee to the groin as he dragged the cover and rose off the side of the bed. 

“Alright, alright, I didn’t mean any harm. I just thought it would be funny.” Sirius threw at least four throw pillows at the spot behind the bed where Barty was crouched. 

“Sorry about him. I warned him to be a gentleman, but, well, Barty is Barty, he’s not as much of a tosser as he appears, I swear.”

“Hey,” I disgruntled Barty whined as he stood back up, the sheet tied toga style around his shoulder. “I very much am the tosser I appear to be and so much more.” His eyes were twinkling even as the fifth throw pillow hit him in the face and caused him to topple over as he tripped over one of the other ones already on the floor. 

“Fine, he is a tosser, but it’s all a defence mechanism. He was my brother’s boyfriend.” Sirius’s smile slipped from his face. “Remus, I think it’s time I told you everything.” Remus walked forward and took Sirius’s hand, leading him to the squashy-looking sofa in the corner. 

“Tell me,” He said, calmly ignoring Barty as he sat in the chair opposite with his knees spread wide, leaving very little to the imagination as Sirius took a deep breath and began.  

[loopstagirl]

Initiation

For @febuwhump day 8: Bleeding Out

TW: Violence

-x-

“Thunderbird Five to Mobile Control.” 

“Go ahead, John.” Scott glanced up from the readouts he’d been pouring over so he could give his brother his full attention. 

“I’ve got a life sign over to the east.” 

Scott glanced that way, as if hoping to see their latest victim standing waving at him. It was just more rubble and abandoned buildings though. What else did he expect from an area that had been devastated by an earthquake? 

“The boys are still over to the west,” Scott mused. Virgil, Gordon and Alan were shifting rubble and extracting families from collapsed buildings. Scott had spent an annoyingly large amount of time coordinating local rescues. He could always tell in a glance these days which areas had no money: the fallout was always so much worse. 

“I can call one of them back?” John offered. 

“No. I’ll take it.” He turned his back on the officials that he had been liaising with. “I’m gonna punch someone if they don’t stop asking stupid questions. I need a break.” 

He knew the importance of his role. But on rescues like this, when he felt chained to Mobile Control, he itched to be out in the centre of things. 

“I can track-” 

“No,” Scott said quickly. “Stay with the fellas. I need you to be my eyes, John, I was directing them to where the ground was most stable. Take over.” 

“Scott-,” 

“Don’t monitor me, Thunderbird Five. That’s an order.” He dropped his voice. “I need you to watch over the others. I’ll get this guy out and be back before you know it.” 

“F.A.B.” 

John cut the line. Scott understood his brother’s uncertainty. But they’d already cleared to the east. This was someone wandering in to where they shouldn’t be. He (or she) shouldn’t be buried, shouldn’t be injured, unless stupidity was a recognised injury. 

Securing Mobile Control, he grabbed his helmet and set off in that direction. If it wasn’t for the devastation surrounding him, it would’ve been a beautiful day. The skies were clear and the sun was shining. It was no comfort to those who’d had their lives destroyed, but it made a rescue a lot easier compared to doing it in the torrential rain. 

He had to climb over a lot of debris to reach the signal that John had indicated. 

“Hello? International Rescue. Can anyone hear me?” 

“Down here.” 

Scott blinked. It was a woman. For some reason, he’d just assumed only a man would be stupid enough to walk into a danger zone. Maybe that was having four brothers and actively rushing to danger zones themselves. 

He scrambled over a few larger pieces of rock, and found her. 

She was in a hollow that looked like it had once been the foundation of a building. 

“You shouldn’t be here, miss,” Scott said. “Can you reach my hand?”  

He lowered himself until he was flat on the ground, and stretched down to her. He was starting to rethink his ideas on stupidity now that he realised he hadn’t brought any equipment with him. 

She stretched up, and her fingertips just brushed his. Scott wriggled forward, and managed to grasp her wrist.  

“I’m going to need you to climb,” he told her. “I’ll draw you up, but you’ll have to help me. Okay?” 

She nodded. As he pulled, she scrambled up the side, loose stones slipping away underfoot. It was one of the most straightforward rescues that Scott had ever done, even easier than the one time he’d had to get a cat out of a tree. This woman at least understood he was trying to help and didn’t have claws! 

He steadied her as she found her footing.  

“You alright?” He did a quick visual scan but couldn’t see any injuries. The fact she’d managed to climb out as well suggested she was okay. If nothing else, she could get herself help given she was mobile and conscious. 

Speaking of which... He really should get back to Mobile Control. His team needed him. 

She smiled at him, but there was something cold and calculating about it. 

“Yes. Thank you.” She offered out a hand. Ever the gentleman, Scott shook it. 

But she tightened her grip, bringing his arm into her, forcing the limb out straight. Thrown off balance, Scott could only let out a soft ‘oof’ as she punched him suddenly in the gut. 

No. 

Not punched. 

There was a burning pain as the concealed knife sunk into his abdomen. Her smile curled unpleasantly and she gave a savage twist of the blade that dropped Scott to his knees. 

She followed him down as he slowly sank to his side, hands sticky with blood as he tried to do something. Opening his mouth to speak, he could only cry out as she twisted it again. 

“I’m sorry about this,” she told him. “Usually, we’d meet in a bar, I’d get you drunk, invite you back, and only kill you after the greatest night of my life. But what can I say? You can’t get more high-profile than a member of International Rescue. Now...” 

She drew the knife out, wiping the blade on his uniform. He flinched as she shifted her grip on the hilt. 

“Relax. I just need a trophy.” With a few deft slashes, she cut away swatches of his uniform. Anything that had their logo on it. 

“Thanks, pal. You just got me into a, well, let’s say exclusive club. Nothing personal. Have a nice life. What’s left of it, anyway.” 

Without a backwards glance, she walked away. 

Scott knew he had to act fast. He was losing far too much blood: the twisting of the knife had forced the wound far larger than the original stab. He had to pack the wound, call for help, control the bleeding... 

All of which would’ve been far easier if uncontrollable shivers weren’t wracking his body. His hands were slippery with blood; he couldn’t get a grip on anything. He fumbled for his watch, but his vision dipped in and out. He couldn’t even find the buttons, let alone press the right ones that would call for help. 

He was too far out of the way over here. No one was going to just stumble across him. Why had he ordered John to stay focused on their brothers? Had he made contact? Had he managed to hit a button? 

Scott had no idea. A bloodied hand gripped a rock, some shattered piece of what was once someone’s home. He tried to drag himself forward, shifting inch by painful inch across the uneven ground.  

He didn’t make it more than a few paces before the darkness swallowed him whole. 

-x-

“C’mon, John, now where?” Virgil grumbled. He drummed his fingers on the steering column of the Excavator. He envied Gordon and Alan right now. They might be out there in the dust, but at least they could proceed without having to check if the ground was stable enough to take their weight. 

“John? Thunderbird Five, I’m waiting.” 

“Hang on!” John’s snap was out of character and Virgil’s fingers stopped drumming. 

He gave John a minute. That tone of voice gave away he was looking at something else. Usually, Virgil would say that John was the king of multitasking but that tone meant it was something serious. 

“Turn around!” 

Virgil startled, then collected himself. “We’ve cleared behind, John. I know there’s still debris, but no one-,” 

“Get to these coordinates.”  

A light flashed on the control panel in front of him. Virgil frowned as he squinted at it.  

“There’s nothing out there, John. Scott cleared it when he got here.” 

“It’s Scott,” John said. His tone was harried and more stressed than Virgil had heard in a long time.  

“His signal went haywire and now I can’t get him to pick up and-,” John took a deep breath. “Virg, his vitals are crashing.” 

Questions weren’t important. Answers even less so. Virgil slammed the vehicle into reverse and executed a three-point-turn he didn’t know he was capable of and would no doubt make Alan proud. 

The Excavator wasn’t fast, but it was quicker than going on foot. He didn’t try and skirt around the debris in his path, he just steamrolled straight over it. He was almost there when the ground became too treacherous to risk it. 

Snatching up the medkit, Virgil leapt out and started running, letting John guide him.  

He didn’t find Scott as much as he fell over him. 

Virgil stumbled, turned, and swore when he saw the face-down sprawled form of his eldest brother. He dropped to his knees, fighting the instinct to instantly roll Scott over and instead grabbed the med-scanner. He had to know what he was dealing with... 

He swore again when the red lights indicated the trauma. But there was no sign of a neck or back injury and Virgil made short work of rolling his brother onto his back. 

For a moment, he focused his attention on Scott’s face. He was deathly pale, eyes closed, even his lips colourless as his head lolled to one side. 

Then Virgil’s gaze travelled down his brother and he forgot how to breathe. 

Scott’s uniform was torn and it looked as if there were pieces missing from it. But what remained was stained red, blood still oozing from a deep wound in his stomach. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” Virgil muttered. He grabbed the kit, hauling it closer. Half the items went flying as he snatched up all the gauze he had, pressing it tightly over the wound. 

“Thunderbird Two, report.” John sounded more in control than before and his professionalism helped cut through the fog descending on Virgil. 

“Deep wound in his abdomen. He’s lost... John, he’s lost so much blood! I think – I think someone stabbed him!” 

It was the only thing he could think of for a wound like this. 

There was silence for a beat. 

“i’ve alerted the authorities,” John said. “And Gordon and Alan are on their way.” 

“They can’t see him like this!” 

“Right. You’ve got a stretcher, have you? An IV bag? You can move him by yourself?” 

As usual, John’s logical mind calmed Virgil down. He wasn’t fooled though: he could hear the slight tremor that gave away how John was really feeling and his fingers were no doubt flying as he multi-tasked to find out what was happening. 

Virgil continued packing the wound the best he could, desperate to try and bring the bleeding under control. Scott’s pulse was weak. Virgil kept having to swallow hard, as if he could push down the rising panic. Every sluggish beat of Scott’s heart stained Virgil’s hands a little more. 

He ran out of gauze before his brothers arrived. All he could do was keep pressure on the wound. The medkit had the basics, but it wasn’t designed for anything more than patching someone up and getting them to safety. 

“Virgil!” 

“Over here.”  

He was surprised by how steady his voice was as his two brothers charged into view. Alan instantly went pale, but Gordon dropped to his knees.  

“We’ve got the stretcher. John’s contacted the local hospital, they’re on standby to receive us and security measures are already being put in place. And I’m ready.” 

“For what?” Virgil stared at him blankly. He hadn’t moved when they arrived, remaining kneeling by Scott, hands pressed to the wound. 

“Donation. We’re the same blood group, remember?” 

Virgil managed a weak smile. It was moments like this that reminded him Gordon had seen active duty. While Virgil was used to dealing with injuries caused by nature throwing a tantrum, Gordon had seen his fair share of what men could do to one another. 

His brother being so calm helped him pull it together. 

“Set the stretcher down next to him. Then help take his weight so I can get a bandage wrapped around him.”  

Something needed to maintain the pressure while they moved him. They worked quickly to secure Scott as much as possible, then shifted him onto the hover stretcher. Virgil activated it until it was floating at waist height. 

“I need one of you to shut down Mobile Control and secure One. The other to fly Two.” 

Neither of them made the usual comments about letting someone else fly his ‘bird. They both knew the gravity of the situation and right now, Virgil needed to be with Scott. 

He started heading towards Two, ignoring the whispered conversation going on behind him. By the time he had Scott secured, Gordon had joined him, Virgil raised an eyebrow. 

“Same blood group, remember? Makes more sense for me to be on hand. Alan will join us as soon as he can.” 

“F.A.B. Go and start pre-flight checks, Gords, we need to get him there asap.” 

Gordon nodded and hurried up to the flight deck. Virgil busied himself attaching monitors to Scott. He didn’t want to start a transfusion until the doctors had seen Scott. While he may have just been trying to convince himself, Virgil was certain the bleeding had slowed. 

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” he told his brother. “Just hang on.” 

“Virgil?” 

John’s voice made him jump but he also wasn’t surprised he’d stayed on the line this entire time. 

“Go ahead?” 

“Hospital is prepped and ready. And I’ve-,” John audibly swallowed. “I’ve spoken to Dad. He’s on his way and he’s sending in the agents to ensure security.” 

Virgil nodded. John knew him well enough that he didn’t need to see the action to know what he was doing. He braced himself as Thunderbird Two lifted into the air. Not as smooth as he would’ve done it, but he also couldn’t complain. Not when he wasn’t prepared to leave Scott’s side. 

Afterwards, he didn’t remember much of the flight. He tried to keep Scott stable, fighting against his slowing heart-beat but managing to keep it clinging on. As soon as they landed, Gordon lowered the hatch and medical staff were swarming around his brother. Virgil stepped back to let them work, but was surprised by the hand gripping his arm as he made to follow them. 

“They won’t let you in,” Gordon said in a soft voice. “You know this.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Virg. Get changed.”  

Virgil followed Gordon’s pointed gaze and saw that his uniform was covered in blood. The med-bay around him suddenly lurched as he fully accepted it was his big brother’s blood. Gordon’s hand stopped restraining him and instead guided him to the edge of the bed, encouraging him to sit down. 

A few moments of careful breathing brought Two back into focus. Gordon made sure he wasn’t about to pass out, then gave him some privacy so he could change. He switched into civvies and headed out. 

Gordon was waiting for him just outside.  

“I’m gonna go park up,” he said, “meet you inside?” 

Virgil nodded. It was one of the strangest experiences of his life watching Thunderbird Two take off without him in it. But Gordon would stash her somewhere secure and their agents would set a perimeter to make sure she stayed safe. Alan would be doing the same with One right now. Then they could enter the hospital as civilians. The hospital staff knew Scott was International Rescue, but they didn’t need to broadcast it to everyone. 

Gordon had been right about the doctors not letting him anywhere near. By the time Gordon and Alan appeared, also in casual clothes, the only thing Virgil knew was that Scott had been rushed into surgery. No one knew anything else to tell them. 

Tracy One was a fast jet, but it showed how long they’d been stuck waiting as their father arrived before news did. He looked haggard but his sons had no new information to give him. John had already told him everything they knew as Virgil had deliberately kept the line open to ensure their space-bound brother wasn’t left out of the loop. 

Eventually, Virgil could sit no longer. His brother, his best friend, was fighting for his life, and the only thing Virgil could think was that he should’ve got to Scott’s side sooner. If Scott had bled out in that rubble because Virgil had taken too long, he’d never forgive himself. 

He paced, and no one said anything. They couldn’t. Not when Gordon’s leg was jiggling up and down and Alan was picking at the edge of his thumb. Only their father was still, as if someone had carved him from stone. 

It was hours later when a doctor finally arrived. He was still in scrubs. Alan had fallen asleep on Gordon’s shoulder, his brother’s arm looped around him. But Gordon shook him awake and all four Tracys got to their feet. 

“Well?” Their dad said. 

“The knife nicked an intestine,” the surgeon reported. “And you already know he lost a lot of blood. But we’ve managed to repair the damage and his BP has stabilised. He’ll need bed rest, and a lot of it, for a few weeks, but he should make a full recovery.” 

For the second time that day, Virgil’s world spun around him. Gordon and Alan were cheering, but their voices sounded far away as he groped blindly for the chair he was certain should be right behind him. It was his dad’s hand on his back that guided him back into it. 

“Thank you,” his father said earnestly. “Thank you so much.” 

The world came back into focus as the surgeon left, promising he’d send someone as soon as they could see Scott. His dad’s hand was still on his shoulder and Virgil looked up at him. 

“He’s - he’s really going to be okay?” 

“Yes, son. He’s going to be just fine.” 

“Not so sure about that,” Gordon said, grinning. “Who wants to be the one to tell Scott he has to stay in bed?” 

Four answering groans met his question, as even John tried to duck out of that from all the way up on Thunderbird Five. 

[who-is-there]

I just started watching Dimension 20’s Fantasy high, halfway through sophomore year, and I do want a fic where people realise just how used to being part of a group the bad kids are. For example-

-I fully believe every single one of them is used to Riz climbing them so he can see better. It’s usually Gorgug, but it’s happened to all of them at some point. They might hold out their arm for him to jump onto a counter, or so he can pin a clue to his board. Before they all sit at a table, at least one of them makes sure their 4’4 friend can jump onto the table.

-Every single one of them has also caught Adaine after she had a vision. Sometimes she can just shake them off, but the big ones make her falter in what she’s doing, which can be dangerous. It happened once in a fight, and now the people standing closest to her are always ready.

-Fabian doesn’t really recognise he has a blind spot with his eye injury, because the others immediately clocked it. But this also means they walk in between him and the road, in case some idiot mounts the curb. They keep an eye on anything to his right, shifting drinks and pushing chairs if they can tell his depth perception is a little off.

-Fig usually stands in the middle of the group to intimidate people into not messing with them, so it’s sort of become habit to just crowd around her. After the battle, if no one’s seriously hurt or anything, everyone just wanders over to Fig. At this point, Fig is always the first one to yell out after a fight, just so they can regroup.

-Gorgug is the go-to for lap-sits, leaning, anything to do with being physically supported by another persons body. His hoodie is soft, and his headphones are loud enough that you can kind of hear it if you’re leaning on him. His parents weren’t great with nonchalant physical contact, in case he was already upset, so he takes great joy in his friends not being scared to hug him for fun.

-Kristin has left her staff at every single house she could with the bad kids. She leaves her bag in classrooms, the library, the cafeteria. Whenever the group leave somewhere, they do a full scan, because Kristin has probably left something and they grab it for her. No one has any clue who her bag actually belongs to, because all of the bad kids have been seen carrying it around school several times.

The school at large know who the bad kids are, and the town recognise them, but they still don’t know why all of them double check a room before leaving, or collectively carry a small stool around with them. One student with a fantasy iron deficiency faints in class and Kristin catches her before she hits the ground. Once, Fig isn’t in school for a day and all the bad kids have this restless energy about them. It is not uncommon to see them on the field during lunch, curled up in a pile on Gorgug. One guy tries to surprise Fabian from the right and gets body checked by Adaine before it even registers.

It’s sort of uncomfortable for everyone to see any of them without the others, because it means a) the rest of them committed a crime, b) the rest of them are committing a crime, or c) the rest of them are about to run in and start planning to commit a crime. And no one wants to lose their plausible deniability here.

[rafecameronsslut4ever]

CASUAL pt.2— lando norris (angst)

pairing; fem!reader x lando norris summary: it took lando too long to realise it wasn't just 'casual'. warnings: a LOT of angst, toxic relationship, sexual implication, not proofread a/n: casual part 2 was not really a part of the plan but the audience had demands 🦧also i think this was too long lmao. AND IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY OMG

part 1 - casual

miami grand prix: the biggest pr nightmare for every driver—especially lando norris.

the media had been all over him that weekend, going to the lengths of literally calling him 'the hottest catch on the single market'. hollywood stars and instagram models were so desperate to marry him and have his kids that they didn't catch on the fact that he was a 23-year-old racing driver who couldn't give a fuck about them.

because he was stuck on you.

for weeks, he'd waited—hoping you’d reach out, or at the very least, watch his instagram stories. he posted shirtless photos, sun-kissed photos—hell, he even threw out a thirst trap just for you. But you didn’t take the bait. you didn't take the fucking bait.

you hadn't texted him or spoken to him since the moment you walked out of that hotel room weeks ago, so he didn't try to reach out either. "would've been a blow to my ego," he'd told sainz.

but now, he didn't give a shit about his ego. he was tired of waiting.

his eyes darted across the packed club, friends and guests scattered all around. he couldn't wait to get out of there.

he hadn't been drinking. didn't really feel like it. truth be told, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything at all.

pool parties, clubs, yachts, champagne and girls.

he was tired of the glitz and glam of his life, and you were the only escape from it.

but you were gone.

his mind wandered to that morning, when you had kissed him and the two of you had ordered room service. when he had held you for the last time.

he hated how the only thing on his mind was you. how it was the only thing on his mind all through the celebrations, as hookers danced around him and people tried to pour drinks into his mouth.

for fuck's sake, he had won a grand prix for the first time in his life, and yet he was unhappy.

how did he get here?

he looked up, eyes falling on a group of men in the VIP section, the lights illuminating their faces.

everyone could tell something was off with lando. he didn't want to do any of this.

all he wanted was you. you, you, you.

the girl who had left without an explanation.

why had you left, anyway? no calls, no texts. your friends avoided him, and you avoided his friends. it was like the two of you were nothing.

lando norris was many things, but he was not a fool. he could recognise when something was wrong, or when a situation had escalated beyond his control.

he knew that there was a reason why you left, but the reason never clicked in that thick brain of his. what had he done wrong? where had he gone wrong?

"i'm not feeling too well, mate." he muttered, handing the beer bottle back to the guy standing next to him.

okay, maybe not admitting his feelings for you had fucked things up. but, what could you expect? he didn't have the time to give you what you deserved.

not right now, at least.

"what are you waiting for, then?" the other man asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"what?"

"just call her, bro. i know it's about a girl because there's no way any sane man would say no to expensive beers and a million hot hookers."

did lando even know this man? probably not.

"i can't call her. she doesn't want to talk to me. trust me, i've tried."

"have you?"

he didn't know how to deal with rejection. not like this, not with you. you weren't supposed to leave.

"judging by your sulkiness, i doubt you're going to find a girl like her again. and you'll never have her if you're here."

lando didn't have a heart of stone, as much as his social media persona might suggest. he didn't care for any of this. the women, the money, the fame.

he wanted to hold you again. kiss you, tell you he loves you. he wanted to hold your hand. he wanted to be near you, and only you.

so, when his feet hit the floor and he found himself walking towards the exit, he wasn't surprised.

yeah, it was foolish of him to leave a party full of women who were celebrating him (literally) for a girl who had ghosted him, but the need was stronger than his pride.

out of the yacht, he was dialling the only number he'd ever memorised. the phone rang, and then it rang again.

would she be wearing his clothes, or would she have gotten rid of everything related to him?

maybe she'd found another man, finally realising that lando was a bad investment.

as the phone rang, you were hidden in your apartment with blankets wrapped around you and a youtube video playing in the background.

it had been months since you'd heard the word 'casual' leave his mouth. months since you had fled london and monaco to move to miami.

at first, his words had echoed in your mind constantly, and you'd cried yourself to sleep a few times more than you'd like to admit.

but just like every heartbroken poet in history, the hurt faded and the pain slowly morphed into hatred. and anger.

you wanted to slam your head against a wall. scratch that, you wanted to slam his head against a wall.

it was so stupid, and you hated yourself for believing he'd been genuine.

it was just sex. that's all it ever was. it truly was just casual.

the phone was still ringing. your finger hesitated over the answer button. you weren't going to answer it.

it wasn't worth it. you didn't want to hear his voice. didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that his words had hurt you. you didn't want to know if he was sleeping around, if his girlfriends were prettier than you.

so the line went dead.

lando stood by the harbour, watching as yachts and ships sailed past him. the air was humid and his t-shirt clung to his body, the heat almost unbearable. the sound of waves, the distant laughter and music, and the sound of his ragged breaths.

he ran his fingers through his hair, looking around. where was his car?

he had to find his way back to his hotel. he was a mess, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. he needed to fix his appearance, buy a bouquet a flowers.

he checked the time on his watch, and cursed as he saw the numbers. it was almost 3 am. he wouldn't find flowers anywhere at 3 am.

"fuck it." he said, running over to his car. the drive was quiet, save for the low hum of music and his occasional swearing when someone drove a little bit slower than he'd like.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really. but he only wanted you. he was a hopeless romantic, and you were his muse.

when he pulled up outside the apartment, his nerves were going haywire. he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

he knocked twice on the door and when it opened, his eyes lit up.

you stared back at him, sleepiness in your eyes and confusion etched on your face.

and god, did you look gorgeous.

he loved you, he realised. he had to cross his hands behind his back to stop them from reaching out and holding you close.

"lando?" you breathed out.

he had grown a slight stubble since you last saw him. his hair were still the same, except a little bit longer. his blue eyes were wide as he looked at you.

"hey," his voice was shaky.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

he wanted to say so many things. ask you why you left, where it went wrong, why you moved to miami. he wanted to declare his love for you, press his lips to yours, hold you by the waist. he wanted to hear you say that you loved him too.

he was so in love with you, and you had no idea.

"lando? why are you here?" you asked again.

he was at a loss of words. what could he say? he couldn't exactly just stand there and say nothing.

"because," his voice cracked, "i miss you."

your throat went dry. he could not just say that.

it had been weeks. weeks of him not contacting you, weeks of you not speaking to him. the phone calls had stopped, the text messages had stopped, the late night chats had stopped. everything was just gone.

and now, he missed you?

tears welled up in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. you shook your head, pushing back the tears, "go away."

"what? no, wait. wait. don't do this." he pleaded, his voice fragile and desperate, like a child trying to avoid bedtime.

"lando-"

he interrupted you, voice louder than before. "can we please talk about this?"

"what is there to talk about?" you were raising your voice. you hated him. how could he act like this after all that happened?

"everything. just—please, can i come in?" he sounded so pathetic. he felt so pathetic. his hands were slightly hovering over the door, ready to push it open and walk in.

the request took you by surprise. "i-no."

you missed him. there was no denying that.

you wanted him to tell you it was okay. wanted to go back to that night in his mclaren, the night he told you he liked you. wanted the weekends spent in london with his family. you wanted him, all of him.

his curly hair wrapped around your fingers, blue eyes staring at you, soft lips kissing you. his cold hands grabbing yours, and his voice saying your name. you wanted it to not be casual.

"i just want to talk to you."

he was drunk. there was no other way he would've showed up here, let alone begged to talk to you. the fact that he needed to be drunk to have this conversation made your blood boil.

"do you still have my jacket?"

of course, you still had his stupid jacket. the one that had his smell embedded into the fabric. it was an exclusive print mclaren had given him, and he had swung it around your shoulders after the night you had first made love to each other.

but he didn't care about the jacket, and neither did you. it was just a reminder.

you were silent for a while, taking in the sight of each other. it was his breath mingling with yours.

"i love you." he whispered.

your breath hitched in your throat, the tears finally falling out of your eyes as you sighed.

"i love you," he repeated to himself. "yes, i do. and i've known that since the day i met you."

you choked back sobs as you shook your head, "you're drunk, lando."

"i'm not," he chuckled, "maybe a little, but not enough."

then, he added, "i mean it. i love you." his voice was steady. he truly meant every word. but he didn't know what would happen now.

"what do you want me to say, lando?"

he sighed, "anything."

you laughed bitterly. anything, he said.

anything would've been better than what had happened.

"i don't think i can do this, lando."

"we can take it slow."

"you've never done slow."

he fell silent again because you were right. he'd never done slow. he didn't know how to take things slow. he was a fucking formula 1 driver, after all. slow wasn't something he did. he'd always lived life like it was the last day. and that's how he had lost you.

"i'm sorry," he began, his voice breaking. "i should've been a better person. i'm sorry for everything i did. i should've given you more, i-i should've loved you more, because you deserve so much more. i'm so, so, sorry."

"lando," you whispered, "it's not—"

"don't make excuses for me, please. i love you, i really do. and if i have to spend the rest of my life proving that, i will." and he meant every word. "i just want you back."

your mind was racing, a million thoughts running through it. it was like a movie. his blue eyes, his voice, the desperation in his tone, the way he stood before you.

"okay," you muttered.

"wait, okay? does that mean—"

"you're gonna have to work for this," you said.

"i know, and i will. i promise."

you sighed, rubbing your temple. this wasn't a good idea. "get in."

lando's face lit up, and before you could change your mind, he had walked into the apartment. he hadn't really been here before, considering you moved here after the two of you had stopped talking. but the apartment was lovely, homely. everything you.

you closed the door behind him, watching him look around the living room.

"how'd you know where i live?"

he chuckled, turning to face you. "i'm a famous driver. i have my sources."

"i'm sure." a tense silence followed, neither of you knowing what to say.

"i'm not letting this happen again," he blurted, "i'm not. i don't know how, but i won't."

"i don't believe you." you scoffed.

"fuck, baby, what do i have to do for you to believe me?" he stepped towards you, closing the distance.

"stop calling me that."

"you are my baby." he tried to joke.

"lando, i'm not joking."

"i'm serious too," his voice was sincere, "i love you, and i'll do whatever it takes for you to believe me."

you had been through a lot together. the highs, the lows. you had seen him at his best, and at his worst. the good and the bad.

he moved closer, reaching a hand out to hold yours. you didn't know why, but the moment his hand touched yours, it was like a switch had flipped inside of you.

you let his hand wander over yours like a ghost, his calloused fingertips tracing over your knuckles. he intertwined your fingers together, eyes casted down.

"i've never cared about anyone the way i care about you." he admitted in a soft voice.

and then he pressed his lips to yours. his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

and god, did he taste the same. lando had a way with his lips. it was a talent. he kissed you like he needed your lips to survive. he was desperate for your touch as if he had been starving without it.

you were so lost in the feeling that you hadn't realised how far you had pushed him until the back of his knees hit the couch, and he fell on top of it.

his eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, exposing his chest and toned abs.

the two of you stared at each other, eyes searching the other's.

"i love you." he murmured for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

maybe it was the way his blue eyes bore into yours, or the way his lips quivered, or maybe it was the fact that he had driven across the city to say this.

but for the first time that night, you believed him. and suddenly, the anger was gone. it was all gone.

"i love you, too." you whispered.

it was the only thing the two of you needed. the confirmation, the reassurance. the love.

you leaned down and connected your lips once more, hand reaching up to his curls and tugging lightly. he moaned into the kiss, pulling you on top of him.

your tongue entered his mouth, the taste of him making you lightheaded. his hands roamed over your body, the feeling of his skin against yours.

"baby," he whispered between kisses, "i want you so bad. i've waited so long."

his lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin.

"i want you," he murmured against the crook of your neck, "so fucking bad."

but he pulled away, flipping the two of you over so he was on top of you. he took off his shirt, and rested his head on your chest. he cleared his throat, "i should've asked this question earlier, but are you single?"

"yeah." you chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"so, can i be your boyfriend?"

"lando norris," you hummed, "did you finally get the guts to ask me out?"

"yes," he smiled, lifting his head up to look at you, "yes, i did. will you be my girlfriend?"

"you're a dork."

"that's not an answer."

"yes," you laughed, "yes, i'll be your girlfriend."

lando grinned, and you grinned back.

yeah, it wasn't casual anymore.

(u guys im so sorry if i've tagged someone who doesnt want to be tagged i just had no idea how to let non-followers know part 2 is out bcs tumblr is not letting me reply to comments😭if anyone wants their tag removed, feel free to dm me!! i hope u liked this) @oscarpiassrri @meglouise00 @f1fantasys @technicallypleasanttree @ggaslyp1 @obxstiles @nataliambc @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @ushygushybaby @emilyroxy @yootvi @fishingarden @pillowprincess4him @herexpertcollector

[i2sunric]

𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 (l.hs)

PAIRING: toxic!heeseung x reader

SUMMARY: after confronting your boyfriend with his neverending addictions, worried that he might just ruin himself, you two end up in yet another fight. it wasn’t new that the best way of resolving it was fucking you in his car, was it?

WARNINGS: toxic relationship. based on the newest single by chase atlantic ‘die for me’, fighting, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed and drugs in general (+ ecstasy tabs), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!!), rough sex, degrading kink, car sex, doggystyle, he gives reader a finger in asshole (literally), spit kink (?), why is this slightly angst (if u squint ig), riding, creampie, pet names (angel, baby, good girl, slut), manhandling, meandom!heeseung, kinda cnc (but i’m not sure), humping, overstimulation, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 25th August 2024

WC: 4.7k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @destinyhoon @jakeflvrz @emisloves @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike (oneshot) @dollyrst @mitmit01 @heeseungsbm @rayofsunshineeee @seungjiseyo @simja3 @sweetlyxaqq09 @cloud-lyy BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.

NOW PLAYING: ‘DIE FOR ME’ by Chase Atlantic — ‘on your knees’ by ex habit — ‘Sinners’ by Ari Abdul ft. Thomas Larosa

a/n: please REBLOG & COMMENT and not only like since i’ve been shadowbanned nowadays. i highly recommend listening to the songs i previously listed while reading for a better experience 🫶 take care!!

With your heart in your throat and your whole body freezing due to autumn’s weather, you hurried towards Jay’s house, which was fortunately a few blocks away from yours.

You had gotten yet another call from the poor guy, asking you to come and fetch your boyfriend, who was apparently making a fuss.

It wasn’t rare, but it had gotten more frequent for him to go batshit at parties.

And it was your job to clean after his mess.

The music that came inside was so loud it only added to the headache you already had.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and found Jay waiting for you, biting his nails.

“Thank God you’re here.” He breathed out, quickly turning around “He’s gone mad, I swear.”

You had to just round the corner to the living room and there stood Heeseung, taking a guy by the collar, his fit raised in the air.

“Heeseung!” You shouted, but he was so deep in his own mind he couldn’t hear you.

“What the fuck did call me?” Heeseung growled, his mouth straight into a grimace.

The boy’s eyes were wide, as if he understood he had just poked the bear and couldn’t step back anymore “I’m sorry man, ok? I was just joking.”

Heeseung scoffed, “Oh, and I am joking too.” He raised his fist higher and was about to strike, but you stepped in and held his arm.

“Heeseung.” You hissed, lower this time, a whisper only meant for him.

He turned to you with an annoyed expression until his eyes took in the sight of you, recognising you.

Safe. He knew you, so he slowly lowered his arm.

“Let go.” You said, beckoning to the guy’s collar. Heeseung gave him another dangerous gaze before pushing him away.

He fell, but at least he didn’t have a broken nose.

Heeseung turned around and placed his hand on your waist “Did I hurt you?” He asked and by his bloodshot eyes and how you could barely see any white in them, you knew he was far gone.

You shook your head, “I just arrived.” Heeseung took in the sight of your baggy and cozy clothes.

Obviously, you had hurried there as soon as Jay made the call, not even bothering changing.

All the people in the living room were watching the two of you with both curious and wary expressions, “Let’s get in the car.” You said, Heeseung wasn’t their circus.

Mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ to the guy who almost had an encounter with his fist, you dragged your boyfriend out of the house.

Jay gave you a sympathetic nod before closing the house behind you, blocking out the deafening music.

Heeseung grabbed your hand and walked to the parking lot, opening the car door and shoving you in the passenger seat before rounding it and entering the vehicle as well.

The walk and fresh air should’ve sobered him up, at least just a little. You hoped.

As soon as he sat beside you, a scoff left your lips “Seriously, Heeseung?” You asked, “It’s the third time this week and it’s barely Thursday!”

He let out a low sigh, and reached out to caress your cheek. He had a sheepish look, and he was staring at you guiltily, though, you were sure he doubtfully had any regret.

“Just once more,” He said quietly. “And I'll control myself after this.” Both of you knew that it was just another empty promise.

“Like last time, and the time before that.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms “I don’t buy your bullshit, not anymore.”

His jaw tensed as he tried to remain patient. He knew you had every right to be mad at him, but could he blame him for wanting an escape?

“I’ll behave for a week, okay?” He asked, his leg bouncing, unable to stay still “Just give me this one last time.”

You frowned, noticing his strange behaviour “What did you take?”

Heeseung was caught off guard by the sudden question, and averted his gaze away from you, “It's just alcohol,” He replied, a slight edge in his tone “Quit fussing. We’re just going for a drive and letting off some steam.”

“You’re not driving,” You replied, your eyes widen “You’re as high as a kite, you think I don’t know that?”

Annoyance was now brewing in his gaze, and he clenched his jaw.

He wanted to snap at you for not trusting him, but a rational part of him knew deep down that he didn’t deserve your trust.

He hated that you knew him so well.

“I’m fine,” He insisted, stubbornly, taking out the car keys from the front pocket of his jeans. “I've driven drunk a hundred times. this is nothing.”

“That’s not something to be proud of,” You replied, stealing the keys from his hand. His reflexes were sloppy, so he couldn’t stop you in time. “One day you’ll either kill or get yourself killed.”

“Give it back.” He demanded, his voice low “I’ll take us to your house, we can’t stay here all night.”

“But we will if you don’t start talking.” You snapped, hiding the keys behind your back

Heeseung was taken aback by the harshness of your tone, and he was starting to get impatient as well.

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” He asked, his voice dropping an octave. “Just shut up and let me drive, I know what I’m doing.”

“You can’t speak without tripping over your tongue,” You questioned again, “What did you take?”

“I told you, it’s just alcohol,” He lied, his words coming out in a frustrated hiss. “Why won’t you just trust me?”

“Because you don’t give me reasons to trust you!” You spat back, your brows furrowed “What did you take?”

Heeseung was getting tired of the repetition, and the tone of your voice was starting to wear him down. He leaned in to bring his lips next to your ear.

“I just took a few ecstasy tabs, okay? And alcohol. Nothing major,” He whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Just leave it be, alright?”

You willed your body not to show any signs of how his vicinity was affecting you “Nothing major? Heeseung, you were doing drugs.”

He leaned back and rolled his eyes, trying to brush it off “It’s just to have some fun.” He retorted “And I can make my own choices, you don’t need to be so uptight.”

“Being uptight is different from being worried!” You snapped “Getting high is not having fun. I closed an eye with the occasional weed you smoke, but this? Taking ecstasy tabs?”

Heeseung rolled his eyes as you nagged him about his life choices again. He knew that you weren’t wrong, but he hated admitting it.

He hated feeling like you were lecturing him, like he was a kid being scolded by his parents.

“Why are you so fixated on what I do?” He asked, his tone growing harsher. “I can handle myself, dammit.”

“Oh, I can see that very well.” You eyed him up and down, “You were about to attack a guy, and what for? Because he foul-mouthed you?”

He raised a brow. “He deserved it, if you didn’t come I would’ve done more than break his nose.”

The seriousness in his voice made your stomach churn. You hated to admit it, but you were scared of him sometimes.

You knew he would never lay a hand on you, deep inside he cared for you, but he didn’t care about himself at all and it served him as hatred towards others.

“Please, Heeseung.” You sighed, “Drugs aren’t something to play with. They’re dangerous.”

“A few ecstasy tabs or edibles won’t kill me, ya know?” He scoffed, running a hand in his hair.

He looked so beautiful, despite his bloodshot eyes and angry frown, he was still attractive.

“Jay called me again because you were ruining his party.” You pleaded with him to listen “Can’t you see that not even your friends want to be with you anymore?”

That worked.

Heeseung suddenly grasped your waist and pulled you onto his laps, holding you firmly in place “Enough,” He growled “I’m done listening to your lectures.”

You frowned, trying to move from his iron grip “I am not done.”

Heeseung let out a frustrated huff, and pulled you even closer, “Well, too bad,” He retorted. “You talk too much, and you nag too much, it's so annoying.”

He brought his lips close to your ear, and his voice dropped even lower. “Maybe I should just shut you up, hm?”

You didn’t like the way your body grew so weak for him, how it seemed to melt under his touch.

You needed to be strong, to let him hear your worries, so you tried to fight his grasp again.

But his grip on you was unwavering, and he didn’t even budge as you tried to push him away.

“Don’t you get it, baby?” He whispered huskily, his voice holding a hint of condescension. “I don't listen to you,

especially not when you nag.”

“I’m not doing this with you,” You said, feeling his hands on your body “I’m worried about you, Hee, we all are.”

“Enough,” He grumbled. “I don’t need your lectures.” He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck “Why can’t you just let me be?”

His hands moved to hold your hips, forcing them to rock against his “Heeseung, stop.”

Heeseung wasn’t listening to a word you were saying, his mind clouded by the alcohol and drugs in his system.

He continued to press his face against your neck, peppering it with rough kisses, his hands began to wander to the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up.

“Let me have this,” He murmured, his voice deep and desperate. “I need you right now.”

You closed your eyes, a soft sigh escaping your lips “No.” You tried to say firmly “You need to go home and sleep the drug off.”

Heeseung let out a frustrated whine as you tried to resist him, and he dug his fingers into your skin.

He pulled away from your neck to look at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of irritation and desire. “I need you. I need you right now.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against yours. “Baby, please,” He pleaded, his voice growing soft and gentle. “Just for a little bit, please.”

Seeing him in such a desperate state made your heart ache.

At least, he had exited the party and followed you in the car.

At least, he was there with you and not in the streets, causing messes for both himself and others.

“Okay,” You whispered, gulping down the good sense.

He pressed his forehead against yours. “I just need a little release,” He mumbled. “Just a little bit... you’ll give it to me, won’t you, baby?”

As he made you grind on him you quickly matched his rhythm, slowly moving on him.

He was growing more desperate for you, his body craving yours “That’s it,” He muttered, his voice thick with lust “Hump me just like that, baby.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his face close to your clothed chest “I’m just worried about you.” You said quietly.

Heeseung felt a flicker of guilt as you held onto him, and he reluctantly pushed it away. He didn’t want to be reminded of his mistakes.

“You worry too much,” he mumbled gruffly. “I'm fine, just stop nagging at me.”

You let out a small moan when his hips bucked up to meet yours and he said “Let me have you, baby.”

He could sense you surrender and smirked, leaning his head to suckle on your neck.

He wasn’t gentle, he left bites, brushing his tongue against it to soothe the pain.

But he wanted you to feel it, wanted you to know that pain was an occurrence if you stayed with him.

And you were too lovestruck to care, you realised.

Heeseung raised your shirt and tossed it on the passenger seat, burying his face in the middle of your breasts still contained by your bra.

He looked up at you, his gaze was clearer but darker as well, like the drug's effect was replaced by lust.

His cheeks were tinted with pink, his lips parted and you couldn’t help but grind on his clothed bulge, as if to reward him for being there.

Heeseunge closed his eyes and let out a deep moan as he felt you grinding on him, the friction sending waves of pleasure through his body.

Hee leaned his head back against the seat, his mouth slightly open as he let out a shaky exhale. “Fuck, angel,” He groaned, gripping your hips tightly, “Keep going, just like that, baby.”

Such a nickname was reserved only to you, because you were his angel, too good to be with a devil like him.

Still, you didn’t run. You never tried to.

What a fool.

His brows furrowed, only then remembering the reason behind your argument. He wanted to make you forget it, he had to.

“Angel,” He whispered, stopping you from moving, “I need to be inside of you, please.”

You bit your bottom lip and murmured, “But we don’t have a condom…”

Heeseung cursed under his breath as you reminded him about the lack of protection, his frustration growing once again.

He didn’t want to be denied, and the last thing he wanted right now was to stop.

He leaned forward and captured your lips in a rough, possessive kiss, his hands roaming all over your bare back. “I don’t care,” He mumbled against your lips. “I need you now, I don’t care if we have a condom or not.”

You were a weak girl, you knew that despite how much you tried to resist; you would always give in. And Heeseung was very much aware.

You stared down at him, your voice quiet as you said “I guess I could buy a pill tomorrow?”

He pulled away from the kiss with a sly grin “Good girl,” He murmured, his eyes dark and lustful “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

You hadn’t even realised he put a hand behind to pull the seat back until you were thrown in the backseats of the car, manoeuvred not so gently.

Heeseung was behind you in the matter of a second, your head was resting on the seat while your backside was in the air.

He leaned down, his body pressing against yours, and he started to plant a trail of rough kisses down your neck.

His hands roamed over your body, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him. “You look so sexy like this, baby,” He murmured, huskily.

You felt his bulge pressing in between your ass cheeks while his skilled fingers unclasped your bra, rough callous grasping them, kneading at the soft flesh.

Heeseung pulled your pants down, without even bothering to remove them properly, and dove in to lick a stripe out of your wet folds.

You moaned, your eyes squeezing “Hee.”

Heeseung murmured “Fuck baby, you always taste so good.”

He hummed at himself when you felt you press your backside against him, eager to be filled.

“Such a good girl,” He whispered “Always so willing for me. mh?”

He quickly worked his jeans down, enough just to take his hard cock out.

You yelped when he aligned it to your entrance and pushed in without any warning, the stretch too painful without any prepping.

Fighting was your favourite type of foreplay, anyways.

Heeseung leaned down, his mouth hovering over your ear. “Too much, baby?” he whispered, his voice soft and mocking.

Your eyes were squeezed tight as you tried to adjust “T-too much.” You replied, feeling jolts of pain shooting through your lower region.

He smirked at your response, feeling a sense of pride at your admission. Heloved knowing that he was the one causing you to feel this way.

“Oh angel,” He chuckled mockingly, “But you can take it.” And with those words he started moving. Rather slower than his usual pace, and that you were thankful.

You yelped in pain and so, Heeseung moved his fingers to gently circle on your clit “You need to relax, baby.”

Because for how much of an asshole Heeseung could be, he would never intentionally hurt you.

At least, not like that, he wanted to bring you the good kind of pain.

“Relax,” He groaned, feeling your walls clenching so hard around him “You’re almost pushing me out.”

You took steady breaths, trying to will your body to adjust to the thick intrusion.

Slowly, your frown contorted into an expression of pleasure.

He picked up the pace, his movements becoming more forceful.

“You feel so good baby,” He gripped your waist, your flesh burning in his grasp “So sweet and tight, just for me.”

You nodded, giving yourself completely to him “Just for you.” You mumbled, your voice muffled by being pressed against the seat.

“Ah, ah.” Heeseung pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail and raised you, adding pain to the pleasure “I didn’t quite catch that.”

You whimpered, trying to reach his hand and pull your hair away but Heeseung caught both of your arms, pinning them behind your back “Answer me.”

“J-just for you.” And Heeseung rewarded you by picking up the pace, the sound of skin slapping and squelch filling the car, its windows fogging up.

“Good girl,” He smiled, releasing the grip in your hair and moving it to choke you instead. He licked your earlobe, tasting the saltiness of your sweaty skin “Tell me, who do you belong to?”

You shut your lips, you weren’t going to give in to his contorted and possessive kink.

You were your own persona, no one else’s.

And Heeseung didn’t like that, no, he pushed you back on the seat and held your head down, smashing your cheeks.

He slapped your ass, so hard it must’ve left a red mark “Fucking answer me, who do you belong to?” His voice was low, dangerous.

A broken whimper left your lips, the sweet sensation of his cock rutting inside you combined with his rough handling making your head spin.

“That’s not the right answer.” He taunted, his thrusts becoming deeper, hitting all the right spots.

Heeseung knew you were close, but he wasn’t going to make you cum if you wouldn’t answer such a simple question.

“Having a cock inside of you makes you so dumb?” He mocked, slapping your ass once more “You’re such a slut, can’t think when you have me buried deep inside ya?”

His words only made you clench around him, you were mad at him for treating you like that, but you were mad at yourself for liking it.

“Say. It.” His voice was dripping with impatience but you shook your head.

Heeseung scoffed, leaning down next to your ear “I can do this all night, baby,” He whispered huskily “I can keep going until you give in. Say it.”

He raised a brow, waiting for your answer.

You opened your eyes and looked at him “I’m not an object, Heeseung.” You groaned.

“No?” He tsked, moving painfully slowly inside you “Yet you act like my personal sext toy, giving yourself to me whenever I ask.”

He let go of you and crossed his arms, stilling. You frowned, a complaining whimper leaving your lips.

“Fuck yourself on my cock.” He said, his voice icy “Since you’re not mine I don’t have to provide you anything.”

“Fine.” You raised your upper body, gripping the car door as you started to move back and forth, fucking his cock in and out of you.

You groaned when it slipped out, and when Heeseung made no move to push it back, you did it yourself.

A smug grin formed on your lips when you noticed how his breath hitched when you touched it, but his expression didn’t give anything away.

You tried again, trying to move faster, but it didn’t work well. Not like when he was the one doing it.

And it seemed as if your lack of skills was starting to affect Heeseung as well, a groan leaving his lips “I know I said I had all night, but I’d like to get some action.”

You scoffed “I’m trying my best,” You replied, pushing your backside against him, trying to reach the sweet spot he seemed to always find.

Heeseung clicked his tongue and shook his head, yanking your pants off your ankles.

He took you by your hips and turned you around until he was sitting and you were straddling him.

His cock was still inside of you, but this time you were on his lap, “Let’s see if you can ride me, mh? Or you can’t do anything alone?”

You frowned at his words and gripped the seat behind your back. Heeseung rolled his eyes and removed your hands, placing them on his shoulders.

You moved up and down, your head thrown back as you could feel him whole in you.

“That’s better,” He replied, leaning back against the seat and watching you riding him, still not moving a muscle.

You whined when he made no move to touch you, usually he’d play with your nipples or send jolts of pleasure by rubbing your clit. Yet, he did none of that.

“You know the magic word.” Heeseung smirked, “Say it, and I’ll make both of us feel good.”

He tilted his head “Don’t say it, and I’ll make you ride my dick until I cum, and judging by your slow pace, it might take forever.”

A few seconds passed where you pondered on your decision.

He was still high so there might be a chance that he wouldn’t remember you had give yourself completely to him. Against your morals.

You leaned close to his ear and whispered “M’yours, Hee.”

He growled, a deep rumble in his throat as he grasped your hips and moved you.

He didn’t guide your movements, he straight up used you like you were his fleshlight. You didn’t even know how he could move your body so easily.

He kept hitting the spot that had your eyes roll, your grasp on his shoulders making your nails dig in his flesh, only fuelling his desires.

Your expression full of lust made him smirk, he leaned to capture your lips in an hungry kiss, his tongue swiping over yours, tasting you.

As you kept clenching around him, he groaned, and ordered “Open up.”

You complied and opened your mouth, Heeseung gathered some saliva and then spit it on your tongue just to swipe it away with his own right after.

You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

Heeseung chuckled, he knew you were close to your orgasm from your body language.

Breath laboured, loud moans escaping your lips and your walls sucking him in.

“Raise yourself.” He said, holding your body up to help you.

He placed one finger inside your asshole, gaining a gasp from you.

He held it still as he started fucking into you at a fast pace, needing to reach both of your orgasms.

You started mumbling nonsense, something that resembled ‘Yes’ and ‘Harder, please’ but not even you were sure.

It was like he had fucked your into oblivion, the only thing you could think about was how good he felt inside of you.

“Close, angel?” He asked, your walls clenching around him to the point of pain.

You hummed brokenly, managing to give him a small nod.

“You want to cum?” He asked, his voice slightly softer “Want to milk all around my cock?”

You nodded “Yes, Hee, want to cum.” You mumbled, your head dizzy.

“Cum for me, baby.” He whispered in your ear, pushing his finger deeper into your asshole.

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten so hard that when it snapped, you bit down on Heeseung’s clothed shoulder, making him groan and tighten his grip around you.

Your legs were shaking and you were panting from the intensity of your euphoria, your ears ringing.

Heeseung held you close to his chest, slowing his pace to bring you back to reality.

Slowly, your teeth let go of Heeseung’s shoulder, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth.

You gulped and looked at him through half lidded eyes, but his own were fixed down.

He was staring at where your bodies connected, the circle of your white liquid around his shaft, you could feel him twitch inside you.

“You can take some more, can’t you, baby?” He questioned, but you shook your head.

Heeseung frowned, “No? But I still haven’t finished.” Your body was tired and so was your mind, both from the fight and the intense sex.

“Let me finish,” He kissed you, deeply “Let me fill you up to the brim, please?”

You moaned at the thought, despite always taking precautions, you have always wanted him to make you his in the most primal way.

Seeing that you weren’t making a negative comment, Heeseung started moving you, slowly.

You moaned, feeling overstimulated as you gripped the arms that held you “Hee— I ca-I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He groaned, holding you still, flush to his chest as he started rutting his cock deep, hitting your cervix.

His moans were low, more like rumbles deep in his throat as he held your head on his shoulder, his eyes squeezing.

“Fuck,” He panted, moving so fast you could barely finish a moan that another one was coming, your voice hoarse “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He fisted your hair, his other hand on your waist with a bruising grip “Gonna fill you so good, fuck my cum right back into you.”

You didn’t know if he was rumbling to you or more to himself, not like you minded.

Letting out a deep growl, he hit the deepest spot in you and emptied his load.

With some more deep thrusts, you could feel him twitch, and you felt so full.

His pace slowed until he finally stopped and you fell on him, fucked up.

Your whole body was bruised from his grip, your mind dizzy and your breath ragged.

“This was so good,” Heeseung whispered, holding your face in his hands and kissing you deeply.

He tried to move again but you grasped his arm, shaking your head “No, stop.” And he had the decency to comply, this time.

He pulled out and placed you beside him, putting his now softened cock back into his jeans.

Heeseung retrieved your shirt from the passenger seat, and tossed it to you, as well as your sweatpants.

Only when you were fully dressed did he speak again “I’m sorry, for what I did.”

Your eyes widened, not expecting his apology at all “Hee…” You murmured, your gaze soft “I’m just so worried about you, I get mad because I care about you.”

You placed one hand on his cheek, caressing his skin with your thumb. “If I didn't, it wouldn’t matter that you snorted things or… injected shit into your veins.”

Heeseung frowned, “I’m not a junkie, all I did was take some ecstasy tabs.”

You sighed, knowing there was no way to make him reason when he was still drunk and high “Okay, Heeseung. Whatever you say.”

“I’m driving.” Your tone was firm “Y/N.” He tried to say but you stopped him.

“No, I am driving,” You retrieved the keys that had fallen and climbed on the driver’s seat.

Heeseung let out a sigh but didn’t talk back, instead he climbed into the passenger seat and shut his mouth, probably all that he had drank and snorted was taking a toll on him.

You hadn’t realised when you took him into your apartment and showered with him, which led into another round of love— sex making.

You hadn’t realised when he apologised for his behaviour and kissed each mark he had left on your skin.

You hadn’t realised when he let you sleep on his chest, gently rubbing his hands through your hair.

But you did when you woke up to an empty bed, with a plan b pill and a glass of water wishing you a good morning. The only trace of your boyfriend being the wrinkled sheets beside you.

Only then, did you realise that Lee Heeseung was going to be the death of you.

[humanpurposes]

Nightblooms

It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely? // Main Masterlist

Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death

Words: 9.7k (she's a bit of a monster)

A/n: my humble offering of another Aemond brothel fic. I hope you like :) You can also read this on AO3 if you feel so inclined.

He remembers the bed, the thin curtain draped around it, the slight breeze that drifted in on the night air and made it flutter. The throw was richly decorated, red, black and brown, and he picked at the thin threads of embroidery with his fingertips until his skin was red and white. 

The heat in the room was unbearable, the stench of wine, incense, his own sweat clinging to his bare skin. He was weary to breathe the air in, to tarnish himself any further than had already been done. 

He flinched as the door opened. The madam was back, now wearing a gown and all her gold jewellery. A silhouette stood behind her, he couldn’t see them properly, concealed in shadows. 

“You are shivering, my Prince,” she said. 

He could feel it, his knees brought up to his chest and his arms clinging around his legs. His clothes were neatly folded in a corner, his eyepatch atop the pile, he just hadn’t managed to reach for them yet.

“Have some wine if you like,” the madam said. 

The silhouette stepped into the flickering candlelight. In years to come her face would fade from his memory, but she was young, perhaps as young as him. She was dressed like the other whores, in a loose gown of blue silk that exposed glimpses of her skin, her shoulder, her thigh through a slit in the skirt. She held a pitcher of wine and a cup in her hands.

“She is undertaking her own education,” the madam said, noting how long Aemond’s eye had lingered on the girl. “She’ll help you bathe and dress.”

He made no sound of protest. The madam took the pitcher. He could smell the sour scent of the wine as she poured it. Already a few cups deep, the numbness of alcohol was starting to wear off and a pulsing pain was blooming in the back of his head. The madam placed the cup on a table and then she left.

The girl took a single step towards the bed. She lifted her arm, holding out her hand to him, as if he were some street dog to be tamed.

He scowled. His left eyelids were sewn shut back then, his wound mostly healed after three years, but still hideous enough that people would stare in shock at the sight of him, the ailing King’s maimed son. The Lords and Ladies of the Red Keep averted their eyes when they saw him. His mother looked at him with tears in her eyes. His father… the last time his father must have looked him in the eye was on Driftmark.

But this girl looked at him unabashedly.

If he had his wits about him he might have scorned her. Smallfolk like her should know their place, they should revere their Princes. He shouldn’t inspire pity, he should inspire fear and awe.

His stomach was turning. Anger coursed through his blood. His eyes were hot and stinging but he would not allow any tears to fall. And he was restless. It was all familiar to him, the frustration, the humiliation. He couldn’t bear to sit on the bed anymore, cowering like a child.

“I have a bath drawn,” the girl said. 

He had heard her, but he could not find the will to move, not for a few moments at least, moments which felt like hours.

“I have some cake as well. I find it helps me regain my strength… afterwards.”

He felt his head nod.

“It’s lemon, do you like lemon cake?”

“Yes,” he muttered into his knees.

He watched her fetch a robe from the back of a settee by the fireplace, draping it over her arm. “We only have to go to the next room, not far at all.”

He blinked as he looked at her. He felt the dampness on his cheeks, the stinging cold left in the trail of his tears as another breeze swept into the room. 

All the faces around him this night were unnerving. Aegon had been far too delighted with his so-called “gift”. He’d entered Aemond’s chambers with a snarling smile before he’d gripped him by his shoulders and dragged him through the stairways used by servants to stay out of sight. “You are a man now, Aemond. Time to get it wet.”

The madam had a calm gaze, soft lips and small eyes which considered him intently once she had taken the purse of coins from Aegon. The scent of her perfume was sharp and he could still smell it in his nostrils. His stomach lurched again. 

“Come,” the girl said.

Hers was the only face he found any ease in, and he could not explain why that was.

She held out the robe for him and asked before she secured the tie at his waist. She went to a small door in the corner of the room which he had not even noticed until then. It led into another chamber where the air was hot and humid but not as suffocating.

A basin stood in the middle of the room. She took out two small brown bottles and let a few drops of oil fall into the water, filling the room with a gentle, fresh scent. “Lavender,” she explained, “and rosemary. They are meant to be calming.”

He stepped into the water, glad to find it just below scolding. 

The girl kneeled by the basin, gently pouring cups of water over his hair, running it through with a sweeter smelling oil. She took his hand and allowed him to settle, scrubbing his skin with sugar, cleansing it with an amber soap.

When it was done she rested her chin in her hands at the edge. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

He’d stopped crying now, his limbs felt steadier, more his own. He nodded.

“I don’t feel myself until I’ve washed it all off. It makes me feel as though my skin is truly mine again,” she said.

He felt his hands over his arms, the sweat and the fluids rinsed away, the dead skin scrubbed smooth.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was thick, unnatural in his own throat.

“Do not thank me yet,” she said with a small smile, and suddenly jumped up to her feet. She walked out of his sight, past his blind spot, but she soon returned with a small wooden box. She kneeled beside the basin and opened the lid to reveal three small cakes, dusted with sugar and topped with thin slices of candied lemons. “Take one then,” she said.

He bit down on the inside of his lip to hide his amusement at her impertinence. He did as she told him and ate half of one cake in a single bite. A pleasant sourness burst on his tongue, not like the wine, sweeter, zestier. She was right, his mind was starting to feel a little less numb, the life flooding back into him with every breath he took, lavender, rosemary and lemon.

“You have one too,” he said.

“I’m not meant to,” she said, “they’re for the patrons.”

Aemond lowered his chin to look at her. “Take one.” Now it was his turn to deliver the orders.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting between him and the cakes.

“If anyone reprimands you I’ll feed them to my dragon.”

Her expression ignited. “Alright,” she said with a sly smile.

They devoured the rest of their cakes and shared the remaining one. She insisted that he should have the other candied lemon.

“Do you really feed people to your dragon?” she asked, wiping the crumbs from her mouth.

Aemond licked the sugar from his fingers. “I’ve not done it yet.”

She seemed stunned at his answer, then she giggled. “Yours is the big one, isn’t it?”

“Vhagar. She was Queen Visenya’s mount during the Conquest.”

“I see her sometimes, flying over the city.”

“She is too large for the Dragon Pit,” Aemond explained, “she nests along the shore of the bay.”

“And roams where she pleases?”

“Never too far from me.”

“No,” she said, her voice wilting, “of course.”

He suddenly wondered what this sad, sweet girl kneeling beside him would do if she had a dragon. He could picture her on Dreamfyre, the mount of his sister. Helaena adored flying and would often guide her dragon to glide above the waters of Blackwater Bay and the hills surrounding King’s Landing. This girl would take her dragon further, he thought, she would soar up above the clouds. Perhaps she would take her dragon over the seas, to Essos, to the Summer Isles, to the far corners of the world.

He did not flinch from her when she offered him a towel and patted his skin dry. She fetched his clothes from the other room, the awful room where he could not breathe, buttoning his shirt with swift fingers, doing up the buckles on his jerkin.

She was not much shorter than he was. She stood close enough that he could smell the lemon cake on her fingers, and there was something sweeter and richer underneath. It made him think of fresh fruit and vanilla, rose petals and nightblooms.

Her eyes drew slowly up from his collar to his face, to the wound slicing through the space where his eye once was.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

He was no stranger to pain. It had persisted since the incident itself, stinging and shooting through his skull. It once made him cower like a child, but of late it had lulled into more of a passing irritation. Had the extent of the pain subsided, or was he simply used to it now? “Sometimes,” he said. 

“How did it happen?”

The years had passed quickly since then. He remembered the joy he felt flying before the moon and the stars over Driftmark on Vhagar, the faces of his nephews and cousins in the dark. He spat cruelties at them. They shoved him, punched him, kicked him. He remembers the taste of his own blood, the crack of Lucerys’ nose under his knuckles, the dust in his eye and then a pain like fire piercing through to his brain.

Three years and he still felt clumsy in his movements. He would often lose his balance or misjudge his steps. He would miss objects as he went to reach for them, and he was still not quite used to turning his head so that he could see past his blind side.

He’d never had to say it out loud before, not all of it. It had been enough for Lord Commander Westerling to find his face covered in blood and the remains of his eye. He had told his father he had been attacked, but it went unheard to the pleas of innocence by the bastards and their mother. The maesters studied his wound. Cole told him he could regain his strength if he worked for it. Everyone else tended to avert their eyes altogether.

She was looking at it, trailing her fingertips over the edges of his scar and the twisted flesh of his eyelids. 

“It was the night I claimed Vhagar. I was returning to Hightide and they came at me, Jace, Luke, Laena’s daughters–” he suddenly realised these names meant nothing to her, but she did not seem discouraged.

“Go on,”

“Rhaena, well, Vhagar was her mother’s dragon. She wanted her, but I claimed her first. I was not afraid of them. Baela struck me first. Then Jace and Luke came at me, and Jace had a knife.”

She breathed a small gasp.

“Luke took up the knife. It all happened very quickly.”

“They did that to you, over a dragon?” She said, trailing her touch lower, over his cheek. 

He remembered the cool surface of the rock in his hand, hovered over Jace’s head. One of the girls shook her head, begging him to stop. And he did—  or he was going to stop…

That’s when Luke had slashed the blade at him.

“I was weak,” he said, brushing her hand away from his face. “It’ll never happen again.”

She tilted her head at him. Her eyes were glassy, like she might cry. Guilt tugged in his chest. He had not wished to upset her.

Then she took a quick breath and went to take up his cloak and his eyepatch. He placed them both on, covering his silver hair with his hood.

She beckoned him to follow with her fingers. They weaved through the close corridors and the few women and men they passed, some fully dressed, some wearing nothing at all. It felt ridiculous and somewhat unbelievable to see how unashamed they all were, women with their breasts out, men with their cocks hanging between their legs. 

His stomach turned again.

He reached for the girl’s hand. Her head whipped around and she held onto him, firmly. He didn’t want to lose sight of her, he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in this place.

Neither of them let go when they reached the doors. People were passing though so they kept close to the wall, face-to-face. 

“Can you find your way back to the Keep from here?” she said, only having to whisper.

Aegon had long since disappeared. Aemond had rarely been out into the city, save to accompany his mother to the Sept, or his siblings to the Dragon Pit. He was alone now, no guards, no wheelhouse, but the Red Keep with its turrets, battlements and flickering lights in the windows would not be difficult to locate. He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?” 

“For what happened to you.”

His stomach turned again, less nauseating, more unsettling, uncertain. He supposed this would be the last time he saw her.

“Will you be alright, here?” he said.

She took in a sharp breath and she frowned as though she were in pain. “Yes. The madam is good to me. She keeps me fed and clean.”

But the things they must make her do…

“Go, return to your royal castle and your servants,” she said with a grin. “Far better that I am here and not starving in some gutter.”

So he did. He slipped through the door, his last memory of her being obscured by shadows, perhaps that’s why he could not recall the details of her face. 

Walking through the streets of King’s Landing, he had never felt so aware of his body, his skin under his clothes, shifting over his bones. His limbs felt slightly numb, his feet moving of their own will while his mind… was clouded. His head felt heavy and the noises around him were distant. No one paid any mind to the boy trudging over the dirt and cobbles, but he felt the eyes of the gods on him and it made him shiver. They had seen his sins. What if his mother knew where he had been, the things he had done? He imagined her brown eyes, filled with disgust rather than grief.

He could not look at Aegon for weeks afterwards. He shied away from his mother’s touch, especially on his legs, his knees. In the Sept he begged the gods to forgive him. He begged to forget it.

Years went by. Some nights when he felt a certain tension in his stomach and a stirring in his breeches, he’d think of it, the heat and sweat and incense. And after there was no relief, just an emptiness in his chest.

He could wash it all away, with drops of lavender and rosemary oil in his bath, with sugar scrubbed into his skin.

If there was one thing he wished to remember of that night, it was her. He still thought of that girl, a face obscured in shadow, when the servants brought out lemon cakes after supper, when Helaena insisted on walking through the gardens at sunset and the air was sweet with nightblooms. She pointed them out to him, the silvery white flowers growing in the leafy green bushes lining the path, their petals like little moons in the foliage. 

“How curious are these,” Helaena had said one evening, “they retract in sunlight, but in darkness they flourish.”

Daylight dies with a golden sunset and night blooms with a sky of red and indigo clouds. 

The King’s body is now ash. Sunfyre had the honour of being the dragon to do it. It was a hasty affair, in the hours after Aegon’s coronation, when the chaos at the Dragon Pit still had their family and the Small Council stunned to silence. Aegon wore the steel crown as they stood on a cliff over the bay, waiting for him to give the order. The heads of his mother and his sister hung heavy, but Aemond did not avert his gaze from the flames. He felt the heat on his face, seeping through his skin. 

At long last, his father is gone. Aemond has not wept for him, nor does he feel a desire to. His father was once a young man, well loved, so he is told, but to Aemond he was always a frail old man. Save for the few times he ever proved his strength, and even then his strength was only ever resolved for his dearest child. 

Rhaenys will have made it to Dragonstone within a matter of hours, and Aegon’s ascension will not come without consequence. 

On the morrow he will fly for Storm’s End and secure the allegiance of Lord Borros Baratheon. His mother has assured him this will be a simple enough feat, swords for a marriage pact with one of the Baratheon girls, but a crucial one. His brother will not hold the throne long without Lords to uphold his claim and men to fight for it. 

He wonders if the Stormlands will live up to their name; how dull the entire affair will be if it only amounts to flying Vhagar through a downpour of rain. This is the war his mother and grandsire wish to fight, with letters and diplomacy. He is sure the dragons will become restless soon enough. Rhaenyra has been steadfastly sure of her own importance her entire life, and with Daemon at her side, she will not bend the knee without a challenge.

And what of Aegon, is he ready to fight for his crown?

When Viserys breathed his last and the pieces were all finally in play, Aegon had not been where he needed to be. Not in his rooms, not within the walls of the castle. He was squandering his duties, evading the position he was born to, as he always has done. Aemond himself was the one to drag him from the streets of King’s Landing to the Red Keep. Cole had spent hours with him, convincing him to take up the crown rather than fleeing on a ship across the Narrow Sea, to Pentos, to Yi Ti, some far corner of the world where the burden of being their father’s son would not weigh so heavily on his shoulders. 

The first place Aemond had thought to look for his brother proved to be a fruitless endeavour. The establishment was a familiar one, and with every step he took along the Street of Silk his memories phased into reality. The knocker on the door was the same. The madam was the same, the same long, auburn hair, the same gold jewellery, the same knowing smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. 

“The Prince is not here,” she had said. “His tastes are known to be less discriminating.” Of course. Aegon could pay for the most expensive, sweetly perfumed whores in all of King’s Landing, but instead he sullies himself with the scum of Fleabottom, rolling around in the dirt like a pig.

The madam’s gaze then turned to Aemond. She remarked how he had grown. It felt an obvious thing to say. He was no longer the child he was when Aegon first brought him there.

While he and Cole wandered the city in search of his wastrel of a brother, a thought passed through his mind. He thought of a face in the shadows of the brothel, steam rising, gentle hands, the scent of lavender, rosemary, rose, nightblooms…

She could have been there, on the other side of the door, within the walls of the establishment. She would be a woman just as he was now a man. Or she might have left years ago, to a better life, or perhaps a worser fate. Are the lives of the smallfolk not meant to be brutish and short? 

A hollowness settles in his chest, restless and hungry, like it’s writhing under his skin. He paces his chambers, reads until the hearth has died and the sky beyond the windows is black, but sleep will not come to him.

In the hour of the wolf, he dons a cloak and retraces his steps.

Men are all the same. They strut into the establishment like peacocks, with an ego that outweighs their purse. They flash a few coins and ask for wine rather than ale, a symptom of refined taste. They run their hands over her body, her waist, her hips and her rear as though she should be grateful for their attention. They tell her uninteresting stories while they drink themselves into a stupor. They convince themselves that it is their charm and decent looks that have her leading them to a bed in a quiet corner of the pleasure house, or falling to her knees and undoing the laces on their breeches. The truth is that she will do what is asked of her, so long as they have gold. It is only motions of the body, and afterwards she can wash it all away. 

Until the next night… and then the next… and then the next…

Madam Sylvi has promised her to a Lannister tonight, a man of Lord Tyland’s household, no doubt paid well by the family he serves. He is supposed to be waiting for her but first she must pretty herself for him. She wears a gown of blood red that bares her back and her arms, that will easily fall away with the undoing of a clasp at her neck. She lets her hair fall freely and tints her lips and cheeks with rosewater. Finally she dabs her perfume into her wrists, her neck, on the insides of her ankles, a scent she has worn for years, sweet, rich and floral.

She descends the stairs by the door. At the darkest time of night the pleasure house is alive. Music hums over the laughter, the moans, the cries. The air is thick with the sourness of alcohol and the smell of sweat and sex.

A man with silver hair stands in the entrance hall, Sylvi beside him. They speak with their heads close together, as familiars? As lovers? Sylvi strokes his arm affectionately, with a look glinting in her eye that means she intends to bleed this Targaryen of all the gold he has.

It does not sink in until he looks up, his single eye meetings hers. He wears an eyepatch over his left eye, dark leather obstructing his hair and pale skin.

The eyepatch… it cannot be…

Sylvi had always said men come here to take their pleasure on their own terms. This had not seemed to be the case when last she laid eyes upon Prince Aemond. She had seen them enter, the young Princes, one taller, merrier, with purple wine stains in the corners of his mouth. The other was solemn faced and unsure, ushered into the arms of the madam before she led him upstairs. Sylvi had other patrons to attend to once the deed was done, leaving the burden of caring for the young Prince on her equally young shoulders.

She still remembers him hunched over himself and shivering, the distant look in his eye, frozen in a single moment of time. The most she had been offered after her first time was a cup of moon tea and an order to change the sheets for the next patron.

It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely?

“Her,” the Prince says, “I will have her.”

Her heart drops. She has reached the end of the steps and freezes, looking to Sylvi for instruction. Anticipation stirs in her gut, somewhere between terror and curiosity.

“I’m afraid she has been spoken for tonight, but I would be glad to–”

“I will pay double what any other man has promised,” Aemond says with an air of finality. This is an offer that cannot be refused. Perhaps the minor Lord will be disgruntled, but he will be compensated generously. Defying a Prince is treason. 

While Sylvi has gone to deal with the outbidded Lord, her legs carry her down the last few steps until she is face to face with Prince Aemond.

He is taller for a start, at least a head above her. His hair is longer, his face is slimmer and sharper, his lips are settled into a slight pout. He carries himself differently, proudly. Her eyes move over his leathers under his cloak. She is not meant to admire the men who seek her services. She is meant to take their coin and fulfil their desires.

“Some wine, my Prince?” she asks, nodding towards the inner chamber, the heart of the pleasure house where the musicians play and bodies mingle out in the open or behind drawn curtains. 

He offers her a cryptic “hmm,” and follows her inside.

One of the other girls stands in a corner, carrying a tray of full cups. She passes one to Aemond, his fingertips brushing over her skin as he takes it. 

The Prince studies his surroundings like a hunter looking for quarry, lips quirked, jaw tight, somewhat amused but silent. Something tells her he has not returned to the pleasure house in the years since his first visit. This is all unfamiliar to him. He sips his wine and takes a slow breath. No doubt he will prefer somewhere a little more secluded.

She takes his hand and weaves through the room, to one of the adjacent chambers lit by candlelight, large enough to fit a bed and little else.

With the curtains drawn the other sounds fade into nothing. She takes Aemond’s wine and sets it aside, coming to stand before him.

She keeps waiting for him to lean into her, to grab greedily at some part of her flesh, to claim her lips with his. Instead he stands stoically, his chest rising and falling from underneath the thick leather of his tunic.

“Are you not awfully warm, my Prince?” she says in a honeyed voice, one she has practised for years that usually feeds the lie she actually wants what’s about to happen. She trails her fingertips over the shiny silver buckles that conceal him from her, his body stiffening under her touch.

She takes a breath to steady the erratic beat of her heart and the wanting stirring in her belly. It is not often that her own forwardness seems out of place. 

She remembers the boy with silver hair. She remembers the scowl on his face, how it melted into confusion and fear. He had needed patience then and she was happy to give it. Because she was ordered to. Because she pitied him. Perhaps because she recognised something in his expression and the way he seemed unsure in his own skin.

She places a hand on his shoulder, testing the waters of how close she can get to him. He does not protest. His nose twitches as he inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “Perhaps we should make ourselves more comfortable?” she says.

He places his hand over hers, guiding it to the top buckle at his collar. His expression is stern, his face bathed in golden candlelight and the shadows caught in the angles of his face. His eye is somehow soft but intent.

Undressing him is not to be rushed. She takes her time with every buckle on his jerkin and pushes it slowly from his shoulders. She untucks his undershirt from his breeches and he pulls it over his head. His skin is smooth, mostly unmarred, save for a small scar in the crook of his elbow that had not been there the last time they met. He is all muscle, lean and lithe. She places her palms at his chest and lets them drag down his abdomen, to the waist of his breeches.

He holds her wrists to stop her.

She looks to his eye, terrified that she might have overstepped.

Instead he kisses her. It’s gentle and chaste, his hand against the bare skin of her back, pulling her against his body. When she teases his tongue with hers he chases it, only for the kiss to become messy and clumsy. She cannot bring herself to dislike his inexperience.

“Wait,” she says, pulling away, putting her hands on either side of his jaw. “Follow my lead,” she whispers, leaning in to capture his lower lip between hers. They find a rhythm then. She shows him to move slowly, to be firmer. As their kiss deepens she allows herself to melt into his arms. Her hips are rocking against his, his hand trailing over her skin until he finds the clasp of her dress. The material falls away as simply as it should, leaving her bare before him.

He studies her the same way he studied the room. How many men have laid eyes on her since she came to this place? Too many to count, insignificant men, who have no names or faces in her memory. She has no shame in her nakedness, but there has never been any doubt in her mind that those men found her desirable. Being under Aemond’s scrutiny makes her tremble. She wonders if the sight of her pleases him. He has enough gold and enough pride to be selective. 

He had asked for her though. Why?

He’s staring at her. “They crowned my brother today,” he says.

It is not what she was expecting to hear. “I saw.”

“You were there?”

“No.” The gold cloaks did not empty the whorehouses when they were ordered to fill the Dragonpit with witnesses for the King’s coronation.

Aemond’s attention is on her body now. He reaches for her arm, tracing circles over her skin with his thumb.

She had not seen the King himself but she had seen the crowds flocking. She had heard the tremendous noise of crumbling stone, people screaming, a dragon’s screech. “I saw the dragon. People say it is an omen.”

Aemond’s face darkens but his attention is still on his own hand, now at her waist. With the other he pulls the eyepatch from his head and tosses it towards his discarded shirt. She does not get much of a chance to refresh her memory of his maimed eye before he leans into her again. His lips are at her shoulder, then her neck and it leaves her utterly weightless. 

“Your perfume is the same,” he mutters into her skin.

He remembers.

Aemond seems content enough following her lead. He lets her slip his breeches past his hips and take him into her mouth. He lets her sit atop him and grind her core against his hardened cock until her peak washes over her, blissful and warm.

When he starts to buck his hips and dig his fingertips into her hips she decides to give him respite. She sinks herself onto him with a soft sigh. It is a rare opportunity to chase a feeling rather than letting herself go through a rehearsed set of motions. 

His eye moves between her face and the space where their bodies meet, as if he cannot decide which is more fascinating. She is pleasantly surprised when he places his thumb at her pearl and circles over her sensitive flesh.

She loses herself in it, how deep he reaches, pleasure rising and tightening until it releases suddenly, violently. She falls forwards on her hands to steady herself. 

Before long Aemond lifts her off his cock, finishing himself with a stuttering groan and his seed dripping through the folds of her cunt.

He holds her close, caging her in his arms and bringing her into his chest. There’s a numbness that follows pleasure and she cannot bring herself to care that he is crushing her ribs. It doesn’t matter. She basks in the heat of his skin and the smell of him. 

He makes good on his promise of payment. The purse of coins he leaves on the bed before he leaves is worth ten nights with any other patron. 

There is less pretence the next time he visits her.

It is only a day later. He comes in the middle of the night, his hair, coat and leather gloves soaked, but there is no rain in King’s Landing. They tear at each other’s clothes and kiss like starved dogs devouring scraps. Aemond holds her by her jaw and her neck. When she draws his teeth over his lip he grins.

Once he is bare she realises his skin is cold and he is shivering.

“You should sit before a fire and warm up properly–”

“No,” he insists, “I just want you.”

She chases her pleasure once more, Aemond’s hands bruising into her hips as he thrusts up to meet her, the coldness of his palms seeping through her skin. This newfound urgency is thrilling and she finds herself curling over her body as her peaks tears through her.

Aemond is not finished with her yet. He positions her beneath him, spreading her legs apart with two wide palms before fucks her with a brutal precision, and he does not stop until he has reached his own end, painting her belly and the tops of her thighs.

After, he takes her into his arms, positioning them both so that he lies under her arm with his head nestled on her chest, between her breasts. She strokes her fingertips through his damp hair, over his skin, all the places where lovers touch each other, his cheek, his neck, underneath his ear, his shoulder. With his arm draped over her stomach he clings to her like he may never know such intimacy again. His skin is still cold and yet she holds him close, determined that she will draw some warmth from him.

Hours pass. Days could pass and she’d be content to lie with him.

“The dragon was an omen, you said,” he mutters.

It takes her a moment to rouse herself. Her eyes had closed, her mind half asleep. “That’s what people are saying. A coronation marred by death must surely only lead to more death.”

She feels his arm tighten over her stomach.

“You’re cold,” she says.

“I was instructed to fly to the Stormlands.”

“Why?”

“To secure the support of Lord Baratheon. He has pledged his banners to my brother’s cause and in return I am to wed his daughter.”

His state suggests to her that he has not yet returned to the Red Keep.

“Is there to be a war?” she says. 

He remains frozen for a few moments.

“I believe war may now be inevitable,” he says. She feels his lips brushing over her skin.

“How so?” she says on a quiet breath.

“A boy is dead because of me.”

The coldness of Aemond’s body has decidedly taken root within her, like a fist closing over her heart and throat.

“Lucerys was there, at Storm’s End. Lord Borros shunned him from the hall but I… it wasn’t enough. I pursued him on Vhagar. His dragon is nothing to her, they didn’t stand a chance.”

She is not sure she wishes to hear of this, but a new kind of stillness has settled over her. She is too afraid to move, to disturb him. 

“He is the one who took your eye,” she says.

Aemond hums. “He never paid for what he did to me. My father was more concerned with the slanders against my sister than he was with me, with my blood spilled by my own kin.”

She closes her eyes, imagining the little boy from all those years ago is curled up in her arms. She runs her fingers through his hair, undoing the knots and tangles. She cradles his head in her arms so he knows he is not alone.

“His debt is paid now, I suppose,” Aemond says.

It is in the early hours of the morning when he finally leaves, the first glimpses of sunrise chasing night from the sky. She helps him dress and fastens his eyepatch over his head. He leaves another purse in her palm, a more than generous amount. 

He comes to her nightly. He is an unhurried lover and fucks her slowly, hovering his lips above hers so that they share the same air, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together as if he wishes to smother her, or else crawl under her skin. She’d let him do it.

It is not simply her body he wants. When they are done he wants to be held, and then his thoughts slip from between his lips. 

He had not expected to return to the Red Keep a hero for slaying his nephew, but now he says his mother can hardly look at him. His grandsire, the Hand of the King scorns him for his recklessness, for his impulse for violence that now means the false Queen may strike at any moment. Vhagar circles the city during the day, she sees the dragon when she goes to the market. Aemond insists that his dragon could make short work of destroying any other who would seek to oppose her, but Rhaenyra has dragons to spare. He sits in meetings of the Small Council and watches in despair as the Hand and the Dowager Queen advocate for patience and diplomacy. 

“We should be marching,” he says one night, tracing his fingertips over her stomach. “We should secure the support of the Crownlands, adding their numbers to our host. Rhaenyra is isolated enough on Dragonstone, but we could cut her off from her allies completely.”

“And none would stand against you and Vhagar,” she says. Assuring him has become a learned skill these last few weeks.

“Alicent wishes for me to remain here, to deter an attack on the city.”

“That is sound logic,” she says. “The people of King’s Landing will be grateful for your protection.”

Aemond hums irritatedly.

“I for one would despair at the loss of our Prince,” she adds, ghosting her lips over his cheek, where his scar cuts through his skin.

For a little while he entertains her, turning his head to kiss her properly. She slips her hand between their bodies, taking hold of his hardening cock. He melts into her, chasing his pleasure as she strokes him.

“I am ready for more,” he says breathlessly. “I’m ready to fight.”

“As you have proved,” she says, coming to kiss his throat. 

In a single breath he is above her, pinning her hands by her head. He positions himself against her, rocking his hips so his leaking tip pushes against her pearl. He knows this about her now, how to draw her pleasure from her body. “Storm’s End was no battle,” he hisses into her ear. “Luke was a child. I want fire and blood.”

“Your time will come,” she says, her voice catching in her throat as he quickens his pace.

“The war must be inevitable,” he pants, “the realm will realise it soon enough. Aegon is the King and yet he is hostage to those with weaker wills.”

“You are his brother,” she sighs as Aemond slips lower to her entrance. “You can convince him to act–”

“Not now,” Aemond says, pushing into her with one sudden thrust. “Just take it, that’s it…”

He fucks her slowly, deeply, with his face buried into her neck. His desperation fuels her own desire, his hot breath against her ear, his pants and his groans. When he is finished he does not leave her wanting, trailing his lips and tongue down her body, her chest, her stomach, driving her towards her own peak with his lips and tongue.

“My grandfather takes my aspirations as insolence,” Aemond mutters to himself as he dresses. “He thinks me weak. He thinks I am still a child.”

“Then he is a fool,” she says, still buried beneath the throw on the bed.

“My mother and grandfather seized the throne, now they will not do what needs to be done to hold it.”

“Perhaps they fear what a war might bring.”

Aemond tuts. “The first blood has been drawn.”

“Do you not…” she pauses when he looks at her, his eye wide, anticipating something he will not wish to hear. “What if Rhaenyra comes for you? What if she seeks vengeance for her son?”

Aemond smiles like he has a secret and stalks slowly towards the bed, her stomach tightening in anticipation. 

In some ways, Aemond terrifies her. He has a presence of danger and bloodlust which fades away when she peels away the layers of his leathers. Without his eyepatch, in the warmth of the candlelight, he is the picture of Valyrian beauty, a man who belongs in histories and legends, not the living, breathing realm she exists in. 

He leans into her, taking her chin between his fingers to kiss her. She relishes it for as long as she can, knowing it won’t be enough to charm him back into the bed.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket for a purse of coins. “Let her try,” he says as he places it beside her, “but I will not be easily ended.”

The girls all share chambers, bedrooms and a washroom with basins and baths. She rises early in the morning to bathe, to drop her lavender and rosemary oils into the tub and scrub away the remnants of last night. Before, she would not allow herself to fall asleep until she was clean. Lately she finds an odd sense of comfort in the reminders of her royal patron. Her skin is littered with love bites and bruises, her neck, her collar, her breasts. It shouldn’t be like this. Usually she does what she can to forget the men she has been with.

They share their duties. This morning she is to help wash the bed linens, and find cheap grain and cuts of meat from the markets.   

The clothes she wears are modest, covering her arms and her neck, unflattering to her figure. Some people still eye her with disgust, with hatred. You can always spot a whore. What can strangers know of her? Can they see through her skin and see her sins as the gods judge them all from the seven heavens? It was not as if she had chosen this path for herself out of an endless number of possibilities. 

Sometimes she remembers the life she had before, a woman’s laugh, a particular taste on her tongue, a tune humming in the back of her mind she can’t quite piece together. She used to think the gods had forsaken her, but now she thinks they do not concern themselves with the lives of people like her. So she finds little point in looking to the past, of imagining a future for herself. She survives and that is enough.

Summer is nearing its end. There is no warmth to be found in sunlight obscured by clouds. People walk quickly, keeping their belongings in deathly grips. A woman with a babe in her arms begs the baker to accept one copper instead of five for a loaf of bread. A man despairs that the apothecaries cannot offer him a medicinal herb from Lys for his sickly daughter. The shipping lanes are blocked by the Velaryon Fleet holding the Gullet, and no ship can get in or out of King’s Landing. A woman cries for her son, a rat catcher, his body hanging from the walls of the Red Keep. 

She gets what she needs to, grain she will bring back to the kitchens for the cook to turn into plain tasting flatbread. A butcher sells her tough cuts of beef for a reasonable price to go into a stew. He worries that there have been no imports of salt or sugar. How is the city meant to preserve food for the fast approaching winter? 

“It’s the fucking war,” he grumbles, “why can’t the King just burn the ships so the rest of us can eat?”

In the distance she hears drums, the clatter of horse hooves against the cobbles. She keeps her basket tightly on her arm, not stopping to make eye contact with the people she passes, past the stalls, mules, the buckets of sewage and dirty water falling from windows above her head.

As she emerges from one of the side streets her way is suddenly blocked by masses of people. She had guessed some sort of procession was afoot. This is no celebration, it is lamentation. People weep and wail around her, a mass mourning that she does not understand, and yet she feels it in her chest and behind her eyes, an urge to cry.

Over the sea of bodies before her she sees two women in an open carriage, richly dressed with black veils over their faces. Petals fall from windows and footbridges. People cry the name of Queen Helaena and Dowager Queen Alicent. 

She finds a small ledge to lift herself onto at the base of a statue. What she sees could stop her heart. This is a funeral procession. Queen Helaena’s carriage follows the body of her son, wrapped in a green and gold shroud, with flowers woven into his white hair. For a moment she tells herself the boy is an effigy, that he could be made from wax or porcelain. 

“Behold the work of Rhaenyra Targaryen!”

The whispers follow her as she scurries back to the pleasure house. The Prince was slain in his sleep. Two assassins cut his head from his body. They made his mother and twin sister watch. 

Bile rises in her throat as she hands cook the cuts of meat, blood seeping through the wrappings. She swallows it down.

When Aemond comes to her that night he is more subdued than usual. He pulls her into his arms and she strokes her hand over his hair.

“My nephew is dead,” he utters. He sheds no tears, he seems confused more than anything.

Rhaenyra’s retribution had come then, swift and brutal, a son for a son. 

She undresses him but he leans away when she tries to kiss him. They lie back on the bed and Aemond settles his head on her shoulder.

“My brother is in a rage and wants Rhaenyra dead. My sister has not left her rooms; I tried to go to her but she would not speak to me,” he says.

“How did it happen?”

“There were two. One was a gold cloak. They found him at the gate of the gods with Jaehaerys’ head in a sack. He confessed the other was a rat catcher.” 

Now the bodies of a hundred men hang by their necks, though only one of them is guilty.

“Daemon sent them to kill me,” Aemond says, “but I was out.”

She rests her fingers at the pulsepoint on his wrist to remind herself his heart is still beating. “You were with me,” she says. She feels the guilt weighing in her chest. While she and Aemond had kissed and fucked and held each other, a boy had a lost his life, the very body she had seen paraded through the streets.

“In truth I am proud that he considers me such a foe, that he would seek to murder me in my bed.”

She cannot tell if she admires him for it or not, to gamble with life as though it means nothing.

Aemond is watching her, his hair loose and framing his face. “Do you think he fears me?”

She has never seen Aemond wield a blade. She’s never seen him ride his dragon, not up close. She’s never seen him fight with his fists. She’s never seen him slur his words and throw away threats in a drunken argument. He is always composed. He is always softly spoken, and in a way that terrifies her more than it should. They say the blood of the dragon runs hot. Aemond’s blood does not seem to burn, rather it simmers under the surface of his skin. 

“Perhaps he fears what else you might be capable of.”

Aemond is the closest she has ever seen him to tears. His eyelashes are damp and heavy, his seeing eye vibrantly blue and glassy. “You think me a monster,” he utters.

She could never say it, could she? But this is a man who took the life of his own kin as a reparation for his eye. Violence is carved into his face, beautiful, set with a gemstone, but it is there nonetheless. 

She brushes her fingertips over his cheek and plants a delicate kiss to his lips. After only a few moments he shrugs her off and repositions himself, curling into her lap like a child, clinging to her limbs and the fabric of her gown. 

“I lost my temper that day,” he says. “I should have known Vhagar would not relent. I am sorry for it.”

Her blood runs cold. Should she be glad to hear he is remorseful? He may not be a cold hearted killer, but destruction lives at his fingertips. 

She reaches for his hand and he takes it. His touch is gentle and hesitant. “There was no justice in what happened to you,” she says, “blood has paid for blood…” but where does it end? With Lucerys? With Jaehaerys? With the next?

Aemond says nothing. She feels his tears slip onto her legs, his fingernails forming crescents in her skin.

Remorse will not return Rhaenyra’s son to her, it will not bring back the little Prince paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.

She clings to him, hoping she can ease whatever torment plagues him, and banish what darkness consumes him.

She never tires of the sight of him. His body bare, his hair tied away from his face, the uneven edges of his sapphire glinting in the lowlight, laid out beneath her. She runs her hands over his chest, tracing the lines that are familiar to her now. “I want to taste you,” she says sweetly, knowing he’ll already be desperate for her. 

He hums quietly to himself. By the slight smile threatening to break in the corners of his mouth, she knows he is content.

“On your knees then,” he says, and positions himself to sit at the end of the bed.

She runs her tongue over his length first, finishing with a teasing lick at the tip where he’s already weeping. She takes him into her mouth gradually, pushing a little deeper with every bob of her head. He is her Prince, he takes his pleasure from her and holds her hair from her face but it is she who sets the pace, who revels in his moans as his mind lulls. 

But he pulls her head away by her hair before he finishes. Suddenly she’s on her back and he’s kneeling over her with his fist moving furiously over his cock. He reaches for her breast and squeezes. In the morning when she bathes, she’ll look at the bruises and remember how he touches her. Her own had slips between her legs, tracing circles over her pearl at the thought.

This pleases Aemond. His brow hardens and his jaw falls. “Fuck, are you going to finish with me?” he whispers.

She nods in reply, her breath catching as a whimper in her throat. 

His grip on her breast tightens. She winces at the pain and it only fuels her own pleasure. She succumbs to her senses, chasing the feeling in her gut that only wants for release. Her fingers work frantically over her wet and wanting cunt.

“Make yourself come for me, that’s it,”

She obeys him with a cry, her body reduced to a shaking, dazed mess as Aemond reaches his own end. She watches his seed spurt from his cock, warm as it paints her skin.

He has habits, she’s noticed. He does not spill inside her. Of course, with the nature of the establishment there is no shortage of moontea, but she never questions him when he removes himself. He prefers to see it on her skin. 

Targaryen bastards are not uncommon in King’s Landing, commoners with silver hair. It is said Prince Aegon himself has sired many on the women of Fleabottom. Perhaps the idea is distasteful to Prince Aemond. He is discreet. He does not bring drinking companions with him to the pleasure house and he keeps his hood up as he enters and exits. 

He takes a cloth and wipes his seed from her skin. She bites back another jolt of anticipation in her spine. She would take more from him, but instead he lies beside her, curling into her embrace, tucking his head into her chest. 

He could fuck her quickly and be done with it, it would be more efficient. He could take a different girl each time. He could have one brought up to the castle. Yet since the day of the King’s Coronation he has found his way into her arms to her each night. In these quiet moments she lets herself think there is a reason for it.

They trace their fingertips over each other’s skin and he tells her things she shouldn’t know, that the King has named a new Hand in Ser Criston Cole, that while Queen Alicent seeks to avoid open war, Aegon wants to fly headfirst into it.

“It’s not his place. He’ll not stand a chance against Meleys or Caraxes.”

The names are strange to her. Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke, a reminder that some Silk Street whore is not meant to understand the realm he exists in. Other times it feels like an honour, like he’s gifted her a part of himself, a glimpse into his mind.

“He is no warrior, but he wishes to live up to his namesake. He wants for glory alone; it is a reckless pursuit but he would risk his life for it.”

“He is the King, is it not his war to fight?” she says. 

“He is not capable of it,” Aemond says, “but I…”

It is not a thought he dares to finish.

King Aegon wears the crown of the Conqueror, or so people say. She’s never seen a real crown. She’s seen paper ones worn by the mummers in the square, and she’s seen girls wearing wreaths of flowers on their heads for the festival of spring. They are only delicate things. Real crowns are made of gold, silver and steel. As Aemond’s eye flutters shut he looks divinely peaceful, but unsettled where his sapphire continues to stare at her. She pictures a crown of spring flowers fashioned from steel and imagines it upon her Prince’s brow.

Footsteps thud upon the stone floor, too close to the curtain, closer than anyone should dare to come near. She lifts her head as it’s drawn back.

It takes a moment for them all to realise what’s happening. Several faces stare at her– at Aemond. One of the men has silver hair, shorter and choppier than Aemond’s. He bares his teeth as he grins.

She sees a flash of fury in Aemond’s face as he turns to face them.

The silver haired man starts to laugh, the sound shrill and unpleasant. His friends do not join him. “Aemond the fierce!” he cries, pointing, staring.

Ameond parts himself from her instantly. He retreats as far as the edge of the bed, hunched over himself, his knees in the crooks of his elbows. He keeps his head hung, not looking at the men and the leader of their pack. He does not look at her, he does not look at anything. 

She sees the child he once was, frightened and confused. 

The man staggers towards the bed, clearly half out of his mind by the smell of wine drifting from him when he perches on the bed. On instinct she covers her breasts, devastated to realise her robe is out of reach.

“And here I thought you were as chaste as a fucking septon! You know,” he says to his companions, “I brought him here for his first too. And how far you’ve come, curled in the arms of a whore like a greenboy!”

There’s a bite to his– the King’s words, a cruelty that only makes Aemond shrink further into himself. Her heart aches for him, that she cannot help him. 

“Are you tired, brother? Did you fuck her like a hound?” An idea he emphasises with an impersonation of a hunting dog.

Aemond doesn’t move or speak.

Still in hysterics, Aegon turns his gaze to her, unashamedly lingering on her chest and her legs. “Hard luck for your squire, Ser Martyn,” he says, drawing his tongue over his lips, “as pretty as this one is, she is very much occupied.”

His laughter is the only sound in the chamber and it pierces her skull. 

Aemond starts to shift. Helplessly she reaches out her hand, unsure of what it is she intends to do. He doesn’t take it. He doesn’t even look at her.

He stands before the King and his companions. His humiliation has melted away. In the place of the boy is a man who speaks calmly and clearly. “Your squire is welcome to her. One whore is as good as another.”

He strides from the chamber and she is entirely forgotten.

Or so she wishes that were true. There are still four men in her midst. And she is still, for all the hours she has spent in Aemond’s company, a whore in a pleasure house. 

I've kinda given up on taglists, sorry <3

A/n: I'm quite happy with this! I've been playing with the idea in my head for a few weeks, then I saw episodes 2 and 3 and it just had to happen. Would be very cool if you wanted to let me know what you think :)

[msfantasy-anime]

Why would I be jealous?

Monkey D. Luffy x Wife!Reader

Summary: a prompt provided by @matronofthevoid. Times when others expect Luffy to be jealous, versus times Luffy was actually jealous.

Part VIII

“Hey you’re gorgeous!” The drunkard slurred, hiccuping as he places a heavy hand on your shoulder.

You were two seconds away from committing unspeakable acts of violence but you recognise the man is barely coherent. So instead, you only sigh and wave him off.

The drunkard slouches sadly at your wordless rejection and begins to stumble off back to his table of friends who continue to hoot and holler.

Luffy continues to swallow clumps of food by the fistful - not taking any notice of the hoards of men that have approached you, Nami or Robin this whole evening; all whilst Sanji can’t stop watching the girls like a hawk. “This is unbelievable, how can you call yourself Y/n’s husband when you don’t even notice these filthy savages laying their dirty hands on your wife.” Sanji scolds his captain who’s finally paused from stuffing his face to swallow the lump of food stuck in his throat.

“Huh? What the heck are you talking about?” Luffy huffs- annoyed Sanji is interrupted his delectable feast.

“How can you not get jealous?! I would be driven insane if I saw anyone even glanced at my wife’s direction.” Sanji declares which makes Luffy’s eyes shoot out of his head.

“You’re married?!”

“No you idiot! I’m just saying if Y/n was my wife, I wouldn’t let anyone look, breath or even smile in her direction. But here you are stuffing your face whilst Y/n is harassed and hounded for her good looks.” Sanji spits venomously but Luffy doesn’t even spare a glance. Turning his attention back to his feast.

“I don’t get it.” Luffy he drawls, his brain going blank as he try’s to make sense of Sanji’s words.

Why would Luffy get jealous over other men having working eyes?

Brook places his tea-cup down on his saucer. “So I can ask to see her panties and you wouldn’t be jealous?” Brook asks, a twinkle of mischief in his … empty eye socket.

“No.” Luffy says stiffly.

“No? So I can ask her?” Brook asks - a glimmer of excitement making his heart race slightly… figuratively of course.

“No- I mean, don’t do it.” Luffy says pointedly, his serious voice taking over. Sanji lifts his brow.

“So you would get jealous of that?” Sanji taunts but Luffy shakes his head.

“No.”

The vein in Sanji’s forehead makes its return at his captains elusive words. “Why the hell not?”

“Because.” Luffy answers taking a hulking bite out of the meat stick, chewing slowly before swallowing the lump of flesh. “She’ll kill you.”

Now don’t get it wrong. It’s not like Luffy doesn’t get jealous. He certainly does, just not in ways other people expect.

It’s a brand new sunny day on the Thousand Sunny. The cloudless sky was inviting Luffy to come out to play - only for the day to start in chaos when you are no where to be found.

“Nami! Y/n fell overboard! I can’t find her anywhere!” Luffy shouts in a panic running in circles.

“Would you calm down!” Nami shouts back. “She’s swimming on the port side with Gimbe!” Dashing to the port side, Luffy flings himself onto the rail in a frenzied panic only to see you laughing and splashing about.

Luffy’s face sours to a childish pout. “Hey no fair, I wanna play too.” Luffy mumbles, his jutted chin sitting on the rail. “Hey Y/n! At the next island come explore with me!” Luffy suggests enthusiastically, only for you to turn him down.

“Sorry Stretch, Nami and Robin asked me to go shopping with them. Besides, I can’t keep wearing the same clothes everyday.” Luffy grumbles at the rejection.

“Fine! At least come have breakfast with me!” Luffy demanded only for you to smile back apologetically.

“… I kinda already ate though…” The gasp of betrayal that poured from Luffy’s throat was so tangible that you knew you had some making up to do.

[beaucate]

WITHERING PETALS.

SYNOPSIS. you weren’t normally as sensitive as withering petals, but balancing school and a personal life seemed harder said than done. . . (poly!marauders x reader) response to this request.

WARNINGS. angst. hurt/comfort. muggleborn!reader. reader is mentioned to be of a different house but not specified. reader described as fem but not specified. leg injuries. jealousy. ooc!sirius? Idk I made him a bit whiny here lol

A/N. Sorry this took so long :( life is always so busy and I’m forever grateful! But had to slow down since my creative juices kind of ran out for a moment. I put this through a website similar to grammarly to correct any mistakes and enhance descriptions; tell me if you like it!!

“No, darling. Quidditch has taken its toll on me this week.”

“Can’t do, angel. I love you, but I would rather not spend my weekend on studies.”

You didn’t even bother with asking Remus, knowing that the approaching of the full moon in a week would make you selfish to do so.

The skin of your nails was sore from the constant pulling and fidgeting; you weren’t normally so agitated. But you felt so helpless, as if nothing could possibly stick to your head — as if you were eleven again and seeing spells for the first time, knocking your thoughts unconscious.

They were blameless though, at least in your books. How could you possibly point an accusing finger at them for wanting to be alone? Even if it came at your own expense. But you couldn’t help but detect the sting that placed a home at your heart.

Blinking once, twice, your eyes grazed over the words on the thick book, fingers tracing each syllable with a mouthing of your lips. The atmosphere within the library was as heavy as the documents splattered carelessly over the table, and you wanted to scratch your head red at the sight.

“Are you alright?”

You jumped at the sudden calling, turning around to stare at a blond boy who’s gaze was heavy on you.

Dillon Abbott.

A male Hufflepuff who shared little to no classes with you, you only ever recognised him from his broom clashing against James’ from the quidditch games.

You nodded with a solemn smile, and you almost let the glazing of tears overwhelm your reddened cheeks. “Just a tad bit tired, is it obvious?”

He mimicked the tightness of your lips with amusement, eyes wandering over your tired features. Your hair was unkempt, strings and coils pointing to different directions despite the hair tie clenching them together. Two days worth of mascara clumped up beneath your eyes in a dotted manner, and your lips were plump and dehydrated.

And yet, Dillon could not stop staring.

“Beautiful as ever though, need some help?” He furrowed his brows as he read over the text near you, and you inwardly cringed at the proximity to which he’s near you.

You didn’t hear the cracks of the old wooden floors, nor the scent of herbs and chocolate that hadn’t registered through your nose yet.

And Remus found himself furious.

Days ago was when he’d last seen you. When any of the boys have if he were to be serious. They’d missed you, so dearly it ached their heart.

Sirius was the first to notice.

He’d woken up late as he normally does, and normally he’d be greeted with a sappy smile, and reddened cheeks that heated even further when he’d place a sloppy skin on the soft skin. But three days ago the sky seemed to be as dull as their dorm, and he’d pouted the whole 30 minutes it took him to get up from his bed.

“‘Anyone seen my darling girl? I’ve missed her face all day.” He grunted his way through the hall, a puckered lip and crinkled nose that had lily questioning if he were half dog.

No one bothered to answer the Black’s pleas, not even the whine that was present in his voice was enough to raise the other two boys’ awareness.

Sirius kept huffing till the next day, only seeing glimpses of you to which you dismissed him quickly of. He stood below the stands, watching as James’ jaw clenched and unclenched as he slammed a foot among the metal poles.

James was the second to notice.

His glasses were fogged up from the heat that has stretched itself on the apples of his cheeks, and so he deluded himself into that being the reason he could not see you when his match had started. The boy looked around, and the team stripped in yellow had taken advantage of his curiosity and slammed onto him with the tip of their brooms — splintering his ankle.

And yet, he held hope that he simply didn’t recognise you that day. It wasn’t until they’d tied with their opponents, a tick of his jaw present and eyes wandering aimlessly, did he take full notice of the stadium; your absence loud.

No teasing smile awaiting him, or cherry painted nails in his support to poke his ribs amusingly.

Sirius planted a hand on James’ back, squeezing it with a pitiful look. “Didn’t think we’d lose to the puffs, Merlin.”

James rolled his shoulder, shaking his head, a tantrum willed tone tracing his voice, “is she mad?” He huffed, casting a spell on his bruised ankle, “haven’t spotted her all week, and now she’s missed the game. Don’t think we’ve done anything to warrant that.”

The long haired boy scoffed, “she’s been studying her arse off for that test. She’s real smart, don’t know why I can’t get a hold of her.”

Remus furrowed his brows, watching them walk into the common room with misery carpeted on the lines of their faces. James’ eyes were welled up, and he’d harshly rubbed at his cheeks to gain awareness — refusing to succumb to tears. While Sirius’s bottom lips were puckered, though the tension planted in his fists was evident of his concern.

Remus stood up suddenly, grasping the wrinkled paper from the coffee table before leaving to where he knew you’d stayed. And that’s when he found himself glaring at the boy whose face inched too close to the rose coloured dangling earring he’d gifted you on your birthday.

Your jaw was clenched, and your glare was prominent as it landed on the three boys.

Remus had caused a scene, of course he did. He got the three of you kicked out after his voice aggravated beyond means. The librarian had sent a sharp glare at the three of you, dismissing you out of the library with a snarky remark that left your cheeks as bright as the gryffindor flag. Her pointed finger toward the door made your chest feel heavy with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything as the boys silently filed out, Remus giving you one last, apologetic glance before turning towards the door.

The common room was silent except for the heavy breathing of the group of you, filtering out the sound of the cackling fire.

Sirius’ brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He caught your eye for a moment before looking away, lips curling into a soft, unsure smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Once the door closed behind them, you slowly turned back to the table, your fingers lightly brushing over the map Remus had thrown carelessly onto the table.

You patted down the small portion of matted hair straying from your ponytail, a tired sigh slipping from your lips. The common room felt oppressive now, as if you hadn’t belonged there and the silhouette reflecting off the fire was highlighted onto the deep aches of your face, as if it had noticed that your discomfort was trying to swallow you whole.

There deep silence only bothered you for a temporary second, and then it was the sting. The hot, uncomfortable feeling of humiliation that rose across your chest, and how you felt as if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t have —despite their pitiful gazes saying otherwise.

There was so much unspoken tension, and it was beginning to eat away at your insides.

They cared. You could feel it when they were near you—the way they watched over you, the small twinge of James’ eyebrows when your legs shook from exhaustion. But when they pulled away, when they’d gotten distracted by quidditch or their own issues, it felt like you were just... left there, even if their intentions were as pure as daylight.

The desperation clung onto your throat like a mantra begging for its freedom; You wanted to call them back, to beg for their presence, to remind them that you still needed them—but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Something held you back, a small, nagging voice in your head telling you that maybe, just maybe, they needed to learn how to see you. Really see you. Not just as someone to check in on when it was convenient or when they noticed your absence.

“Merlin,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your eyes with your thumbs and palms resting on your flushed cheeks. This was unfair, you knew that. It had to be. But it didn’t make the ache in your chest go away. The loneliness that was felt when you were surrounded by them, or worse, when you were ignored by them.

The couch dipped, and this time you didn’t even need to crane your neck to know who it was. The familiar scent of wood of gel made your stomach flip, though it was more from frustration than anything else.

"Hey," James' voice cut through the silence, soft and unsure. He wasn’t quite sure if he should approach you— he hadn’t exactly been the most present lately. "Do you want to talk, lovey?"

You didn’t respond at first. Didn’t exactly know what to say. Instead, you leaned back into the soft pillows, crossing your arms over your chest in a quiet challenge. You weren’t angry at any of them, it was selfish to do, but you were tired — so terribly tired.

James lingered for a beat before moving closer in an awkward manner. The concern that was drawn on his face was unmistakable. His hand hovered near the edge your knitted sweater, his eyes searching your face for any sign of your thoughts.

"Listen, we’ve been stupid," James started, and you could hear the guilt that trickled in his voice. “We’ve been so wrapped up in ourselves-”

“we didn’t even stop to check on you. We shouldn’t have left you hanging like that.” Sirius interrupted, kneeling before you. His hands were rough, dry lines etching his palms, and yet; he grazed your bare knees with a softness that had your heart fluttering.

Your eyes flicked briefly to Remus’ observing eye, then back down to your lap. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” James countered, now so close to you, head lightly pushed down so that your eyes were at level. “It’s really not. And I... I don’t want you to feel like you’re carrying all of this on your own.”

Remus’ voice called from the chair he sat on, his usual sharp tone present, yet was laced with an undeniable gentleness. “James is right. We’re sorry. I’m sorry. We should’ve noticed sooner.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Not this genuine, earnest apology. You felt the knot in your chest loosen just a little, though it didn’t completely untangle from the fragile touch of your bones. Their behaviour still nagged on until it hurt, but his words were a buffer, a reminder that they did care — even if they hadn’t always shown it.

“Don’t apologize,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to feel this vulnerable, as if you were a burden, when you knew they would go to the ends of the earth if it meant being back your smile. “I’ve been... I’ve been difficult, too.”

"Don’t ever think that," Sirius said, his hands cupping your chin tenderly, thumb caressing your hot skin. His eyes softened as they met yours, voice taking on that deep, sincere tone you rarely heard from him. "You’re not difficult, love. You’re… important. And we should’ve made more of an effort to show you that. To make sure you’re okay. You deserve more than... than this."

There was a pregnant silence that followed, the tension slowly melting between the four of you as they each found their way to be near you. Remus, who had followed after the others, leaned against the hand of the couch, palms grasping yours, and his eyes dark with concern, though there was a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips.

“We’ve been idiots, and we’ll to make it right,” Remus said gently, his words a soft promise. “But we’re here now, and forever and ever, and we’ll stay as long as you need us.”

It was the first time in days that you felt like you could breathe again. You didn’t feel so alone, and you could feel your lips tugging upwards when James’ frames made contact with your fluttering lashes, lips leaving a wet tinge on your brows. “You can start by brushing my hair.”

[eviiesstuff]

"You say it's big, but you take it."

Hi loves, this is my first time properly writing one of these, so feedback is totally welcomed. I take requests if you have anything specific for the next one, and it would be appreciated so I have more inspo on what to write, so feel free to leave one. Hope you enjoy! :)

!Minors DNI!! 18+ mature content!

Your new partner Joel is all you could possibly want and more. But he becomes even more to you when you see what he hasn't shown you yet.

Warnings;

(ingestion of alcohol, swearing, sexual/dirty talk, smut, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex)

(No Outbreak Joel, Sarah is not present in this scenario)

The smell of fresh air compared to the sweaty and sticky air in the club was almost god-given as you stepped outside, a cold breeze fluttering against you, cooling the damp and hot skin.

Time had flown by, and 2am had approached. You weren't the type to abandon your friends, but after they became too drunk to function and nearly threw their own guts up on your shoes, you simply called them an uber hoping at least one of them were sober enough to direct the group into the car. You watched as they drunkenly piled into the car, babbling on that they would pay you for the ride. They weren't going to be anytime soon.

You sighed, watching the Uber pull away into the road and disappearing down the street. You would've gladly hopped in if there was room, but unfortunately not.

"fuck," you cursed quietly.

Home was nearly half an hour away, and by the god awful feeling of the ache in your heels. It was clear that the walk back was not happening, and neither was the 175 dollars you would have to pay for an Uber home as it was so late. Your fingers worried over the hem of your dress, thinking of a solution to your current lack of transport.

Joel.

Was it too late to call? 2am might be a stretch for him. Your thumb hovered over his contact on the phone screen after you entered the phone app, but you clicked on it anyway, not like you had any other choice at this point. The trill of the calling sound had happened many times, and hope was slowly easing away after each ring came and went.

"Hello?" His voice sounded somehow lower than usual, seemingly full of fatigue. A sense of relief came over you as his voice filled your ear. "Hey, I didn't wake you, did I?" You answered with an edge of worry to your voice.

"s' all good sweetheart, what's wrong?" he replied, his choice of gentle tone putting you at ease. You paused, biting down harshly at the skin of your lip. "I know it's late, but I'm kinda stuck outside the bar with no way to get home.."

"Y' need me to come n get you?" he practically finished for you, "Yeah basically," you offered.

A soft grunt came from his end of the line, like he was getting out of bed. "Send me your location, I'll come n get you," he said after a short moment. A smile spread to your lips. "Thanks," you whispered.

"You got it baby," he replied before the call was abruptly ended. You finished messaging him with your location before you clicked the phone off. Minutes passed, the ache of your feet grew in your heels, as well as the shiver from the briskly chilled air. It didn't take longer than 15 minutes to pass before you recognised a certain shined navy pick-up beginning to slow down as it advanced towards the side walk outside the bar.

You slowly walked over as it came to a stop, watching as Joel leaned over the centre console to open the passenger door before you got there, to which you happily slid into the leather seat, taking in the heat of the car gratefully. "Late night?" he asked with a smidge of amusement at your look of slightly drunken drowsiness. "Clearly," you muttered, leaning your head back against the leather rest behind you, eager to feel the relief of sitting in a warm space. You heard him huff a laugh, "alright just askin' " he protested. A hand came to your dress covered thigh, though you could still feel the heat from Joel's skin over the fabric. Watching his strong hand softly squeeze the flesh there, fingers flexing and moulding around the skin, the veins present on the back of his hand bulging more than usual. The feeling and the sight makes something stir quietly inside of you.

His grip doesn't waver when the truck pulls away from its parking space. "Yours or mine?" You hear him ask in a murmur.

"Yours."

The car ride can't seem to get any faster, as if it wants you to feel even more tortured. Joel's hand hasn't left its place since it got there, fingers grazing slightly higher, bringing the hem of your dress with it, causing the skin of your upper thigh to appear. His thumb dares to push its way between your inner thigh, dragging it in a sweeping motion against the skin absentmindedly. Your eyes flicker to him, gazing at his stern side profile as he drives, staring at the curve of his nose, and the sharpness to his stubble covered jaw, which clenches every now and again.

His thumb trails between your two legs, rubbing at the skin on the inside of your thigh, and you dare to squeeze the both of them together. It's as if he doesn't notice, or he simply isn't fazed when you do. His hand annoyingly doesn't move any further, and disappointment clouds your mind. Its as if he knows your thinking about it, can't help not teasing you in the process. He side eyes you, noticing your defeated expression, and the corner of his lip tugs upwards into a subtle side smirk, turning back to the view of the road.

You thank the Lord as his driveway and house come into view, and he pulls up infront of the garage. You breathe a sigh of relief as he retreats to get out the truck. However you immediately miss the warm feeling of his hand on your skin. The passenger door opens, and his hand is on you again, placing itself on the small of your back to guide you up the driveway. "Thanks for pickin me up," you whispered against his firm shoulder, resting your cheek against the soft sleeve of the t shirt he sported. His lips came to your temple, and you closed your eyes, feeling the sensation of him pressing a chaste kiss against it. "No problem baby," he replied, the soft vibration of his drawl in your ear making you nearly shiver.

The scent of wood faintly fills your nose once the both of you step inside, and you take notice of the crackling flames inside the Woodburner pride of place against the wall of the living room. Joel's house always felt comfortable, the man loved his wood burning.

You shrug off your jacket, and it's placed on the sofas arm. "Y' have a good time?". Joel is buisied in the kitchen, pouring an amber liquid into a thick glass. "Yeah," you replied slightly dazed. You simply watched, shamlessly staring at his back which looked as broad and imposing as ever, the rolled sleeves of his shirt struggling to hold in the muscle beneath, the skin slightly bulging out of the hem.

Everything about him was just so big. You'd thought a shameful amount of times about how big he could be elsewhere, but those thoughts had been passed to the back of your mind. Sure, you and Joel had fooled around, but it was early days in what you had going on. You were yet to discover other things about him, that you wished you knew, you really wished you knew.

After finishing the alcohol in a matter of seconds, he turned away from the counter, and you averted your eyes from his muscles. Your head gradually tilted upwards as he came nearer. Soon enough his hands braced at your waist, sliding one to your back as his eyes fell to your face. "Y' wanna go to bed?" he murmured, his eyes flickering all over your features.

You were tired, sure. But not tired enough. "Not yet," you replied, curling your hands around the fabric of his shirt, subtly tugging down to ask him to lean down. He caught on, pressing his forehead against yours, before he dipped down and his mouth pressed to yours. The kiss lasted for a gracious moment, his hands roaming and grabbing at any bare skin he could get. You felt his tash graze on your upper lip, but you didn't care, you had much bigger things swirling around in your mind.

His lips broke from yours, and you took a breath of air alongside him. He noticed your look, eyes silently begging for something he hadn't caught on to, lips slightly swelled and parted for more, so much more.

His finger trailed across your jaw, upwards to your lips, smoothing his thumb across the softness of them. "What t'is it baby?" He drawled.

"Joel," you whispered, instinctively leaning into the touch of his fingers, as you looked up to him. "Mm?"

"Y'need to tell me, or I can't help you sweetheart,"

"N' that's what I wanna do," he added.

You hesitated, taking in the gentle expression he held, his eyes boring into yours fiercely.

"I want..I want to do more," you responded, "More than what we've been doing,"

He hums in response, dragging his thumb into your hairline, pushing the baby hairs that fought against the style you'd done, carding his fingers through the strands. His eyes are thoughtfull as always, staring down at you deeply. "Yeah? that's it?" he asks, to which you nod a little to fast.

His gaze travels across the expanse of your face, neck, and the beginning of your collar bone. "So fuckin' beautiful, so perfect," His lips brush against your jaw, placing short yet purposeful kisses that continue down your neck, feeling the damp spots appear on your skin. You sigh at the sensation. He eventually captures your lips again, pulling you into a kiss that begins painfully slow, but he wastes no time, gently gripping the back of your head to apply even more pressure to the kiss, his lips slotting and moulding against yours, tongue sliding against them, and you let him in with greatfullness.

The feeling of his tongue breaching your mouth, eagerly licking into it makes you moan softly, slipping your fingers into his hair, dragging them through the locks ontop of his head, pulling delicately at the roots to which he grunted. Your tongue joining the kiss as it clashed and swirled against his hungrily, lips becoming slightly sore from the sheer pressure of the action, yet it felt awfully good. "I'll give you everythin baby, everythin you want," he whispered between breaks, the both of you gasping for air against the heat of the kiss, your body desperately pressing against the firmness of his chest, his sturdy arms caging you in in response.

His hand moved to the zipper of your dress, breaking from the kiss momentarily to give you a look of ask. "Please," you urged, pressing your hips firmly against his as even more of a 'yes'. He groaned softly, eyebrows creasing at the action. He pulled at the zipper, sliding it down enough so he could push the straps of your dress down, whilst hiding his face in your neck as he slathered kisses all over your skin. "Oh-" you gasped, inhaling sharply as he slid the top of your dress from its place exposing the lace of your bra. The sight making him sigh once he lifted his face from your neck, eyes travelling hungrily over your breasts covered by the bra.

His arousal deepened, and you felt it clearly through his jeans, gasping softly at the feeling of his hardness against your clothed cunt. It simply made you want more faster. "Joel-" you urged. "I know baby," he replied, still marvelling at the sight of your breasts before him. "Joel- let's go to bed," you encouraged, to which he pressed another kiss to your lips, and again. "The bed can wait," he retorted, hands bracing at your hips, acting as a guide to push you to the couch, looking up once you hit the couch, watching him stare you down, a stare that caused fluttering throughout your body, warmth growing rapidly in your stomach. Not a moment later he's caging you in, arms either side of your head as you fumble with the buttons of his shirt, kissing his lips sloppily as you go.

Your no longer drunk only on alcohol, but on Joel. His smell of the masculine cologne that emitted from his neck. His large hands gripping at your flesh, broad shoulders crowding your whole self. it was all too much and not enough all at once. You unbuttoned his shirt keenly, sliding it down his shoulders to expose the tanned skin of his bare torso, your eyes flickering down to the prominent v line that disappeared underneath his jeans, which had become significantly tighter. You almost moaned at the sight of him half bare, trailing your hands along his smooth skin, feeling the toughened and firm muscle under your fingers. "Joel," you uttered, grasping at his fore arms to pull him closer.

"I know," he replied, "I know darlin' "

Your hips pushed upwards against his, desperately seeking some friction as you grinded your hips against his. He groaned as your clothed cunt made firmer contact with his crotch which was painfully hard by now. staring down at you with a fierce amount of hunger behind his eyes, pupils blown wide with lust and need as he gazed at your half exposed chest. Tugging at the fabric, your dress slipped further down your body, and he eagerly grabbed at your bra, one handedly unclapsing it at the back. "y' want me to touch you baby?' he murmured, smoothing his hand across the valley of your now bare breasts upon the whine you emitted. "God- Please," you urged. "you gotta tell me sweetheart," he responded, his face visibly twisting in pleasure at the sight of your perfectly shaped breasts, his hand big enough to take one in his hand, kneeding the soft fat of them as he watched your lashes flutter excessively and listened to the gasps that left your lips. "Gotta tell me what you want,"

"touch me please" you replied, looking up to him through your lashes, purposely pressing yourself against his erection growing heavy in his jeans. You could practically feel how big he was through the denim, see the shape of his dick through the fabric. You felt yourself growing increasingly aroused, wetness collecting between your thighs, feeling it dripping and dampening the flimsy cloth of your panties and shuddering at the feeling.

Joel hummed in response, "Can I take his off?" he asked softly, gesturing to the dress halfway down your waist. "Please," you whispered, nodding eagerly. You watched as he slid the fabric further down, his hands dwarfing your waist as they travelled down your body, until your dress was off, leaving your soaked panties the only source of cover. Joel groaned lowly at the sight of the wet spot on the lace cloth. "You're so damn wet already," he mumbles, "So fuckin wet, all for me?"

"All for you," you whined, watching him slide the flimsy underwear down your legs, and your body is all bare for him to see. "so pretty, so fuckin pretty," he praised, hands gripping at your hips, one slipping down to graze your inner thigh, "You want me to touch you? touch you here baby?" He asked, gently swiping his thumb up and down your pussy, gasping lowly at the feeling of how dripping you were for him. "Yes- Please god," you pleaded, your hips bucking up into his touch, "Don't stop Please," you begged, shuddering at the feeling of him thumbing at your clit.

"I won't darlin' your doing so good, so damn good" he praised, marvelling at the sight of your glistening cunt that was no doubt aching for him to touch more. His fingers circled around your clit like he loved it, completely engrossed in the sweet sounds you were making.

"that's it baby-" he murmured, watching your face contort with sheer pleasure as he circled his finger around your entrance, feeling it dripping with arousal. You let out a choked moan as he pushed a finger gently into you, stopping when it reached the knuckle. "Oh fuck- joel," you whimpered, "Fuck," you whispered, the sight of his large and calloused finger sliding in and out of your pussy made you moan, feeling so full by just one of his digits. "Good girl," he praised, his other hand traveling upwards to cup your breast, kneeding the soft flesh as he set a pace of sliding his finger in and out of your dripping entrance, moments later adding a second. Your cunt clenched around the size of his now two fingers entering you at a staggering speed, you craned your head down to capture the sight below, Joel's large dampened fingers slipping in and out of your pussy as his thumb rubbed against the most sensitive place on your clit. Gasping and clenching helplessly, the warm feeling deep in your stomach grew, filling you with esctasy.

The sensation was so big, so much that you felt close already, your whines becoming more louder as you reached that euphoric feeling you were chasing. "Joel, God im gonna-fuck joel!" you cried out desperately. "thats it, cmon baby," he urged, his fingers relentlessly fucking into you, not giving you any relief, not that you wanted any anyway. you gave a strangled moan, struggling to catch your breath as the warmth in your stomach grew and grew, and it finally snapped, gripping onto Joel's bicep for support as a indescribable feeling of pleasure washed over you.

Your body shuddered as you came, your cunt clenching and fluttering around his fingers as he watched your eyebrows knit together in pleasure, eyes closed as you moaned at the feeling of your orgasm. "Fuck," he groaned.

His eyes marvelled all over you, gasping lowly at the sight of your glistening pussy before him. Damp, sweaty skin shivering from the aftermath of your orgasm. "Fuck baby," he commented, hand rubbing at the soft flesh of your thigh encouragingly.

Your hands tugged on his biceps, urging him into a kiss as you came down from such a high. Your tongues roughly intertwined as you grasped the back of his head, yours and his damp skin clashing and smoothing together. His hands swept round your back, gently gripping the skin. The both of you pulled away for air, and you looked up to meet his eyes.

Half lidded eyes flickered up to meet yours, his styled hair had come loose, tumbling over his forehead as it stuck to his skin, lips swelled and parted in breath. "I wanna feel you," you whispered between pants. His eyes studied yours for many seconds. "Fuck-" he mumbled, giving you a swift once over before his hand came to the back of your neck. "yeah? " he drawled lowly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

The buttons of his jeans soon came undone, and he discarded them swiftly as they came down his legs. Not much was left to imagine when you saw his hardened dick against his boxers, the sheer size behind the dark fabric causing you to shiver.

The more skin uncovered, the more you yearned and ached to feel him, to wrap your hands around his broadness. To have his hold you firm against him whilst you took in every single sensation. You audibly moaned at the thought as he rid himself of all clothing, staring at the sight infront of you.

He was so big, beyond what you imagined, your mouth felt wetter than ever before. The muscles of his stomach and the prominent v line that drew the path to his dick were unbelievable. His dick was hardened, thick and glistening at the head with pre-cum, enough to make your mouth water. "Joel," you uttered, grabbing at his shoulders once you had took him in, but it still didn't feel like you'd looked enough. "I know sweetheart," he replied, sitting back into the couch as you swung a leg over his, his hands finding your hips. "You sure?" he suddenly interjected, giving your sides a encouraged squeeze as you nodded. "m' sure," you replied a little dazed, feeling the wetness gathering between your thighs once again.

You felt his dick against your cunt, and the both of you gasped. Joel rose from lying back on the couch to meet you, desperate to properly wrap his hands around your middle. Almost immediately, you lifted your hips. Watching as his cock came even nearer to your entrance as you lowered yourself down. The head of his cock breeched you, and you gasped as the sensation, his dick nudges inside of your dripping cunt, and you gladly let it. Joel groaned as he felt and watched you sink down onto him, welcoming your pussy as it clenched around him immediately. "Joel-" you choked out, biting down on your lip harshly once you reached the hilt. "So fucking big," you groaned, and he huffed a laugh. "You can take it baby trust me,"

"trust me, just relax," you hear him whisper into your neck, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the skin on your shoulder.

His hands pressed against your hips, uttering a curse as you began to move, rocking your hips weakly against his. "Fuuck," he whispered, watching your face stirred with pleasure as you moved up and down on his cock with a quickened pace, the hands on your hips guiding your moments encouragingly. "So good baby," he urged, groaning as your cunt clenched around him. Your whines filled the air, the sounds heightening when his cock hit a particular place inside, sending a indescribable feeling down your thighs, and a chill spreading down your spin.

Joel watched as your tits bounced in a soft motion at the movements, so perfect looking, just like the rest of you in this moment. "That's it sweetheart," he said, capturing your lips in a searing kiss right in the heat of the moment, pressing you against him as you rode him. Your nails scratching at his back, clawing at the skin. Your head was in the clouds, moans muffled against his lips as his tongue ran against your bottom lip, kisses sloppily shared. That familiar feeling was building in your stomach, the warmth beginning to heat up, swirling. "M' close," you whined between kisses. clenching your thighs around his legs to hold onto him tighter. "I know baby,"

The sounds filled the room, skin slapping together, quickened and desperate pants and breaths, groans and whines that grew louder as the two of you became significantly closer. Joel raised his hips up to meet yours with every bounce you did on his cock, beginning to fuck up into you, fingers digging into your skin daring to leave bruises from the pressure. Your eyes rolled upwards, lips parted to form an 'o' shape as he fucked up into you. The size of his dick was overwhelming, filling you to the near brim with pleasure, smacking against that one place deep inside that made you groan and curl your fingers into his hair, shuddering at the relentless pace of his thrusts.

"good girl," he lowly reminded, his perspirated skin pressing against yours, even firmer with every motion. "knew you could take it," you hear him groan into your skin as he grew closer and closer, you knew by the act of his thrusts becoming sloppier and his moans becoming more strangled.

You came probably harder than you had ever before, crying out from the sudden snap of your orgasm, launching a burst of pleasure all at once as you writhed and clenched around his dick still pushing in and out of you, but Joel wasn't far away from his either way. He groaned shakily as you felt him swiftly pull out just after he got you through your high. You shuddered as you felt him leave you, immediately missing the feeling of him being so far and deep into your pussy. Seconds later thick stripes of white painted your stomach, and the both of you collapsed on each other, bodies heaving and panting as you both came down from your high's, Joels arms still cradling your back tightly, hands smoothing up and down your warm and damp skin.

He looked ridiculously good even now, the small collection of fine lines coated with a sheen of sweat, and his eyes slightly weary as he looked you over. "okay?" he murmured, smoothing back your unruly hair, to which you nodded.

"Joel?"

"Mm,"

"we can go to bed now,"

Thank you for reading! Make sure to leave a like, or give your requests, would be very much appreciated. I will start writing for other characters and will release a list soon on who i will write on. Thanks lovely's <3

[ivy-elle]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Part 1 ft. Scaramouche, Childe, Diluc, Xiao

Scaramouche

Jealousy?

Tsk. Please.

Don’t flatter yourself.

Do you really think someone like him would ever succumb to a pathetic sentiment such as “jealousy”?

If someone threatens to take what is his, that person simply ceases to exist.

There. Done.

Why would it ever bother him if you’ve found a new friend among his men?

He does not have time for such trivial matters.

He knows that person is not able to make you feel the way Scaramouche does. Not in the slightest.

What can they even offer you?

Time? Attention? A pathetic attempt at making you laugh?

Ridiculous

Just because Scaramouche hasn’t been able to be with you as much as he wanted to, doesn’t mean-

Now they’re pulling you into an embrace? The sheer audacity to do this with him in the room.

Are they truly that desperate?

No, while Scaramouche trusts you not to be foolish enough to embarrass yourself in that way, he has pride and a reputation to maintain.

And right now, his pride is flaming up.

He is seething.

He confronts them when they’re alone and makes things pretty clear.

Have they forgotten who he is?

“Oh, you really think you have a chance? How amusing. Know your place, or should I remind you of it again?.”

Childe

Oh, best believe this man here is protective af

Borderline possessive, even

Yet, he too, has enough faith in you not to taint the honour or your relationship in any way

So, he sometimes allows himself - for his own entertainment of course - to watch from afar as the guy puts his moves on you

Childe delights himself in the way you reject the guy’s antics in your own charming way

But when it becomes clear that the guy isn’t planning on backing off, Childe’s temper flares up, and he’d enrapture in the opportunity to put the dude in his place

Wouldn’t be above straight up making out with you then and there, just to prove his point

Would then proceed to look at the guy with a broad smile, an undeniable menace behind his eyes

“Hey there, comrade. 😄 Mind knocking it off a bit?”

Diluc

His jealousy is more often displayed as annoyance or irritation

But at the same time he maintains his stoic, yet dignified composure

Like during one of his shifts in Angel’s Share, if he notices someone flirting with you at the bar

He respects your independence, and recognises that you are capable of defending yourself and setting your own boundaries

However, that wouldn’t stop him from letting some passive-aggressiveness slip out

May it be if he places the ordered drink just a tad too loudly in front of the man, causing him to jump slightly

Or he might declare that their usual order is out of stock today, only to serve it to the next customer right in front of the man’s eyes

Yet, Diluc would keep a watchful eye on you, ready to intervene if you seemed uncomfortable or silently asking for his help

Xiao

With Xiao, jealousy takes shape in a less conventional manner

It’s neither hot, nor cold. It doesn’t burn, nor does it hurt

Not the way he wished it would at least

Rather when he spots you in merry company with a friend, a companion or a nice chat with a traveller from afar

He is greeted with a deep routed sense of guilt.

Not every time of course, but enough to cause a pit of self-hatred to add to his long list of faults in his character

Over the course of your time together, you have become quite attached to him, you loved him even

A concept he thought to have long forgotten

But your humans’ emotions are blinding you. Clearly. They have to.

While the world is out there, waiting for you to step out, calling your name

You choose to stay by his side

Instead of taking on the freedom he couldn’t gift you, you are now sitting next to him by the river

Your reflections watching him quietly with a smile

No amount of almond tofu you make, could fill the dull ache he feels in the back of his mind when you seem to be so blind to your opportunities, your chances, your life

Instead of staying in a cage he traps you in.

And yet, whenever you set out with your other companions you always return to him.

In the end, he will be the one keeping watch over your sleep in his bed, and you will be the one waiting for him at dusk

“This is no golden cage for me, Xiao. You are the one gifting me my wings.”

[lilacxquartz]

part 1 of 19 of kinktober: free use

satoru gojo x reader — suguru geto x reader

plot: you had a unique arrangement with your two roommates — themes: vaguely dub con due to the implications, smut, oral, kitchen sex, f!reader — w.c: ~1k

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

Life spent in the apartment you shared with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto was often peaceful enough, at least for the most part. Although unconventional, in order to keep the rent on your end free, you had a unique sort of arrangement between the two of them but then again, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

One evening in particular, you were lazily stirring away at some cookie batter for a friend’s birthday the next day, not quite hearing the featherlight footsteps that were actively closing in on you from behind.

It was sudden, but you felt a taller body pressed right up against your own, walking you straight into the counter and caging you in with firmly planted hands, anchoring themselves on parallel sides with the pushing sensation of their arousal pressing right onto you. Quickly recognising the silvery arm hair that lined up his limbs, you understood that this was Satoru—and given by just how longingly he pushed himself towards you—he must have been surely stressed.

You arched your back in heated anticipation, tiptoeing ever so slightly to give him access of what awaited just below your skirt. Albeit carefully, you swept the clutter on the counter over to the side to make room for when you would be inevitably bent over it and holding on for dear life.

Satoru’s voice was hot against your neck, rolling wisping shivers that pricked goosebumps down your flesh, “Aw, you’re so excited and I haven’t even started yet.”

You smiled a little, feeling already so needy and desperate to feel him inside of you. It didn’t take him too long for him to drop down his trousers and to hitch your skirt up before bending your body flat over the surface. Already rock hard, he guided his cock clean into your soaked entrance, groaning slightly as your core swallowed him up entirely in enveloping warmth.

Satoru’s hands locked directly onto your hips, rocking into you with a quickly increasing tempo. The speed and crashing impact combined felt so intense that your breath was lost in the moment, reducing you to a mantra of shuddering, gasping moans.

“You’re s’good for me,” he hurriedly murmured, smacking his palm against your ass, squeezing his fingers tight into the pillowy curve for almost possessive comfort.

Such enthusiastic fervour had your knees melting and weak as he continued to piston his hips away, almost violently driving himself into your hilt. His length reached deep, the tip spearing right where it hurt upon each bucking thrust. Wanting to feel you writhe and squirm, Satoru reached his hand to claw at your hair—tugging, pulling at the strands—forcing you to surrender into desperate, quivering whimpers.

“I’m close,” he warned. Satoru didn’t like to finish alone however, so he slammed himself against you with almost savage force—snaking his hand forward and propping his thumb against your clit—running hungry circles to will you to catch up.

The second that he felt you coil and clench around him, his eyes fluttered with anticipation as he too, chased his desperate release. With one final needy pump, a rolling guttural groan spilled from his lips, shuddering as he emptied himself fully into your cunt.

Pulling himself back, Satoru finally let go before taking a step aside, watching his milky release drip out of your spent hole. “You’re always so good to me,” he praised, tousling your now messed up hair before leaning back in, still not quite ready to part from you, “so fucking good.”

~~~

The following night when Satoru was fast asleep, you were up late to revise because you were pretty sure that your college had an exam tomorrow. You were however on and off falling asleep at the desk, your demeanour tense from rising stress.

In your drowsy state, you hadn’t quite noticed how Suguru had entered your room, sneaking up beside you and closing the distance. You tilted your head back to spot him looming over you with a half lidded look, his otherwise brooding demeanour betrayed by a faint blush that bled across his cheeks.

“I’m bored,” he purred, affectionately tugging at your hair to turn you to look at him. Although his tone was surely indifferent, his eyes lingered with almost possessive care.

And before you could even respond, he took a step closer towards you, reeling you inwards over his ever so slightly exposed stomach. With a needy tone, he whispered out a slight plea, wanting nothing more than your attention on him, “I want you.”

Understanding exactly what he meant, you gently nodded and relaxed your stance. Suguru began by unbuttoning and zipping down his jeans, allowing them to drop to his ankles. His arousal was already prominent enough and his cock sprung out as soon as he slid his boxers down.

“You know what to do,” he murmured in a lazy tone, his purple eyes slightly widening in heated impatience from watching your mouth part open. Suguru then slightly parted his legs, leaning closer to position the tip of his throbbing length over your lips before driving in his shaft over the slick curve of your tongue, rolling back his eyes as the head hit the back of your throat.

“God,” he hissed, choking back a grating moan as he pulled out slowly. With a greedy hand, he weaved his fingers around your hair—cupping your skull to both steady himself and to help guide your head—bobbing you along to keep up with his building need.

He could never last too long with you, but that didn’t stop him from trying to savour the moment as much as he could. His hips moved in languid thrusts, feeling the rising pleasure surface and gather, soon ready to milk himself dry.

Tensing up ever so slightly, he stiffened after one final needy push; emptying hot spurts of white ropes of his cum into your awaiting mouth. Your eyes bulged slightly from the climbing intensity, spilling tears from the rushed release.

For just a moment, Suguru stared down at you after pulling out; his face tinted cherry red at the sight of you being perfectly flustered, almost feeling the need rise within him again, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to last nearly as long—but that much was nothing new.

[vitaminkyeom]

telephone || k.mg

“NOW IT'S TIME FOR ME TO RETURN THE FAVOUR”

PAIRING || Mingyu x Female Reader

GENRES || Horror, 911 Operator!Mingyu, Romance

SUMMARY ||  Working the night shift as a 911 operator was hard as it is and the last thing Mingyu needed was those calls from his ex-girlfriend. Whom he had not seen in years. For obvious reasons of her being dead.

Or, in which, Mingyu kept getting calls from his ex girlfriend claiming that she had murdered him.

SERIES MASTERLIST || till death do us part

WARNINGS || inaccurate 911 stuff, description of murdered body, horror, mention of murder and ghost

WORD COUNT || 3k

A/N || If you recognise this story, no you don't. but anyways this was one of my most favourite works even though i'm not that great at writing horror so i'm really glad i'm starting off with this story for the series. i've tried my best to make it as scary as i could (sorry but im a pussy) so yeah any feedback would be really helpful!

TAGLIST || @monamipencil @nonuify @black-swan-blog27 @hipsdofangirl @wonuilu @kibs-and-bits @unlikelysublimekryptonite @gyuguys @hanicore @alyssng @hyneyedfiz @weebotakuboy @aaniag @thepoopdokyeomtouched @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @sea-moon-star @hrts4hanniehae @athanasiasakura @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @asasilentreader @isabellah29 @mrswonwooo @nonononranghaee @hoichi02 @cheolsboo @dinossaurz @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tinkerbell460 @bluewbwerry @hoeforcheol @kawennote09 @iamawkwardandshy @winterbeartaehyungbestboy ​ @jjeongddol @k-drama-adict @mnstxmnbb @stervahaha @escoupseu @wonvsmile @mansaaay [if you want to be added to my taglist please fill in this form!]

“911, please state your emergency.”

Static. He waited for a minute more but there still wasn’t any sound coming from the other side.

Mingyu sighed exasperatedly, sure that this was another prank call. Halloween night was looming close which also meant teenagers found it funny to call the operators up at night to scare them.

But he was used to this. Which was funny because Mingyu was the biggest scaredy cat in his group and could not even watch Scooby Doo without whimpering at least once. But he took his responsibilities very seriously and there was no way he was going to let his fear come in the middle of his work.

He was about to hang up the call when he heard a sound. Immediately he jerked back the phone to his ear and strained them to hear anything, but all he could hear was a buzzing sound.

“Hello? How can I help-”

“Help.”

He inhaled sharply, the woman’s raspy voice very clear in the empty office. Mingyu was the only one serving night shift in his floor currently, and the only thing accompanying him was the soft beeping on the seven screens in front of him and the buzzing of the fluorescent tube lights above him.

“Ma'am, are you in a position to tell me what is happening?”

His fingers flew across the keyboard, noting down the number first and then quickly texting the other department to find out the location of the call.

“Pl-please help. Make him stop.” The woman whispered,  her ragged breath harsh against his ears.

“Make whom stop? Can you tell me who is near to you, ma’am?”

Mingyu felt an unnatural calmness settle into his bones, one that always came whenever he forced himself to calm down in such situations.

A message dinged on one of his screens indicating that they had traced the nearest cell tower of the cell phone.

“Officer Lee.” He said, already on the other line, talking to the nearest official he could see. “We have a 911 emergency of abuse.”

“Roger that. Address?”

“It's…” Mingyu’s voice trailed off on seeing the address. 

No way- How was that possible? There had to be some mistake right?

Because the address was of his house.

He cleared his throat, sure that the address was wrong since they tracked the nearest cell tower, and that could be kilometres away from the destination.

“Uh, the address shows my house. I… I think you need to be on the lookout for areas near my house.”

There was a pause, as though Seokmin seemed to be trying to process this information. Seokmin had been good friends with him, so Mingyu knew that even he found it odd, especially when his neighbourhood was a safe and nice one.

“On my way.”

“Ma’am,” Mingyu said, back to line one, “if you could tell me your name or your address, or even what is happening to you, I could help you out better.”

His eyes were trained to look at all the monitors at once, one monitoring the small dot that represented Seokmin heading towards the destination, another with a blank form about the caller and another one where he was rapidly typing what he was hearing, ready to call in other emergencies in case he heard something important.

“Help! Why don’t you help me? Please help!”

“Ma’am help is on the way, please calm down-”

He was interrupted by a loud pop as all the lights went out, the only source of light now being the soft glow of his computer screens. The room was now lit up eerily and he felt the hair on the nape of his neck rise up. Mingyu wasn’t very scared of the dark ever, but the growing sounds of gurgling and growling in the telephone line was causing shivers to travel down his spine.

“Mingyu…” The woman rasped, this time sounding like she had gargled razors, her screeching voice turning his blood to ice.

How did she know his name?

Goosebumps rose all over his skin as his breathing came out in sudden pants, feeling an icy invisible hand wrap around his neck. He sucked in a breath harshly and with a jolt, he realised how lonely he was, not a single soul on his floor whilst he was plunged in darkness.

Then the call cut off abruptly, and at the same time, the power surged back to life. 

Yet, the cold feeling hadn’t left Mingyu as though he could still hear the woman gargling in his ear.

“Mingyu?”

He jerked as the second line suddenly came to life, Seokmin’s voice clear through the landline.

“H-Hey. Did you find anything?” He tried his level best not to sound shaken, but it was hard because the more he tried to ignore wherever had just happened, the more the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.

“Nothing. We will be needing to get a more specific address. Your entire apartment seems safe to me. Is she still on the line?”

Mingyu exhaled harshly, rubbing his chest with his hand to calm down his heart that was beating too fast. He then realised how dry his throat had become, and quickly took a sip of water before continuing.

“No. She cut the call. I- uh, I don’t think she needs help anymore. She sounded alright at the end.” He said, wincing having to lie. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling of horror he had felt when he saw his own address flash on to the screen.

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we follow the protocol still-”

“She told me so herself.” Mingyu snapped, and Seokmin shut up, not saying anything more.

He sighed, rubbing his template, trying to forget what he had just heard. But it was like the noise had been ingrained into his brain. He could hear it even now, even though there were many other small sounds beside him.

But being a 911 operator, there was bound to be such horrors, right? He had heard some similar stories of ghost calls from his superiors. Maybe this was one of them?

“Well then…I suppose that’s it huh?” Seokmin cut the silence, causing Mingyu to flinch as he jumped out of his thoughts. “Are you calling it a night?”

Mingyu felt his heart leap to his throat.

Calling it a night? On any other day, he would have loved to crash on to his bed but all of a sudden going back to his house, the place where this lady claimed to be at, seemed like a distant nightmare, something which was waiting for him to tear him apart.

“Uh, n-no. I’ll continue my shift I think. Besides, Seungcheol won’t wake up if I call him now.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Seokmin asked, concern lacing his voice. “You sound…scared.”

“I’m fine.” Mingyu swallowed thickly, feeling a patch of sweat that had formed on his forehead as he tried rubbing his temples.

“We’ve dealt with these before, right?” Seokmin asked again, trying to sound bolder for his sake.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. We have. I’ll… hang up now.”

As soon as the phone went down, Mingyu buried his face in his hands, trying to forget the horrible sounds he had heard on the phone.

But the more he tried to forget them, the more he was convinced that they were no more voices in his head, but were coming from the room. It was almost like he could hear the noise coming from behind the door.

I’m probably just hearing things.

He got up and decided to get some fresh air. He walked to the door and paused, the sound still ringing in his ears. Clutching the door knob, he took in a deep breath and with his eyes screwed shut he turned it open, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead of his.

Silence greeted him as he slowly peeled his eyes open, looking around tentatively for anything that might jump on him out of the dark. 

Ding!

The sound of the elevator’s beep caused his heart to nearly stop, the sudden sound cutting through silent night that was almost engulfing him. He felt his entire body freeze as all he could do was watch the numbers on the screen of the lift increase until it reached his floor, limbs paralysed with fear. 

With another soft ding! the lift door began sliding open, and Mingyu found himself almost begging that he shouldn’t be greeted by someone, or something, once the lift door opened.

The dim blue light of the lift spilt out as Mingyu watched in terror, but to his relief only emptiness greeted him back. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror of the elevator. 

Mingyu looked deathly pale, his eyes tired and haggard like he had just seen a ghost. His cheeks were hollow and he felt his stomach lurch when his reflection wobbled, indicating that that the lift was about to close.

And then the lift shut close, leaving him alone with a pin drop silence that almost felt suffocating.

Weren’t there others who had night duty? Because there was no way he was all alone in the building, right?

The thought was enough to cause his stomach to lurch, and he swallowed thickly wondering if he should call someone to take his place.

But his house! Mingyu could feel goosebumps rising on his skin the second he thought of his house.

What if she- that thing was still lurking around his house? Or worse, was actually in his house.

The ringing of the telephone cut through the silence like a blade, causing him to jump a mile. His reflexes kicked in though, and clutching his painfully beating heart, Mingyu ran towards his computers to pick the emergency phone call.

“911. Please state your emergency-”

“Help.”

Mingyu froze, the familiar voice draining out all the blood from his cheeks again.

No way.

He wanted to cut the call, wanted to block out whatever this woman was about to beg for because her voice was like icy daggers to his skin, rekindling his fear like never before. Mingyu had never felt so terrified in his life before. 

“Please help… Mingyu.”

It was like her whispering his name had opened Pandora's box, and lots of emotions hit him at once. He couldn’t even question how she knew his name because that wasn’t what terrified him the most.

But it was the familiarity of the voice of the woman. A voice he used to hear almost every day before it was snuffed out of his life suddenly.

“Y/N.” He whispered, fear clutching his stomach as he felt his heart hammer in his chest.

In the empty office he could only hear his own ragged breathing and the slight buzzing sound coming from the phone.

But how was this possible?

Because you had died six months ago.

Or rather, you had been killed in his apartment. Murdered in cold blood even though it didn’t make sense because you were the sweetest and most caring person he had met in the world. 

At first, he had been charged with murder. Those two months of investigation had nearly driven him mad. It was hard as it is dealing with your death but constant poking of the police made it even worse.

Finally he was set free due to the lack of evidence. 

Even thinking about you made his head throb. 

“Help please.” You rasped again. “Help me-”

“Where are you?” He whispered urgently, not sure why he was even asking questions. Because this had to be some sort of sick joke, right? Or maybe- maybe he was hallucinating after all. Hallucinating that you had come back to life to get some sort of closure.

“In our apartment! Why aren’t you helping?” You sobbed on the other end of the line.

He felt his head spin. Whom was he even talking to? With each word your voice turned more and more raspy and he could feel the familiar fear returning.

“If you don’t help me he’ll-”

Mingyu heard you gasp, followed by a whimpering as he heard someone slap you.

“Y-Y/N?” He asked, though he truly didn’t want to know what had happened to you. Was the person you kept mentioning your real killer? Then… was this your ghost he was talking to?

“Stay away.” A male voice spoke into the telephone suddenly, causing him to nearly fall off his seat. The hair on his arms and necks stood up at the familiarity of the voice.

“Stay away." He repeated.

He could hear his own voice on the other side of the telephone line asking him to stay away and Mingyu felt his head spin at the thought.

The telephone nearly slipped from his sweaty hand as he tried taking in a deep breath to calm himself down.

"And- and who’s this-”

“Just stay away from us.” He heard his own voice command him, before the line disconnected finally.

“Who was that?”

Mingyu jumped from his seat, hands flying to his mouth to prevent himself from screaming, until his eyes landed on Seokmin.

“You- you scared me!” He hissed, rubbing his sweaty forehead while trying to calm his shaking body down. What had just happened?

No way he had been talking to himself, right? How was that even possible?

Seokmin raised an eyebrow, walking towards him and sitting down on a chair opposite to him?

“Did I scare you? Or that call did?”

Mingyu looked away.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, wiping his sweaty face with a tissue. The last thing he needed was Seokmin asking too many questions before he started questioning his own sanity.

“You’re not. You asked the caller whether she was Y/N.”

Mingyu shivered involuntarily at the memory, giving away his fear.

“It sounded like her.” He lied, not wanting to remember what had just happened. Maybe if he was nonchalant about it Seokmin would leave him alone.

“Are you sure? That call before was unusual, coming from your house.” Seokmin said, still concerned. “It's okay to be shaken up by this, you know.”

He exhaled out, trying to calm down his nerves as much as he could.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Pretty sure it was a prank. I mean,” He forced out a laugh, which sounded odd against the silence surrounding the two of them, “How can it even be Y/N? That makes no sense. I probably miss her a lot. That’s why I can hear her everywhere.”

“You should go home.” Seokmin cut him, patting him on the shoulder. “I think you need to rest a bit if you’re that stressed out. Sometimes, stress causes us to see and hear things that are not real. ”

Mingyu opened his mouth to protest, feeling dread fill the pit of his stomach at the thought of going home, but with the way Seokmin was staring he knew he didn’t have an option. Or else he would need to explain how he heard his own voice speak to him and ask him to stay away.

Stay away.

Was that a warning, then? Was it a big mistake going back to his house?

But with the way Seokmin was staring at him, Mingyu had no other option but to get up slowly and pack up his things. His hands wobbled, causing him to nearly break his favourite mug, but he managed to force a smile and walk to the elevator, knees threatening to give out any second. 

Once inside the elevator, Mingyu chose to stare at his reflection’s nose, unable to meet its eyes. Something told him that seeing his reflection eye to eye would not be a good idea.

Please hurry up. Please open the door fast-

His heart jumped again as his phone rang suddenly, cutting the heavy cold silence which was accompanied by the occasional soft dings.

"Hello?” He whispered, wondering who was calling so late at night. It couldn’t have been Seokmin since he had his number saved, right?

“Why did you kill me?”

Mingyu froze, unable to breathe anymore. How did you-

“Y/N? How did you- Kill you- What are you talking about?” He panted, stumbling back to support his wobbly legs with the help of the wall of the lift.

All of a sudden the air felt cooler, and his clammy hands seemed to be unable to grip the hand bar of the lift. His eyes darted to the equally petrified reflection and a yelp escaped him, phone dropping to the ground.

Because standing right beside his reflection was you. You, looking just like how you had the day you were murdered. Except there was blood all over your dress and multiple stab marks on your chest and stomach.

You smiled at him sweetly. 

“Don’t you know? You killed me. Well, not exactly you. It was Mingyu. But he is you, you are him, right?”

His legs finally gave away as he pushed his back into the walls of the elevator, terror filling every single of his senses.

Helphelpelphelp-

He heard the lift ding as it reached the ground floor. Crawling to the buttons of the lift, he frantically pressed the open button, eyes not leaving your face as you grinned at him, baring your bloody and broken teeth.

Finally the door opened and Mingyu darted to crawl out but froze almost immediately, feeling his heart stop for real this time.

“No.” He sobbed, as he watched the real you walk towards him. Edging back, he felt his heart hammer painfully hard in his chest, every bit of rational thoughts leaving him as you stepped into the elevator.

You leaned towards him much to his terror, and Mingyu screwed his eyes shut as he finally accepted his fate. His breathing eased a bit but he could still feel how tense his entire body was, adrenaline rushing coursing throughout his body.

I don’t want to go.

“Now it’s time for me to return the favour.”

A/N: Please do tell me what you think about this story!! I worked really hard on it and I would love to know everyone’s thoughts on it~ Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

© 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐌 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

[beannoss]

So I've been thinking about them:

Specifically I was wondering what the moment was (if there even was a specific moment) that cinched it for Twilight developing feelings for Yor.

[Spoiler warning: this post references manga chapters not yet animated]

I think for Yor it's pretty quick. Like, this moment here:

Not that Yor fell in love with Twilight then (ymmv) or that she's fully aware of her feelings, but it's explicit that she felt connected to him here and attached in meaningful ways.

But for Twilight, it wasn't so clear. For a while I'd kind of decided that it just came over him slowly (and I think there is something to that) and that there wasn't any singular moment which stood out. But that didn't feel quite right. The more I thought about it, the more I thought there were two stand-out moments, only one of which Twilight actually (semi-)clocks.

The first, which I think passes him by entirely, is this:

In my view, this laugh is an entirely authentic response. I think he is, despite himself, delighted by this woman who 1. just unexpectedly saved him from being stabbed, and 2. did it by sending the guy flying across an entire alleyway.

This is accentuated in the anime, I think, by the jaunty, puckish music that makes up the first part of their marriage theme song. I am dying for the reappearance of this music in some fashion, btw, it's so fun and cheeky and I'm hoping foreshadows their vibe after various revelations and particularly when they start working together as Agent Twilight and Thorn Princess:

The second moment for Twilight, I think, is more subtle for all it's more impactful. Or at least, the degree of its importance passed me by on initial read/watch, and I think it's deliberately downplayed by Twilight himself. Because he does actually clock it but if he looks more closely at it, well... then he might have to do something about it. And maybe that something won't comport with what the mission needs, and then what?

It happens when Twilight first bugs Yor, and then poses with Franky as SSS agents to test whether she knows Yuri is with the SSS.

It's clear in the lead up that Twilight recognises he has some feelings about/for Yor, and he doesn't want to spy on her; he doesn't want to mistrust her at all. He has to convince himself to take seriously that she may be a potential threat.

And even then, the convincing only sort of mostly works, because he hesitates again:

Which is, by the way, bananas. At this point, they've been a fake family for maybe a handful of weeks? Twilight is an experienced, accomplished spy with a finely honed and necessary sense of paranoia. Of course he should be suspicious. Her brother is an SSS agent! Canonically, the SSS are both Twilight- and SSS self-described as Twilight's greatest existential threat. It shouldn't be a question whether or not to verify Yor's knowledge here. And yet.

We all know how the rest plays out. He decides that listening in isn't enough, he needs to confront her insofar as he's able. I wrote previously about Twilight's relationship with Anya and the pivotal moment for him in how his view of his relationship with Anya changes based on Anya's (and Endo's) choices. I think a similar thing happens in this scene with Yor.

See, it would have been enough for Yor to continue to deny, continue to not call on Yuri's help, to prove she didn't know, and to put Twilight's mind at ease.

Endo takes it further.

Y'all: THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WILD. It borders on levels of impulsive foolhardiness that Twilight should actually take as a negative for the person playing his wife for Operation Strix. Yor even alludes later to the problems this could cause!

The SSS are indiscriminate; if Yor was facing down actual SSS agents, first assaulting and then threatening them would 100000% land her in custody. Were it not for Yuri, it may even get her disappeared, based on how casually and frequently Yuri references having people executed. It would absolutely put the Forgers at risk, in general and in the implicitly sexist Ostanian society, because if Mrs Forger behaves this way, how does Mr Forger behave? And why can't he control his wife? The Secret Police are not known for their leniency, their modesty, their discerning, their temperateness, their mercy. They are known for the exact opposite of those things. And due to being a spy, Twilight probably knows they're actually much worse than even their public reputation.

And here's Yor saying: you can question me but if you threaten my brother or my husband, I will fucking end you. Bodily.

Of course, it's entirely in keeping with her character, and it's an entirely revealing moment of who she is. And I think this is the moment for Twilight. He's already been trusting her bit by bit, as he says above, intuitively. I'd suggest that maybe even more than that though, Yor taps into something Twilight deeply wants: backup. Someone and somewhere safe. Maybe we could describe a person fulfilling that role in an adult relationship as a partner...?

It's because he doubts his intuition (his wants, his feelings, things he shouldn't be countenancing) that we get to this point where he (overzealously) tests her.

She blows his test right out of the water.

The SSS are basically the group he fears most; this is reiterated throughout the story. He doesn't trust them specifically because of who he is and also just generally. He doesn't trust their judgment. He doesn't share their values or their priorities. He doesn't like them around. He doesn't like them looking. He doesn't like being anywhere near them. (Also, he's right.)

And here's Yor. Not only standing up to them on his behalf but actually going on active defence on his behalf.

(I pause here to note 'on his behalf' is a bit, mm, tricky, since it's actually technically on Loid's behalf and I have Thoughts and Feelings about Twilight & Identity. But for the sake of the impact of this moment on Twilight, we'll take it as writ that in this moment there's no appreciable difference between Twilight and Loid.)

I think from here on out, it's incredibly difficult for Twilight to ever doubt or distrust Yor. He perceives her as firmly in his corner, that if the chips are down — if his worst enemy and his worst fear come knocking — she'll be on his team, unflinchingly. He may not think there will be much she can do (heh.) or much she can offer given the power of the SSS and her civilian status (I reiterate: heh.), but it matters that he believes that she'll be by his side.

And you know what? He's right. She will be.

That isn't something he's had since he was a little boy. Even WISE doesn't seem to offer that to its agents, given Nightfall's thought here:

Twilight's had to rely on himself for decades and now here's this astonishing woman who will threaten the Secret Police for his sake. Of course he trusts Yor. Of course this moment widens the cracks in his barriers. And further: of course those cracks start to reach into those walls deep, deep inside that protect his heart. This is all before getting to other moments, like when he reflects on how Yor is creating a better world in ways he (thinks he) can never aspire to do himself. That she loves Anya openly, freely, with such dedication, to the point of sacrificing her own needs. That she just never gives up, she persists and persists and persists, always doing her best. That she reminds him it's okay to accept peace and to rest. That she wants and tries to take care of him... On and on and on.

Of course we get to this point:

I'm particularly taken with his body language a little later in the scene. He manages to get himself to sitting but he's still sprawled, open, even as he can't wrap his mind around what exactly is happening or why, and he's feeling vulnerable for all that. But at the same time, this is Yor. And she's safe.

In my view, if the Mole Arc hadn't happened immediately between this moment and the earlier where Yor declares herself unhappy, it would have been clearer how much stress he felt specifically due to Yor's apparent sudden unhappiness with their arrangement. The stress got subsumed (conveniently, ahem, Endo) into the stress and violence of the Mole Arc, but I think it rattled him pretty profoundly. It's also additionally why her warm greeting hit him as hard as it did: relief across multiple lines, such that he had to remind himself not to relax, despite Yor's apparent return to normal.

And there may be added layers to Twilight's reactions to Yor's bad moods due to his familial history, as pointed out by @unhappy-sometimes in this post; the inverse, of course, is that Yor's general good-naturedness would add layers to Twilight's sense of security with her. And the apparent loss of that, all the more devastating.

Rounding out the original moment though, I think this in many ways demonstrates the point:

Twilight throws away the bug. That is also wild. It isn't like that bug could only be used on Yor; it wasn't somehow modified to only respond to her person. It was a device that could be used and reused on different targets, on people who actually are worthy of being bugged, etc. But instead of pocketing it for later use, Twilight throws it away.

Actually: he not only throws it away, he crushes it first. Perhaps because he couldn't stand to have that particular device around, the device he used when he doubted Yor?

Seems kind of irrational, Twilight.

Seems kind of telling.

I mentioned my last Twilight meta about his relationship with Anya: in that, I suggest Twilight recognised entering into a compact with Anya, which subtly modifies, for him, the motivations around Strix. I think something like that happens here, too. If Yor is willing to go to such apparent extremes to protect him, he'll do his utmost to protect her.

I've had this meta in my drafts for a while, but I'm chuffed by this panel from the most recent chapter, as it kind of underscores all this by Yor's positioning of herself:

(Of course the point is there isn't a dichotomy: they'll protect each other, as indicated by Yor's if I had to choose: she won't have to choose.)

Back to Twilight, at this point, he can still justify all this as being within mission parameters. Of course he should protect Yor: she is an innocent civilian and if anything happens to her it would threaten Strix. But if/when this line is tested, if/when there comes a point where protecting Yor is actually the option that may put Strix at risk or put him somehow in opposition to WISE, then we'll see.

And more importantly, Twilight will see, too.

[avengersbtch]

You're Lucky Your Beautiful - Armando Aretas

Armando Aretas x Reader

Warnings: This fic does not follow to the film’s timeline.  I have altered the scenes!!

A/N Pre relationship flirting?? Or maybe pre- pre-relationship flirting lol idk but it’s cute, I think. I’m a sucker for pre relationship fics and the build up!!! 

Summary: Y/N pinged the location of Mike & Marcus’, leading to Armando meeting y/n for the first time and a roller coaster of emotions in one night.

Word Count: 3.4k

The hunt for Mike, Marcus and Armando was plastered on every news outlet known, you felt useless watching every news reporter talk down on Mike and Marcus as you were trying to look for them. Marcus felt more like father figures to you than your actual parents did so watching everyone jump at the opportunity to talk down on their reputation they built was crushing, you also knew for an absolute fact that everything they were saying was false and you would bet your life on that too. You had no feelings toward Armando, you neither liked nor hated him. Mike obviously felt deeply for his long-lost son, but you had never met him, so seeing him on the news didn’t really inflict any feelings. All you knew was that he was the key to the case and after Mike insisted he ID the suspect, Armando agreed reluctantly. 

You were snuggled on your cream cotton couch sitting on your laptop trying to track down or contact the boys without the Feds knowing. They had pulled you off their case, knowing how close you were and took most of your personal belongings or tapped the rest assuming Marcus might contact you. This laptop was your backup, backup laptop, so thankfully they didn’t find this one.

Just as you were going to call it a night, your laptop pinned an advancement on their case, a location. Of-course Mike had gone to Tabitha’s, probably not wanting to get you involved in whatever mess he’s in. You immediately jumped and ran to get dressed to be some sort of assistance, now you weren’t physically or skill-fully equipped for combat, you could admit that, however expertise excelled behind a computer, and everyone knew that. Either way you know they could at least use a safe place to stay and whatever else you could offer.

You slipped in black jeans and a long sleeve black fitted top with a hoodie, with the aim of staying as inconspicuous as possible. You quickly slipped into your sneakers as you jump into your car, following the reports of their location. You’d probably get fired for doing what you were about to do, especially given there is a high chance an actual criminal is tagging along to their adventures. That obviously being Armando, but you decided would deal with that later. 

Speeding down the highway, you could hear the sirens closing in and the gunshots becoming more consistent. As you neared the scene, you could see multiple cop cars, large four-wheeled drives, and vans at all different angles. This would be a nightmare for you to find them. You drove into an alleyway, noticing the traffic moving in the same direction and slowly parked behind a large dump bin. Exiting the car, you left the ignition running to assist in easier escape. As you walked out the alleyway, you peeked out of the corner of the wall seeing a large black van on fire. 

“Guess it wasn’t that hard to find them” you chuckled rolling your eyes at the current state of the vehicle they were using. You watched them jump out the moving van just as the van light and exploded right before your eyes. You count three. Meaning they were in fact accompanied by Armando. Great. You eyed the three of them, as they ran in your direction, you eyed the scene making sure there were no witnesses and no threats. When you deemed it safe, you stepped out of the alleyway in full vision. They all paused, Mike squinted as if recognising your figure and slowly stepped closer. 

“Y/n?!” He questioned in surprise, obviously not expecting to see a familiar face.

“Y/n? Mike what are you on about?” Marcus followed until he spotted you “Y/n!” He confirmed once he ID’d you. More for himself really. 

“let’s have a family reunion later, hurry up my car’s around there” you pointed in a hurry as you ran off expecting them to follow you. You couldn’t waste any time, you need to get the out of here before they were spotted again. You slip into the driver’s seat waiting for them to get in, taking longer than usual you turn to see Armando still outside of the car. 

“Dude, get in the car. We need to go” you hissed. Did he not understand the severity of the situation?

“How can we trust her?” Armando asked looking over my shoulder at Mike.

“Who else do you have right now? get in or I’m leaving. I really don’t care whether you live or die” I whisper yelled, pre-emptively interrupting their conversation.

“Armando, get in. We can trust her” Mike sighed. Armando’s eyes flicked over to you and back to Mike then back over to you until he decided to trust you and slipped in the back seat near Marcus. You rolled your eyes, setting your car into drive and shaking your head, as if you were begging for him to trust you. 

The drive back was silent, almost awkward giving you were aiding the escape of a fugitive. Deciding to break the long silence, you joked “So I see you guys decided to quit you day job and harbour a wanted fugitive”. 

“Ha ha y/n, just get us to yours please. We need to get to Dorn’s tomorrow morning. Armando is our only lead to ID the suspect, they’re going lengths to try and kill him” Marcus explained, and his eyes remained on the road watching for any unwanted noise. Your eyes flicked to Armando through the rear-view mirror. His eyes also trained on the road and his surroundings. You had to admit, he was extremely good looking, even with his bud light shirt and his burnt jeans, the only thing you could focus on was his shining eyes. God damn. You trained your eyes back to the road in front of you and kept driving almost smacking yourself for checking him out.

“How did you find us?” Armando asked in curiosity, though his face did not emote. If it wasn’t for the question, it was almost like he didn’t give a fuck. 

“Oh uh, I, I uhm I’ve been tracing the feeds on your location. Just about everyone is looking for you. Though they’ve been pretty late to finding you guys after the uh crash” you stuttered honestly shocked at his interest. Not sure whether he’s asking you because he wants to know or testing you. 

“Armando, y/n’s the brains behind the operation. We’ve known her since she was a kid. She’s not with them, relax we can trust her” Mike supported you, confirming your concerns. He was just testing you.

Arriving at home, you parked in your driveway, telling them to follow you as you walked up a short flight of stairs to your door. You felt a sense of nerves inviting Armando into your home and you weren’t sure whether that was because he was a criminal or extremely attractive, which was truly concerning. Walking into your home, everything remained as you left it with your laptop on the couch where you were seated, the chips and red bull beside you on the mahogany coffee table. The house wasn’t messy but looked lived in with there being left over steak and chips on the table that you hadn’t yet cleaned up from dinner, some cups in the sink that required cleaning from the night prior that were on display with the dim kitchen light still on, illuminating the small kitchen and the remaining condiments that you had not packed up yet. Your home was small along with your kitchen, so any small mess would look like a lot. 

“Sorry guys, the house is a bit of a mess. I had just finished dinner before your location pinged” you lied slightly trying to excuse the mess. “there’s leftover food if you guys are hungry and give me a sec, I’ll get you guys something to change into” you offered as you walked to fetch them clothes to change into, unsure of what  or why they were wearing those clothes. 

“What man does she have that lives here?” Armando’s thick accent echoing from the room. It sounded more pronounced than usual, Furrowing your brows, you continued to listen as you selected clothes for the three of them. 

“Why do you care?” Mike asks accusingly which makes you chuckle slightly. 

“I’m just saying, is he gonna walk in here, and see us all here and rat us out? we need to be smarter than that, or do we trust everyone that you say we can, because that didn’t work out with Tabitha” he answered defensively, and Mike threw a knowing hum as I finished collecting their clothes. 

I walk out of the spare room with the clothes and smile sweetly in hopes that maybe he’ll finally trust me and explain “My brother comes and stays at mine when he’s in town. No one is going to come in, like I said,  you can trust me” 

He stares at me again as if he doesn’t give a fuck, his eyes give away nothing and I wait expectantly for some sort of comeback. 

“Don’t worry about him y/n, he knows no one’s walking in. He just asking questions he shouldn’t” Mike waved him off as Marcus in the kitchen where he was already hammering my snacks. 

Armando still staring and this becoming increasingly awkward, you handed him some clothes, not noticing which ones you offered him, he took them without fight and walked to the shower without a single thank you, causing you to mutter “a thank you would be nice, it’s not like I’m begging for you to stay” 

“Enojado te queda bien” he mumbled as he slammed the door. You furrowed your brows, unsure of what he just told you, he could have insulted you for all you know. You had known this man for all of five minutes and he was already getting on your nerves. Slipping off your hoddie, you noticed Mike and Marcus plating some of the leftovers which you were happy about, you followed in to help them and although the man in the bathroom was pissing you off, you did feel bad for him given he was just in prison and was now on the run because someone was trying to kill him so Ultimately, you decided to plate him some too before they demolished it all. 

“Your son is showering I think, so you guys can go next. The clothes are on the couch” you announced as you plated the food. Marcus paused plating and eyed out the plate in your hand.

“I thought you ate” he asked knowingly, well it was more of a statement that caused you to roll your eyes.

“Don’t give me that look Marcus, I’m putting him a plate before you demolish the food” you explained in defence. 

“Mhmm” he hummed offering me a side eye while he returned to plating his food. 

“Marcus don’t mhm me! As much of a dick he is, I’m not heartless” you argued again defensively, there was most definitely nothing of what Marcus was insinuating. He was a criminal for god’s sake! Yes, a gorgeous one but nevertheless a criminal.

You moved to dish as the boys went to eat dinner on the couch, given the size of your house, there was really no room to fit a dining table in the kitchen or living room, so you opted to have a multi-use coffee table instead. As you were washing the dishes you heard the bathroom door open, forcing yourself not to turn your head only so you didn’t offer Marcus anymore ammo to suggest anything further, continuing to clean you dishes. You felt the warmth of his presence near you as you assumed he was reaching for the food you’d plated him, the closer he got, the harder it was to keep your eyes trained on the dishes, let alone your focus. You moved your eyes slightly to see him eyeing the food out with caution, any tension remaining sprinting out of your body as you rolled your eyes at his distrust.

“it’s not poisoned Armando” you stated obviously unable to hide the second eye roll. His eyes lifting with his head still facing down and lips tilted in a slight smirked. Soon after his head followed the position of his eyes, looking straight at you with a smirk. His eyes slowly skimming your now slightly more exposed body up & down until he finally reached your eyes again. Your brows furrowed yet again, analysing the situation that just occurred.

“Are you? Are you trying to piss me off on purpose?” you questioned with your voice an octave higher.

He chuckled at your question and flicked his head in demand “Can I have a fork Mami?” he asked with the same smirk on his face.

You were embarrassed to admit the baby name caught you off guard, he had your head turning to the forks trying to identify the purpose of the utensil he requested, then turning back to him trying to figure out what game he was playing.

You turned you back to the forks and him at least twice until you demanded an answer “Why are you trying to piss me off, what’s your game?” you asked furiously as you grabbed him a fork.

“Like I said, Angry looks good on you mami” he stated as a matter of fact. Your eyes widen in shock and if you were flustered before, you were a walking mess after that comment. You stood in the kitchen staring at his back absolutely flabbergasted at the sudden change, you needed a second to breath, to process the two comments he made. One minute he was as cold as Antarctica, next he was playing jokes and calling you very cute nicknames that may or may not have sounded 10 times better in his accent. You pinched yourself and walked to the living room hearing Mike call you in the background, deciding to sit on the floor far from Armando and turned straight to Mike.

“Did you like the food?” You asked Mike, trying to ignore the hot stare on your left. You could feel him staring and eating at the same time.

“Thank you so much y/n, for the food but also for putting yourself on the line for us, I know what risk you are taking.” He thanked with sincerity.

You smiled at his sincerity “Mike, you know I would stop everything for you guys, next time just come straight to me please?” you asked honestly, and he smiled back and nodded acknowledging your heartfelt request. You, out of instinct turned your focus to the burning stares on your left, forgetting your internal feud and notice him staring intently this time, no playfulness or smugness, just wonder and awe at your loyalty. His focus re-trained, noticing you starting he smiled, not one reaching his eyes but one that you could tell meant something. This smile sparked something in you, it was probably also seeing him eat like he hadn’t eaten in months, which may have truly been the case, given that he was in prison, but whatever it was it had you inclined to personally ask him if he liked the food.

“Are you enjoying the meal, Armando?” you asked as you looked at him innocently, and while it may as well could have been innocent. Armando’s heart melted at little at your concern, he could see the worry in your eyes, the need for him to say yes that he was enjoying it. Not that he would be lying if he said yes, he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in months, let alone a home cooked piece of steak but that face would have made him say yes anyway.

The jokes and games for a second forgotten, lost in your eyes and he smiled softly as he answered “Yes, thank you y/n”. She smiled and looked toward her lap with a slight blush on her face leaving Armando weak for more. He coughed almost to break the spell you had put him under and looked at Mike, his brows were raised almost as warning but right now, he really didn’t care, he just wanted to make you smile again.

“Ok, well! I’ll take that as my cue, Mike you wanna go sleep?” Marcus announced awkwardly. Mike caught on quick and jumped at the offer agreeing at least three times that he was tired.

“Oh uh of course, I have a spare room, there is a mattress under the bed too if you guys want to take the spare room?” you blinked, shaking yourself out of whatever head fuck that Armando caused as offered the room.

“Yeah, sounds good, Armando are you good to take the couch?” Mike asked not really giving him an option. Armando just nodded while finishing of his food.

“Armando can take my room, I’m okay on the couch tonight” I offered, knowing they’d only be staying here tonight.

“No. the couch is fine” He answered, causing you to frown a little as the dismissive tone on his voice. But little did you know, he didn’t want you sleeping on the couch.

“Honestly it’s fine, you guys are only here for one night and no offense, but you’ve been sleeping in a prison for ages, I fall asleep on my couch all the time” You over-explained hoping he would take you up on your offer. You looked at Mike and Marcus for encouragement and when they weren’t going to assist, you threw them a glare that forced them to convince him to take your bed. He reluctantly agreed and thanked you to which you smiled at again. God he should have said yes sooner if he’d known he’d see your smile again.

The boys cleaned up their plates and went off to bed as they had a so aggressively agreed they needed to do. You noticed Armando had finished his plate, so you offered him more which he politely declined. To say you were confused was an understatement, one minute he was mean and defensive, then flirty and now nice. He was difficult to read and even harder to please.

He packed his plate up as well; you watched as he then stood at the sink cleaning his dishes as you moved to the couch crossing your legs. He was wearing a black tank top that had his tanned arms on display, biceps flexing every time he scrubbed a little harder, at this point, you were staring at him unashamedly. Well, that was before he called you out for it.

“You gonna keep staring, or you wanna help” he smirked still washing, but you were not going to let him have this one, not while you had the confidence to stare at him.

“didn’t I give you a top plus the tank?” You asked knowing that you were calling him out for choosing to look so fucking sexy right now. Ok maybe it wasn’t much of a comeback, but hopefully it would catch him off guard, the same way he did to you. He paused washing, indicating it may have had the desired effect, causing a small smirk to lift on your lips.

He looked up, rinsing off the last dish “Where’d your hoodie go?” he asked back almost in retaliation walking closer to you. You just lifted your shoulders with a cheeky confused look on your face “Tienes suerte eres hermosa” He commented in Spanish again.

Brows furrowing yet again with a slight frown “What does that mean?” more confident to ask.

He smiled so softly and leaned in close to your face, your eyes followed his movements and face still. As he moved closer to your ear, your eyes moved straight ahead focusing on his voice. “You are lucky you're beautiful” He translated. Your head turned so quickly looking directly at him, your faces almost touching. He looked down at your lips and then back up your eyes, his head moved slightly and opted for a soft peck on the cheek as he whispered goodnight.

This man would be the absolute death of you, you knew this for sure.