#once these pieces have all been sanded some...

[isa-ah]

skinned the fuck out of my knuckle sanding these kau hooves aughgh

[acorviart]

everyone should attempt an artisan craft at some point in their life because it would cut down the number of comments questioning why handmade goods like ceramics or textile craft or woodworking are so expensive

and this is an unrealistic expectation, but I think the attempt should include seeing through to the end at least one "finished" item, no matter how clumsy or lumpy your first attempts might be. like to me, there's a huge difference in perspective between attempting to learn how to crochet or throw a pot for a few days, acknowledging that it's harder than it looks and giving up, versus committing to finishing that scarf or clay pot you started and working on it for weeks while you painstakingly learn from your mistakes and grow attached to your project while also simultaneously hating it.

once you finish the latter, your perspective changes from "why does this crocheted blanket cost $200" to "holy shit I can't believe they're charging $200 for this crocheted blanket instead of $2000" because you may have known crocheting is hard, you may have easily agreed with the idea that "handmade goods take time and effort" even before attempting a craft, but now you know firsthand the absolute time sink it takes to make things. like yeah dude, that one item took you 2 months to make and probably wasn't even an ultra complex item if it was the first thing you made, now imagine attaching an hourly wage to that time to calculate the cost (and this is ignoring every nuance of the artistic element and master crafters being able to work faster/charge higher because of their years and years of experience)

anyway this rant has been motivated by a comment I saw on someone else's ceramic post asking why a mug was $60 and they understand it's handmade but $60 just seems overpriced, and bro do you know how long ceramics take to make. that mug probably took at minimum 3 weeks between how long it takes to throw the mug, dry partially, trim the mug, dry fully, bisque fire, wait a day for the kiln to cool, sand and paint and glaze, glaze fire, wait a day for the kiln to cool, take product photography of the mug, write description and list the mug online for sale, im not even including the skill needed to complete all these steps without the mug literally exploding or collapsing while also making it an appealing piece of art, aaaaaaaaaaaaa

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[hanasnx]

“ I CAN FEEL IT, CAN YOU FEEL IT, THERE MUST BE SOMETHING IN THE AIR ” — rafe cameron.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: kinktober; takes place in obx s4 e1 but there’s a slight change; also happy birthday @princessbrunette :) i wrote this for you in mind; and based off of the scene in f&f where dom picks letty up calling her his trophy. WARNINGS: spoiler warning for obx season 4 episode 1 ノ non canon compliant: i made rafe win the race ノ size difference ノ established relationship ノ objectification ノ impact play: ass smack ノ mild exhibitionism bcos of pda ノ praise ノ sexual content: p in v stuff ノ dirty talk.

Your feet sink into the sand as you traipse alongside RAFE CAMERON to his station in the race. His large hand envelopes yours, keeping you balanced as he leads you to his bike. The roar of revving fills your ears, loud enough for your boyfriend to have to lean down to your level to speak to you, walking you through the process and your role here. You’ve never been a flag girl before, but he told you she needs to be a “hot piece of ass” and he wants these boys heads still spinning when he wins the race. As a distraction, you were the only girl he wanted for the job.

“… and all you gotta do, baby, is make sure those guys are lookin’ at you. Show off a little something—just this once, I don’t care.” he explains, and you nod your head while brushing your hair out of your face from the wind. The two of you stand aside his bike and he mounts it, swinging a long leg over it. It creaks from his weight, and you roll your tongue between your lips. Without sunglasses, his gaze is narrowed, meeting yours in the light as he tugs you closer to him. “You look good. Prettiest girl on Figure Eight.” he assures you, the corner of his lips quirked as he checks you out. The tiniest booty shorts you could find and a stringy bikini top, you looked good enough to eat. If Rafe wasn’t so concerned with crossing the finish line while these cucks were still drooling over you, he’d be a little jealous they get such a treat. “Man, you are eye candy. Give me a twirl, c’mon.”

It eases your nerves, grinning bashfully to yourself as he raises your hand over your head, twisting on your toes to show him your outfit. He bites his lower lip hard at the sight of the underside of your ass hanging out of your shorts, and he can’t help but give you a tap. You whirl around from the swat, and catch his eyes flash up.

“Mm, baby.” he exclaims, talking about you like you’re dessert and he’s got a sweet tooth. He doesn’t give you a chance to scold him for smacking your ass around all these people, “C’mere,” he murmurs, yanking you to him until your body is draped over him on his bike. Your manicured nails brace on his chest while he steals a kiss, humming in surprise at him when he tilts his head to deepen it. Takes advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue along yours in a proper good-luck-kiss, which only makes for a string of spit to connect the two of you when you part. You breathe hard, chest rising and falling from thrill as you search his expression. There’s a glow of love-sickness in his eyes.

You try to milk more attention. “I don’t know if I can…” you begin, alluding to how shy you’re gonna be in front of all these people.

“Oh, don’t start that shit, you’re gonna be fine.” he dismisses, seeing right through you and shrugging you off him so you get it’s time to stop being clingy. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” He plucks his helmet up, and rounds his body to place it on his head while you reluctantly leave him.

When it’s time to start the race, you hold up two bandanas—donated by some guys trying to buy you drinks—and Rafe scoffs to himself, patting himself on the back for being such a genius. “Who wouldn’t be lookin’ at you?” he thinks, while he revs his bike. You even give the crowd a little shake, your girls strapped in your bikini top swinging teasingly right before you set them off with the bow of your bandanas and the low dip of your arch. Rafe could’ve sworn one guy glanced over his shoulder to check out your ass bent over because he lost control of his steering for a second after. The race was on, and you did your job exactly how your boyfriend wanted you to.

Some kook with too much time on his hands made his way through the crowd to invite himself into your atmosphere, watching you as you eagerly await Rafe’s return and your signal to drop the flags for the winner.

A voice too close to your ear alerts you, resulting in a minute jolt of your body when he speaks. “What are you doing after this?”

Brows furrow as you glance over your shoulder at him, “Oh, uh, I dunno right now.” you reply, but you’re not showing interest. It would depend on Rafe’s victory. You refocus, keeping an eye on the horizon and the roaring metal of competitive bikes. Rejoining the crowd’s enthusiasm, you react with them when someone wipes out.

“Me and the boys were gonna head to a kegger in the boneyard. You should come.” he tells you. Again, too close for your liking. He’s not particularly bad-looking, or grabby, but you don’t like how he’s standing right next to you and stooping to speak in your ear.

You face him again to respond, but the race takes your attention away, shutting your mouth to whirl around just in time to see Rafe drive back into view, sand kicking up behind his wheel.

After a close call, he wins, and when it’s safe, the adoring crowd cheers as it floods the scene to congratulate the riders. You’re one of them, beelining to Rafe without a second thought. He’s discarded his helmet, tossing it haphazardly to the sand as he meets you.

“Ah, there’s my trophy.” he says, hands clamping onto your waist to lift you from the ground. You squeal with delight, bracing on his shoulders and kicking your feet up. Slowly he lowers you until you can wrap your arms around his neck. He’s hot and sweaty, and smells like it too, inhaling his scent deeply as you embrace him and he spins you around. You’ve completely forgotten about that kook you left behind.

“Did so good, precious, did exactly what I told you to.” Rafe murmurs against your lips, whipping his bike jacket off behind him while you lead him by his jaw deeper into his place.

“Mhm, had to give them a show. Like you said.” you exhale, nodding fervently as you press yourself to him, desperate for some friction.

“Didn’t I say you’d be fine? Huh? What’d I say?” he goads, and stoops, signaling you to jump into his arms. He catches your legs, securing them around his waist before his hand cups your backside and his other pins you to him by the back of your neck.

“I did so good!” you reply, a little perkier than you’d meant to. It breaks him out into a grin against you, and he snickers through his nose. Bringing you to his bedroom, he settles your back onto the bed.

Lips locked, and bodies tangling together, he struggles to find a spare second to keep talking, “Gonna give me my prize? You gonna put out for the winner?” His hips surge, and a familiar hard outline sweeps across the crotch of your denim.

You nod, poking your tongue out in concentration as you help him to undress fully, and you wiggle out of your booty shorts. The peek of your tongue doesn’t go unnoticed, and Rafe’s lips overlays yours, sucking on the pink tip there toyingly. You relax into it, untensing them to melt into a real kiss as the tip of something else nudges against your sex. Already wet and aching from all the teasing today, you go limp at the promise of what’s to come. Bulging mushroom head lazily thumbing in and out of your slit makes your head throw back and jerk. “Rafe…” you whine. Sodden lips mouth at your cheek and jaw, working their way down to make out with your neck as his hips shallowly rut.

Ringed fingers clutch your face, tucking your chin in the web of his index and thumb. It faces you to him, and you look up at him with doe eyes and pretty brows in an upturn. He wants to watch your reactions as he pushes in deeper and deeper, finally sheathing as you cry out. It’s a stingy stretch, and he can see your want for it in the roll of your eyes and the flinch of your delicate expression. “Yeah, baby, gimme that trophy. That’s right.”

[xenteaart]

you are not difficult

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but it can fit any au, really) word count: no idea but it's short genre/warnings: er, angst, hurt/comfort, implied suffering w depression, implied history of SH. also implied shitty ex. so PLS keep that in mind before you read. also, it's all good in the end. author's note: it's a self comfort thing y'all but i hope you like it too.

it was yet another night where everything felt too much and you kinda hated yourself for it. bad day, maybe some hormonal imbalance due to a certain time in your cycle, history of mental illness — it's hard to put a finger on the exact cause. you're sick of trying, anyways.

chris was, of course, right there for you, and as you were falling apart in his arms, your entire soul was aching so bad that it made you want to crawl out of your own skin. it's usually like that, everywhere in your body like some sort of extreme inflammation, except physically you're perfectly fine.

"'m sorry…" you blurt out somewhere between your sobs and cries, still unable to hold eye contact with him.

"baby, you have nothing to be sorry for," chan shakes his head and keeps rubbing circles into your back, just between the shoulder blades where the ache feels the most excruciating.

"kiss me?" you squeak. almost pathetic, honestly, but it's always been your way of checking, whether he still wants you. whether he still loves you and desires you, even at your lowest, even with your mascara all smudged over your cheeks, eyes puffy and red, lips slightly irritated and swollen. even when there's a gaping black hole where the heart is supposed to be.

chris doesn't even question it, really. he simply leans in and gives you a long sweet kiss full of both a partner's tenderness and a lover's lust, so, so willing to do whatever it takes to calm the thunderstorm inside your mind and ease your struggle.

the kiss doesn't really satisfy you, the feeling is still there.

"sorry," you whisper again as you breathe out into chan's lips but the intimate contact doesn't last long. chris frowns and makes some distance between you two to look into your eyes.

"why? baby, why do you keep apologizing?" he sounds gentle but still slightly frustrated.

"i dunno? cos 'm difficult? for bein' difficult?"

there's a silence as he blinks a few times, processing and putting two and two together.

"just because it was difficult for them to love you and take care of you, doesn’t make you difficult. you are not difficult. like, at all," he puts on his serious tone, the one he uses for you when you can't see the obvious and he has to remind you.

you don't really know what to say to that, so you keep playing with the tissue paper in your hands, ripping it apart piece by piece just to keep yourself busy and focused on something other than the burning ache in your chest.

"dealing with mental health isn't easy, that one is true, baby, but it's so easy to love you. you are easy to love. even now, looking so small and in pain but it's still you, and my duty as your boyfriend is to take care of you when you can't. and, hell, you're one of the most capable people i know, so please just let me hold your hand through it once in a while, yeah?" chan speaks slowly and quietly, as if to make every single word sink in, tenderly forcing it into your stupid lovely brain that refuses to cooperate sometimes.

chris feels safe. he feels like lighting up a cookie scented candle after a long day at work. he's the feeling of the ocean timidly licking at your feet and burying them deeper into warm wet sand. chris is the first sip of coffee in the morning and the cold side of the pillow at night. he's everything worth living and trying for.

"thank you," is the only thing you manage to say, but in the way you lean back into his embrace he's able to read a lot more.

"do you want a nice mug o' hot chocolate and some fairy bread, baby?"

this question makes you hiccup and sob once again. you nod and nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck.

[just-some-user-hunny]

I'm in a whimsical mood rn so please indulge my idea of former stable boy turned knight Simon Riley and princess reader who were once childhood friends...

Ok but princess reader throwing her handkerchief to the mysterious new knight who just won the joust out of playful spirit- this brute of a man bound with a fortress of blackened armour and a fierceness akin to a grizzly bear. His stead was a strong and sturdy stallion- fur black as mahogany and sheening with sweat. Kicking at the sand clumped with blood and petals.

The crowd roared with delight and excitement as he lingered beneath your canopy, watching with glee as the opposing gentleman was wheeled away by a few fretful healers, left in a heap of broken flesh and splintered wood.

Your handkerchief falls, and he catches it in his gauntlet- glinting with silver and blood, imposing and mean. It was certainly mean to his opponent having been bludgeoned into his face. Some lord you couldn't recall the name of- proclaiming for your hand if he were to win. He hadn't even drawn his blade that rested at his hip- his jagged gauntlet fists were enough.

You didn't question the mysterious knights aggression to the lords proposal. A banter amongst men, You think. Smiling sweetly as your knight presses the delicate piece of cloth to his helmet- steel kisses silk, and he keeps it there. A Brutish steel paw keeping it cradled against the thin slits of his helmet, as if he was breathing it in. He was.

You can't help but be keen and lean over to capture a glance of this man's face as he slips his helmet down- just enough to capture a small glimpse of his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

Wispy blonde lashes. Stern Earthy brown eyes. Charcoal smudged skin... His gaze softens at you, and it stirs something in your chest. He seems so familiar...

It is too bad that you can't remember the wide-eyed stable boy who was once your companion in the hazy sunlit memory of your childhood. A boy with stern Earthy eyes and soft gold hair. The disposition of a fawn with gnarling teeth- trembling knees yet a fierceness to his gaze as he threw rocks at your tormentors of cruel ladies in waiting. You had only wanted to see the baby horses...

Simon. Simon the stable boy.

But look how far he's come now. A man filled out with muscle and brawn and hardened skin- a shell of gleaming armour and chainmail. Tall and poised and unshakeable.

The moment your father proclaims him your new protector, it makes it all worth it. The grueling years of hardship and training. The beating and suffering. The scuffed knees and bleeding knuckles.

You may not remember him, princess, but there's no worry for that.

He's now someone you can't forget.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

hi there! would you be up to writing smut

Dark!Aemond? something for example with age difference, daddy kink, corruption kink, degradation and breeding? If you are comfortable then Reader could be a Targaryen what would be great but if you aren't comfortable then Stark is perfect too

Twisted, Beautiful Minds.

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Niece!Reader

WORDS: 2,677.

WARNINGS: mentions of warfare/murder, mentions of death-threats, swearing, degradation kink, choking, Daddy kink, corruption kink, breeding kink, manipulation, narcissistic tendencies, male oral receiving [cock sucking], mentions of p in v sexual intercourse.

A/N - you know I'm always down for some dark!Aemond... I want to also dedicate this piece, as a small bday gift to my wonderful friend Mar @aemondsmoon you have been an absolute light for me on this hellsite, and one of my dearest friends... thank you for always being there for me, and thank you for being you. you are an absolute gem, don't ever change. ilysm! 🤍

The turmoil and toils of war had finally come to an end, when Aegon the Elder, your Uncle, had commanded Sunfyre to set your beloved mother, Rhaenyra, and younger brother, Aegon III, to death by dragonfire. Your heart shattered, and mind numb, you were certain your own death was imminent in the moments after: at the very least, your Uncle would punish you with a dragonrider's death... Yet that would not be the case at all.

It seemed other plans had been set in stone. Chained and escorted by the Kingsguard to return to King's Landing once more, where you had only days previous, fled in fear, were you welcomed by the cold stares of the "Green" Council. Your chains removed, as neither the King nor his Mother, had seen you as a threat, you felt no purpose to resist nor to fight back... Your family dead, your will had died along with them.

"Fetch for Aemond. Tell my younger brother that his betrothed has returned."

His stern words felt incomprehensible in your thoughtless mind, lagging to understand the notion. You felt a cool, chill course through your weak body, rigid as though you had turned to stone, and yet, you were still breathing, still ever so present. No one had consulted you on such plans or schemes. And you were certain that Aemond himself would definitively refuse to marry the daughter of a traitor [as you presumed he would justify]. Your Uncle, Aemond, was a formidable man, fought against your late father, and had emerged the victor... And as the war, and the recent imprisoned days had taken its toll on you, your eyes darkened with the lack of sleep, unable to eat a crumb of bread, you did not look as you once had in your frivolous court, as he had once remembered you.

Although, as he sauntered into the room with such poise and stature, a certain charisma of that of a victor oozing about him, with not a single word exchanged, other than a devious smirk supplanted across his once serious face...It seemed there was more to the union than meets the eye.

Since your captive return to King's Landing, a place in which you had once considered your home, felt nothing more foreign. The stone sand walls that you had walked and run through as a child, now looked strange, the unfamiliar symbols of the Seven proudly hung around every available wall and space, gave an ominous feel. The halls seemed less brighter, even during the break of day, with the sunlight blatant in the sky, you instinctively felt as though a shadow lurked around every corner, attentive to your every move.

Dragonless, and defenceless, you were less of a threat than the younger Princess, Jahaera. The King and his Council had deemed you stable enough to roam the castle grounds freely, with a close knight in pursuit, only to ensure your own "protection" [as Aegon would admit that Aemond insisted], although you saw it more as means to deter you from being tempted to run away.

Regardless, Aemond had not spoken a word to you since hearing of the betrothal. He attended dinners with you in sight, although you rarely spoke yourself, mostly pleading and bickering with Alicent to remain in the desolate confines of your chambers. She was incessant about you joining the family, as the union was to be set in a moon's turn.

He dared not even to sit beside you: constantly at opposing ends. Although, there were rare occasions you had caught the younger Prince, brazenly staring at you with his one good eye. Unapologetically, his full attention spanned towards you, even if he had noticed you had become aware, he did not cease gawking.

Something about his looming gaze made you feel uneasy, very much on edge: a dark tinge to his violet eye, his pupils darkened as they seemed dilated. It inevitably made your stomach churn, only forcing you to resign in defeat, often excusing yourself to bed.

And often you were left undisturbed to recluse in your chambers... Although tonight, it seemed you were not alone in your ventures.

Retracing the exact steps you would take most nights, often on your lonesome return to your quarters: this time there was an accompanying sound in the distance, echoing down the hallway behind you. Heavy footsteps that caught your immediate attention. Slowly panning around, the shimmer of his lengthy, silver hair against the pale moonlight that peaked through the open crescents of the corridor, was alluring to your eye. Halting in your tracks, your breath hitched against your throat, all in trepidation, as Aemond effortlessly caught up with you in a few short strides. This was the closest he had ever truly come up to you, his towering height against you, made him even more daunting face to face.

"Running off to bed again, I see. And why is that?"

The sudden eruption of his deep, low voice breaking the stillness of the castle passage, startled you uneasily. You had exchanged many words and conversations with your elder Uncle before, during an ancient time long before the Dance had spurred. Although, the dynamics had inevitably changed, blood had been shed viciously and cruel words spat. Despite the same Valyrian blood coursing through your veins as of your betrothed, you felt solitary in their surrounding presence.

"I-I lost my appetite, U-Uncle. I wish to retire for the night," You aimlessly stutter, too weak to hold eye contact with Aemond, whose gaze remained fixated on you. His vibrant lilac orb luring over every inch of your timid body.

"Do you think it wise to roam the castle your lonesome self? Has the war not taught you otherwise? Is my niece still that same stupid, little whore I have known?"

His harsh remarks shadowed by that familiar, sly grin struck across his slim face, was plenty to furnace an incoming reaction from you, your blood boiling beneath your tender skin.

"Ah- tongue tied now, princess? Have I struck a chord with you, hmm? Mayhaps you are as weak as your father was... Now, how would he feel knowing you are to marry me? That I'll fuck his little girl, like the common whores he saw."

Your mind had no correlation to your hand, and yet the simmering rage that blistered through your body sent your mind to abyss. The small palm of your hand, strikingly latched across Aemond's face furiously. And yet, although a sharp stinging sensation poured across your hand, Aemond remained unfazed and sturdy. It seemed you had smacked the grin across his face, and in its stead, that familiar, unnerving dark tinge in his eyes scorned across at you.

Before you knew it, Aemond gripped your sides firmly, forcing your body forward, as he harshly shoved you against the cold, stone wall.

"You think that wise, whore? After the mercy I fucking showed you. I could have your fucking hand for that, or worse your head. My pretty wife's head on a spike, I'll have it right outside my window."

The cruelty that oozed from his precise lips was relentless. You wanted to burst into tears or more, burst into flames there and then...

"Do you know how long I have waited to have you under my very touch? All the sacrifices I made, the arguments I fought against my own Council to keep you alive? Ungrateful fucking bitch. Did your Daddy not teach you to be a good, obedient girl?"

One of Aemond's calloused, rough hands reached up hastily, his long fingers wrapping just so lightly around your throat, as his thumb gently stroked at your lips. His viable eye ogling tentatively over your mouth, smacking his lips innately.

"I'm your fucking Daddy now. Teach you how to be a proper lady, and a good fucking wife. I'm going to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, till you are dripping of me. I'll have you begging like a pathetic, stupid whore. I'll fuck you till I have heirs of my own, till I see fit that you have disgraced your extinct, traitorous bloodline."

"A-Aem, U-Uncle-" You breathlessly whimper in fear: freshly, swelled tears glaze your vision, as they begin to clear with each shedding streak.

"What did I just fucking say? I'm not your Uncle anymore, bitch. I'm your fucking Daddy. You would be helpless without me. Probably dead without my doing. You fucking owe me."

"Y-Yes-" Another breathless whimper, although Aemond's grip loosened, his other hand began to slowly move its way over towards your breast. His uninjured eye moving in motion with his hand, eagerly wandering over your bust. That same, very hand, began to keenly grope at your plush side, kneading at your breast tenderly, it felt foreign and sensitive under his strange touch.

"All fucking mine... Finally. Did you really think, I would let some insolent lord have you to himself? I'd start a war for you, I won the war for you. And now you're going to repay me, just so-"

A mindless moan flew out of your wet lips, catching you abruptly by surprise, and by the looks of it Aemond, as his blackened pupil dilated with a ravenous hunger, his ears pricking and leaning forward in delight.

"I'll have you moaning for more, precious. Now on your fucking knees-"

Even with the hatred that roared deep within your belly, you felt reluctant to retaliate, as you knew Aemond would effortlessly overpower you. As he had in your youth, when you were caught in a brawl with him, often ending with him wrestling you to the ground. And after his detailed spill of such vile threats, you dared not to risk the second chance of life, you had been granted.

Your knees hit the concrete floor with some brutality, although you regained from the ache. As you steadied your propped position, your hands gripping tightly at Aemond's slim waist, he began to undo his grey, washed out trousers.

The sheer sight of his cock, was intense enough to have you questioning whether you could even take him. Although slim in girth, his length was extraordinary. A reddened tip just oozing lusciously with a white, clear film glistening over the crown.

"Suck Daddy real good, bitch. Show me that, that mouth has other good uses than for talking back."

Your attention lurking from below, dropping from Aemond's face to his cock and back up once more to his face: the sudden change in his mood shifting was palpable. The momentary, light-hearted look of ecstasy dismantled as a cold, unsettling gaze resumed across his handsome face, lingering over your kneeled state.

"Make me fucking repeat myself one more time, whore and I'll treat you worse than a whore. I'll have you forget that you are a Targaryen princess."

Aemond's large hands found their way at the base of your skull, teasingly stroking your loose strands away from your face, within a few seconds the sudden shove towards him, left you physically speechless. Your mouth slightly agape, was enough for Aemond's stiffened, pulsating tip to propel its way into your tight mouth. The friction of his hard cock against your silky, warm flesh inside, was enough to set Aemond's breathing into a speedy pace. Lean chest heaving, the mindless groaning on his behalf was somewhat alluring. You had never seen nor heard such sounds or vulnerability in Aemond before.

"F-Fuck, that feels so fucking good- Just as I prayed to the Gods. I'm going to make your mouth so numb, so fucking filthy of me, you'll be tasting me still in the months to come."

No coherent words exchanged from below his waist, only muffled moans and breath hitches, as you sulked with crave. As much as it infuriated you, pained you to admit, the feeling of Aemond's rigid, throbbing cock in your mouth, was elevating. You had to admit, in your youth, previous to the blood that had been shed, you had a childhood feverish crush on your elder Uncle, although thought it unlikely that anything would flourish from it.

"Seven Hells. Such a pretty whore, with a pretty mouth. J-Just the p-prettiest whore in the Seven Kingdoms."

With each plunge, rhythmically bobbing backwards and forwards, the raw taste of Aemond's cum, tastefully filling your mouth to capacity, as a mixture of his reside and your own saliva oozed from your crevices. The dreading thought of being caught in such a contentiously vulnerable position, especially before being wedded, was disturbing enough, for you were not yet widely favoured by the Council...

"Ughh- Swallow and get up, whore."

Self-disgust stirred nauseatingly in the pit of your gut, as you reluctantly devoured small mouthfuls of Aemond's load, almost convincing yourself you would retch it all up in a matter of seconds. Much to your relief, you remained poised, meekly wiping away the mess across your lips, shying away from Aemond's unmoving regard. As you regained your normal pace of breathing, Aemond lent a hand over, grasping your undivided attention. With such ease, Aemond aided you, lifting you up to stand, before confining you closely between the wall and his heated body once more, closing whatever space was made between.

"Now let's see what that cunt has to offer."

His skilful hands hiking your layered gown up, making way for his arms to snake around your bare thighs, lifting you idly off the ground.

"Can't wait till the wedding to tarnish you, I've waited long enough."

A sudden bolt of lightening pain shot from within your inner thighs, as your tight walls stretched out ceaselessly to accommodate, as Aemond shoved his rigid cock inside. Your back flattened against the sandstone wall, its texture rough against the delicate silk of your gown. Burying his length deeper and deeper with each harsh thrust, his heavy balls collided with your silky folds as he vigorously pumped himself back and forth. His pace, although rough, remained steady. His raw, sensitive tip pummelling at your cervix, felt scorching inside your lower belly.

"And if I fuck you so good, that you begin to swell with my child... What would your dead family think of their precious daughter then, huh? These tits belong to me now, and the mother's milk that comes with it. Your entire being belongs to me now. That babe in your belly will be all because of me, and you'll fucking love every bit of it."

"I-I owe you my l-life, D-Daddy-"

The words mindlessly slipped from you lips, and yet it felt instinctual to say. As Aemond's mouth lapped at the sensitive crook of your neck, you felt the smirk of his grin against your skin, his sharp teeth faintly biting at your soft flesh.

"That's right, baby. That's so right my needy, little slut. You have a Daddy now that can really take care of you, protect you... Love you."

The epitome of his words, the calm depth in his voice, had reached its glorifying peak, as Aemond's hot load shot up directly into you, reverently coating your insides. Like some royal orchestra in unison to his final thrust, did a growling moan escape his lips, followed by an whisper of a swear. Leaning his exhausted, heavier mass over you, as he safely guided your legs back down to the surface, his breath densely hot against your ear, his outstretched palms cladded against the wall for support.

"Clean yourself up, Y/N... Wouldn't want anyone else to see you as the whore that you are, and get any ideas-"

His heavy breathing made his voice less formidable and more husky. Eyeing over your form, as you once more scoured and polished up the mess he made between your thighs, with the inner layer of your gown. You simply nodded in response to his demand, before hastily attempting to rush back to the confines of your quarters.

Yet, a firm pull tugged at your elbow, causing you to halt in your tracks, unavoidably.

"I will seek you out again tonight... Be ready for me."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

[yeokii]

SAND CASTLES AND FIRST LOVES — PARK SUNGHOON

synopsis . a day at the beach was for relaxing and also apparently for meeting your first love?

psh : new kid! sunghoon x fmr O.8K — fluff, crack ❨ warnings ❩ 🫧 teeth rotting fluff I PUKED. 𓍼 note — chat can u tell im tweakinh┆(bookshelf)

The sun iced your hands as you squinted your eyes under the hot weather. It was perfect. All you could do was sit down and relax and just babysit your sister? Right? It couldn't be that hard to watch over a five year old.

But one small thing you quite forgot was how hyper that little brat could be. Now you were stuck in being the little devil's assistant in help make her numerous sandcastles.

"Y/n! Don't you think that one is a bit crooked?" Your little sister pointed at the sand castle that you just made.

You dramatically sighed at your sister's remarks, "Jeez, wouldn't hurt for a compliment."

"Crooked towers don't get compliments!" Your sister huffed, "Now get to work." She said and continued making more sand castles, filling the mold with the damp sand sitting on the land.

You oughta throw her into the ocean if you could, but you stayed calm and followed the boss's orders.

Just as it started to get calm with no more snarky remarks from your little sister and calm waves crashing the sand near you, you were towered by a tall, slim figure.

Before you could even let out a warning, one of your precious sandcastles were toppled down by the boy's feet. Your sister didn't seem to care as she continued to make more sand figures to compliment her sandy mansion, but that was the one that you were most proud of so you knew you had to give him a piece of your mind.

"Hey! Watch it!" You stood up to face the rude boy, your hands on resting at your hips.

The boy turned around and you realised that it was the new kid in your school. Sunghoon looked youthful and charming as ever, his dark hair was slightly tousled from the breeze.

But the thing that caught your attention the most was the genuine look in his eyes, "I'm really sorry about that." He said, looking at the destroyed sandcastle.

"Oh— no it's fine!" You awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of your head after resizing you just screamed at the cutest boy you met.

"No really," He smiled sincerely. "Let me fix it." He knelt down, ready to fix the structure of the sandcastle.

"You don't have to do that you know," You giggled, kneeling down to his level. "I've seen you around..."

He furrowed his eyebrows and shot his eyes at you.

"Oh no! Not like that." You laughed once again. "I meant at school. New kid, yeah?"

He chuckled with you, nodding his head. "How come I've never seen your pretty face around?"

Oh jeez.

You blushed at his flirty remark, shrugging your shoulders not really knowing what to say.

"Hey! Stop flirting and get back to making the sandcastles. New kid, quick!" The little devil sassed, making your eyes widened.

"Shut up!" You whisper-screamed at her and looked back at Sunghoon with a sheepish smile, "Sorry about her. She gets a bit bossy sometimes."

"No she's right." He laughed, "Sorry miss, I'll get straight onto it." He said, trying to fix the sandcastle as quick as possible which made a snicker escape from you.

Sunghoon looked back up at you, finding your giggles really cute. The way your hair ever so slightly brushed against your face due to the light breeze and the sun slightly reflecting in your eyes, making it twinkle just might've been the cherry onto to make his heart skip a beat.

Gosh, you looked really pretty.

He was in a daze watching you make some sandcastles, craving out the minute details onto it with a slight smile fixed onto your face. He slowly panned it to your little sister staring dead straight at him.

Sunghoon went right back to the sandcastle he was fixing, clearing his throat hoping your little sister would be a little less intimidating.

"There, all done." He smiled, while getting back up.

"Hmm, good job new kid." Your little sister crossed her arms together. "It's better than Y/n's" She giggled, making you glare at her.

"Thank you though," You thanked him once again.

"No it's my fault." He brushed it off, "How about I make it up to you? What about some ice cream?"

You smiled at the request, "Of course, I'd love to."

"Me too." Your sister butted in as she walking closer to Sunghoon making him giggle.

"Sure princess." Sunghoon said, ruffled her hair and looked back at you. His warm brown eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

As you three walked away to head to an ice cream stand, Sunghoon stayed close by your side. He knew he didn't need to say nothing more; the look in his eyes said it all. And as your arm gently brushed against his, you suddenly became aware of how close you were.

And that today might be the day you would never forget, the summer leaving a fresh stain in your mind—the summer where you met your first love.

tags . @zuyairus @bubblytaetae @yenqa @redm4ri @hanniluvi @haechansbbg @taejaysreads @shinunoga-iie-wa @teddywonss @naespas @isoobie @dimplewonie @jennaissantes @aishigrey

[bit-odd-innit]

They’re about 20 minutes into the movie when Steve feels the familiar dip of weight against his shoulder.

He can’t stop the pulse of fond bemusement that surges through him. After all, Eddie had insisted on picking the movie this week, insisted that it was “an unfathomable travesty” that Steve had never seen it, insisted they had to watch it despite the bruise-colored circles under his eyes, the discreet flex of his hands disguising the tremors he gets when he’s over exhausted. Steve says nothing, lets the movie run, and once Eddie conks out instead of switching to something more his speed, he keeps watching.

The movie’s not Steve’s taste, but it’s not bad. He hasn’t been big into cartoons since he was a kid. The animation is strange yet fascinating, the characters’ movements equal parts natural and off-putting. He drifts in and out of the story, though enough of Dustin and Eddie’s ramblings have sunk in that he’s able to follow along. Whenever a name or location he recognizes pops up he turns to Eddie and says, smugly, “I know what that is.” Eddie replies with a soft exhale that ends in a low hum. His breath skitters across Steve’s throat. Steve shivers.

Eddie’s got this little bank of noises he makes when he’s sleeping. When he crashes after drinking too much, he snores. When he’s asleep but not deep enough to rest, he mumbles—sometimes giggles, too, which is really unsettling if you’re not expecting it. And when he’s dreaming, good or bad, he hums.

They’ve been doing this—whatever this is—for long enough that Steve can tell when Eddie is having a good dream and when he’s having a bad dream. (It’s not weird, he counters to the tiny, horrible Robin voice that lives in his head.) The bad dream hums are low, dredged up from the base of his chest. The good dream hums are high, slipping out from behind his teeth. Steve can’t read music but he took chorus in middle school and he’s hung around Robin while she learned a new piece for band so he’s got an idea of how the note…thingy works. If Eddie’s dream sounds were a song, the good dreams would be at the top of the bar, and the bad dreams would be at the bottom.

Except now, as the movie nears its end, the song changes.

At some point Eddie’s legs had curled up beneath him, his face buried in the join between Steve’s shoulder and neck. Steve can’t hear as much as feel the noises vibrating against his skin. He feels the thrum of bad rising into good, then dipping into something in the middle and holding there. They’re stuck at the center of the stanza (Stanza! That’s what it’s called!) and Steve doesn’t know where to go from here.

“Eddie?”

The arm Eddie is leaning on has gone a little numb, so Steve uses the other to sweep aside the curtain of hair drawn across the side of Eddie’s face, his fingertips grazing his cheekbone. Eddie’s lips part. A new sound, a different sound escapes him. He pushes in close enough for those pink plush lips to press against Steve’s collarbone. Heat curves around the back of Steve’s ears.

“H~eeey.”

He doesn’t want to wake him if this is a good dream. Eddie’s an open book. Eddie’s told him he’s been sleeping like dogshit, that the night terrors have been particularly horrible this week. It’s a joke, a little. The two of them share weird hours. They create bits about how bad things are, how awful they feel about their relationships with people they love, how awful they feel about themselves. It’s fun, until it isn’t. Steve’s seen Eddie’s whole personality swallowed by the wet sand of sorrow. He’s seen him sink into himself and surface with something else, something bright and exuberant and loud and false. If Eddie feels good Steve doesn’t want to ruin it. But if Eddie feels bad—

“Hey.” Steve hooks his palm to rest beneath the ridge of Eddie’s jaw, his thumb pressed into his dimple. “Eddie. Wake up.” Eddie’s eyebrows cinch, a sigh gliding across Steve’s knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, dark and spidery, his lids hanging low over hazy eyes. He blinks, owlish, then tilts up to meet Steve’s gaze with a slow, dreamy smile. “Hi,” he whispers. “Hi,” Steve chuckles in reply.

“W…” Eddie’s mouth works like its full of sunflower seeds; deliberate, purposeful. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Why’dju stop?”

“Stop…what?” He glances to the muted blue static of the screen. “The movie’s over, bud.”

Eddie blinks again, slower. He’s so sweet like this, soft and syrupy, so when he breathes a laugh Steve can’t help but mirror it. “Oh,” Eddie exhales, then leans forward and kisses him.

The hum of Eddie’s dreams are now against Steve’s lips. Those lovely little middle sounds are now inside Steve’s mouth. He swallows them, feels them knife down his throat, wedge between his ribs, twist into the open valves of his heart. He pulls back.

Eddie giggles again. Pouts. “You stopped again.”

“Oh, honey,” The endearment wrenches out of him, involuntary. He smoothes the worry lines out of Eddie’s forehead. “You’re tired, huh?” Eddie makes a non-committal noise. “Okay.” Steve sets his feet and secures his arms behind Eddie’s back. “Okay,” he groans as he lifts him, spins him towards the stairs. “Okay. Time for bed.” Eddie’s still in a half-conscious limbo as Steve navigates him upstairs, mouthing indelicately at any piece of Steve’s skin he can find. It’s untenable, and Steve’s not proud at how he launches Eddie in the direction of his bed, sprints to the en suite to splash cold water on his face before helping him undress. “Take it,” Eddie murmurs when Steve unbuttons his jeans, and Steve needs to sit in the center of the floor for a moment before proceeding. “That’s not what this is.” “Wantchu t’aveit.” Steve shoves him into a pair of flannel pajama pants and stuffs him beneath the sheets. Eddie curves onto himself like a mollusk, and Steve sinks at his hip, brushing his bangs away from his closed eyes. Steve feels himself split down the middle: One part already downstairs; one part already nestled in the contours of Eddie’s body.

“Go back to sleep,” Steve says, and moves to stand. Eddie’s hand closes around his wrist. “Stay?” His eyes flit open, brief, earnest, pleading. “Please, stay.” And, well. They’re going to talk about it tomorrow. They’re going to talk about the movie they didn’t watch, and the moment they half-shared, and the reason its so hard to sleep apart yet so easy to sleep together. Not now. Now Steve shrugs into shorts and a t-shirt, slides in beside Eddie. Now, when Eddie’s limbs tangle around his own, he tugs him closer, lets something deep within himself settle. “Stay?” Eddie asks again. “Go to sleep, honey.”

And he does. And they do.

[not-neverland06]

How About A Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII

Series Masterlist

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: I see a lot of comments talking about how you guys wished they would just communicate. They are communicating its just that neither of them know what they want. Summary: All you want is to just be clean. He offers to show you a nice little spot where you can finally scrape the grime off of you. What could go wrong?

“So,” you shifted your bag further up your arm. You were favoring the left today on account of the giant gap he had left in your right bicep. You were still pretty pissed off about that. “Do you ever, you know, bathe?”

He looked over his shoulder at you, he seemed caught off guard by the question. “Bathe?” He repeated, face raised in surprise.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, “Yeah, bathe. I’ve been out here over a week. I’ve got about twenty layers of blood and sand stuck in every crevice.” Your skin crawled thinking about the different types of bodily fluid you’d been sprayed with since coming out of the cryo pod. 

There was a lot of blood, of course, but Hollywood doesn’t show everything that gets excreted in death. You were itching for a good shower. You know that’s out of the question, but there’s got to be something. 

He laughed and ripped off a piece of jerky. He offered you some, grinning when you shook your head. “Buckle up, sweetheart, you’re in for a rude awakening. You can always use the water, but that’s a waste of Radaway if you ask me.” You should have known. It’s not like anyone you’d encountered seemed particularly gung ho about personal hygiene, but you had hoped there would be something. 

You reached down, digging your nails into your arm and scratching off flakes of blood and who knows what else. You shouldn’t have bothered, though, it only made the rest of you feel a hundred times worse. You looked crazy, scratching at yourself like a dog but you couldn’t help it. 

“Alright, damn, I’ll give you some of my Radaway, you look half rabid.”

You stopped with your scratching and stared at him in shock. “You’ll give me some of your Radaway?”

He rolled his eyes, stopping only when he noticed you’d quit walking. “Is that not what I said?”

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “You’re not exactly known for your generosity. What’s the catch?”

He frowned and clutched at his chest like you’d actually done damage, “Now, that hurts darling. I’m just trying to help you out.” He turned around, walking to the right now, further towards greenery and away from the desert. “Plus, it’ll get rid of that fucking smell.”

You kept your mouth shut but he was one to talk. He hadn’t exactly tasted wonderful when he’d kissed you. Nor did he smell amazing. Still, he had made your heart race and it wasn’t from pure terror for once. Though, any positive feelings he’d caused within you had been negated the second he dropped you to the dirt like a used up toy. 

You knew better than to try and bring it up to him, but it had stung. Attacked that vulnerable part of you that made you want to put up walls so high even the sun couldn’t get through. 

With no other choice you sped up and caught up to him. Your hip was still bothering you, but it wasn’t dragging behind you as much as it was a few days ago. The only thing really bugging you now was your throbbing arm. He’d assured you that it couldn’t rot, he’d dealt with that, but that didn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch. 

“Through here is a lake you can use.” He pointed towards the area where the trees started to thin out. 

You looked at him skeptically, “You’re really letting me do this?”

He scoffed and glared at you, “The fuck did I tell you?” You don’t know if he’s talking about his new rule to stop questioning him or about giving you the Radaway, but you keep your mouth shut anyway. He hasn’t been as much of a dick today and you’d rather keep it that way. 

“Here,” he motions through the trees and you stumble into an abandoned neighborhood. It’s been submerged in water, you can spot some old apartment buildings peeking up through the top. 

Briefly, you wonder if you’ve ever passed your old home and just never realized it. You dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes, not willing to let your mind linger on thoughts like that today. 

You slowly make your way to the water, still not entirely trusting of his intentions. He’s made it clear he’s keeping you around for the long haul, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped tormenting you. “You’re really gonna let me use your Radaway?” You call over your shoulder. 

He sighs and leans against the trunk of a tree. “Get your ass in the water, I won’t wait around all day. 

You’re not dumb enough to fully submerge yourself in radiated water. You just rip a piece of your shirt off and dunk it into the startlingly blue lake. You use it to scrub yourself down, rubbing your arms until they’re raw and feel clean enough. 

You shuffle closer to the water, trying to bend over enough to scrub your face a bit. But when you gaze down into the water you find something gazing back up at you. You scream, scrambling back just as that thing leaps out of the water and towards you. 

Something pink and wet slams into your chest and knocks the air out of your lungs. You grope blindly in the mud for your gun as it opens its mouth. Horror and disgust fill you when you see what’s in its mouth, human fingers dangle like disgusting uvulas. It darts forward, jaw posed to clamp around your whole face. 

A loud bang echoes through the lake. The thing goes flying back and causes ripples to drift across the surface of the water. You clutch your chest, trying to get your breath back and scoot closer to get a better look at whatever attacked you. It’s the size of your torso and looks startling like some deformed axolotl. He’s left a large bullet hole in the middle of it’s head deformed head.

“What the fuck?” You whisper, shakily getting to your feet and groaning when you realize whatever you’d manage to clean off had been replaced by a thick layer of mud. 

You turn around, hoping for some sort of explanation from him, but he’s just bent over laughing, gun still smoking. You grab your bag out of the muck with a huff and glare at him. “Really?”

He straightens up, still grinning and shakes his head. “You should have seen your face, you were petrified.”

”Well, I’m glad someone enjoyed that.” You glare down at the corpse, eyes wide with horror, “It’s got fucking fingers in it’s throat. Human fingers!” He saunters over to you, entirely too pleased with himself. He grabs his inhaler out of his bag and loads it with Radaway. He tosses it over to you and you catch it with your good arm. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” You press down and take in a deep breath, ignoring how bitter the juice tastes. 

“Never trust anything, rule number one of the Wastelands darling. Can’t even trust the water.” There was a loud roar off towards the middle of the lake and he nodded his head back towards the tree line. “Come on, that one was just a baby Gulper. Momma’s gonna be by soon and I can’t imagine she’ll be real happy.” He walks off without you and you’re stuck staring at the dead mutant. 

“That was a fucking baby?” He laughs at you again and when you catch up with him, you can't help but laugh a little yourself. You probably looked ridiculous, wrestling in the mud with what, apparently, was only an infant. 

He grins at you, “You got a lot to learn.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I know.”

He’s kneeled down beside you, fingers prodding at the reddened area around your wound. It feels a bit better now, more like touching a fresh bruise rather than raw nerves. He poured some water from his canteen over the area and retied the bandage. He stood up and moved away from you while you dug around in your bag for another ration bar. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You’ve got the bar positioned between your knees, and you’re trying, hopelessly, to open it up with one hand. Your fingers, now dusted with dried mud, slip uselessly against the packaging. 

He looks up at you and lets out a loud sigh. “Give it here.”

”I’ve got it-”

“Give. It. Here.” You huff but toss the bar over to him. He rips it open in one smooth move and throws it back to you. You catch it with your good hand and take a large chunk out of it. It feels like rubber and tastes oddly like dried out meatloaf. You’re not exactly sure what flavor it’s supposed to be replicating, but you figure it’s so old it doesn’t really matter as long as it fills you up. 

He pours some water from his canteen onto a ripped piece of cloth and tosses it at you. You’re unprepared, bar in hand and midchew, it slaps against your face and you scowl under the fabric. “Really?” You mutter, mouth half full. You yank it off your face and give him a questioning look. 

“Just clean yourself up.” 

You drag it across your face and arms, trying to get off as much residual mud as you can. Your clothes are a stained, lost cause, but this will do for now. Not like you’re going to get much better without going up against some mutant monster. 

“You’re being nice today?” It comes out like a question more than anything. Probably because you’re having trouble trusting him, especially after the Gulper incident. You wished you could say you can’t believe he would do something like that, but you’re pretty sure he’d been hoping the mom would get you, not the baby. 

He shrugged and leaned back against a fallen log. “Feelin’ chivalrous.”

You hummed but didn’t push. You forced down another lump of your ration and reached for your water. “Where are we heading anyway? Been walking for a long time but we haven’t seem to have gotten anywhere.”

“There’s a compound I took a bounty for. We’re on our way to deliver it.”

You tilted your head as far back as you could, tongue out and hoping to catch the remaining drops of your water. “Shit,” you tossed the canteen back in your bag, already knowing it was hopeless. 

“Ah, hell,” you glanced up and saw Cooper rifling through his supply box. 

“How are you on Radaway?”

He sighed and chucked the box back into his bag. “Got two vials left.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, a pensive expression on his face. 

You sighed and rubbed idly at some mud left on your fingers. “You’re gonna need more soon.”

He cut you off with a sharp laugh. “Faster than soon, this is the diluted shit.” He rubbed at his chest and you wondered if he was already starting to feel the effects of being so low on the medicine. You can’t believe he gave you a vial of his own with so few left. 

Bastard must’ve really wanted to see you get jumped by a gulper. Your face twisted up in distaste and any twinge of sympathy you’d felt for him dissapeared. You wished he would cough so hard he’d choke on his tongue, at least then you wouldn’t have to listen to his bullshit anymore. 

He looked over at you and then your bag. “Got any of that purified water left?” You shook your head, crumpling the wrapper of your bar up and tossing it somewhere behind you, 

“Just ran out, not sure where I’m gonna find more.”

He chuckled and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I do,” you stood up and grabbed your own bag, following behind him. 

Loud laughter and rowdy conversation drifts into the night air. You sit perched behind a large boulder, staring into the building across from you. It’s an old supermarket, refurbished to fit the Wastelanders' needs. “They’ll have what we need?”

He doesn’t look at you, his sight is dead set on the men milling about in front of you. They’re clearly guards, switching positions every couple of minutes and loaded to the teeth with weapons. Cooper silently tracks them, eyes darting between them as they switch positions yet again. 

“Yep,” he lifts up into a squat and watches as one of the men turns his back to lace up his boot. “Now!” He grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and drags you along as he weaves between the guards. He throws you in front of him, practically tossing you inside the store. 

You hold back your gasp of shock and duck behind a waist-high shelf. There are only seven or eight men walking around inside. They’ve got a fire burning in the middle of the store, the empty shelves pushed back against the walls. Behind them is about the largest pile of supplies you’ve seen since being up here. They could give Ma June a run for her money. 

You peek your head over the shelf and try to get a look at just how many weapons they have. You hear the familiar sound of spurs walking behind you and twist immediately to see Cooper walking calmly towards the group with his hands raised in surrender. He catches your eye and winks before he fully addresses them. 

“Gentlemen!” You sigh and sink back against the shelf, an irritated look on your face. The shelf screeched forward slightly and you scrambled off it, you caught Cooper twitch a little in irritation but he didn’t say anything. He’s been fully noticed at this point, the others all glaring at him with their guns raised. 

He had a full view of all eight men from his perspective. What he couldn’t see, which you could, was a ninth man sneaking up behind him with a knife. He had it poised, aiming to strike right through the back of Cooper’s neck. 

Without thinking too much on it, you leapt out of your hiding spot and used your good arm to point your gun in the man’s face. He came to a stop almost cartoonishly, eyes wide and the knife in his hands trembling when you popped out. 

Cooper barely gave you a glance out of the side of his eye and you figured he knew all about the ninth man. He must have been testing you, see if you really had his back. “Hey!”

“Who the fuck is she!”

“What are you doing here?”

You ignored the sounds of their voices, you kept the gun trained on the boy and motioned him towards the left of the room. He followed, letting you guide him backwards until he was scrambling to hide behind his friends. It’s then that you finally got a good look at just how many guns were trained on you. 

One of them pumped their shotgun and you pulled back the hammer of your gun. Cooper’s guns were still tucked away in their holster, it was just you and however much firepower they could cram between ten pairs of hands. 

“Now, I suggest that you gentlemen put those guns down or my friend here is gonna get a little too friendly with her trigger.”

One of them scoffed, gesturing with the barrel of their pistol towards your right arm hanging limply by your side. “She got a bad arm and a shaking hand.”

“Maybe,” you call out, “but I got a working finger. I only need one of ‘em to kill you.”

Before he can respond there’s another one stepping forward. “She can get real friendly with me.” He’s got a lecherous grin on his face and a look in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. You sigh, sick of the men up here being so predictable, and turn your gun on him. His eyes widen, like he hadn’t seen you pointing it at his friends, and you pull the trigger. 

Your aim is a little off and the recoil is harder to handle with only one hand available to you, but you’ve got a sawed off shotgun in your hand, don’t have to have a great aim to kill a man with that. His twitching body has barely hit the ground before you’re diving to the right and ducking behind a shelving unit. 

Cooper goes to the left, eyes wide in the same astonishment as those men. Bullets started flying the second their friend was on the ground. They were shouting all sorts of insults and threats at you but it was hard to make out over all the shooting.

“You shot him!” Cooper shouted over the hail fire of bullets.

You rolled your eyes and did your best to reload the gun with your wobbly hand. “He pissed me off,” you shouted back at him. You leveled the gun over the top of the shelves and fired blindly. There was a loud yelp and then another Bitch shouted at you, so you must have hit something. 

“You know, I was trying to handle this civilly,” Cooper jumped to his knees and turned around quickly. He fired off a quick succession of shots, four bodies dropped as he did. The rate of gunfire slowed a bit as more men fell. He ducked down and ran across the room, throwing himself down next to you. He tossed his guns at you and tugged yours out of your hand. “Reload me,” you nodded and tugged some bullets out of his bandolier while he used your gun to shoot at them. 

“I’m sure you handling it civilly would have ended the exact same fucking way.”

He grinned and sat back next to you, “Well,” he shrugged, “maybe. Maybe not, doesn’t matter now.” You handed him his reloaded guns and he dropped yours in your lap. “Only a few left, use the shelves as cover and circle around behind ‘em.” He didn’t stay to make sure you understood his plan, he immediately set off, drawing the fire away from you and making a run for it. 

“Shit,” you hissed, struggling to your feet and following his instructions. With only a few of them left it should have been quick work to get rid of the last few stragglers, but the guards from outside had heard the scuffle and were rushing in. Cooper shot most of them but one got close enough to snatch his gun from his hands and throw it to the floor. 

Cooper struggled against the man, his towering form easily overpowering Cooper. Though, your friend didn’t seem particularly worried, if anything it looked like he was letting the man live to draw out the fight, like he was enjoying it. 

You were going to just leave him to it when you saw the same bastard from before with the knife sneaking up behind him again. You rush forward, scooping up Cooper’s gun as you go and shove the man backwards. 

He grunts at the impact but he refused to be deterred. He charges at you, eyes red with rage and blackened mouth frothing like a rabid dog. You try and keep your guard up but you’ve got a gimp leg and a useless arm, it’s not a fight you’re going to win. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and yanks you into him. You grunt, breathing out slowly as you feel his knife slide into your gut. You glance down at the rusted blade and shove your gun under his chin. His eyes widen when you draw the hammer back but you don’t flinch when you pull the trigger, not even when chunks of skull and hair start raining down on you. 

Cooper must have finally noticed the tussle happening behind him because he draws his second gun out from under his coat and ends his little fight with the last of them. You must be in shock, you still haven’t fully experienced the pain that you should. 

There’s a knife sunk past the handle slammed into your gut, you should be feeling something shouldn’t you? You’re sure it’s the adrenaline still pumping through you. Your body is warm from how fast your blood is pumping, your ears ringing from all the gunshots and head spinning from the amount of blood steadily leaking out of the wound. 

“Hey,” you turn around to face him and his eyes widen ever so slightly. You lose your footing and he darts forward, quick arms grab you and draw you into his chest. You clutch onto the sleeve of his jacket, letting all of your weight rest on him while you try and get your panicked breathing under control. 

You’ve had worse injuries than this. As hard as it is to believe, in your time up here, you’ve survived a lot worse than some measly stab wound. 

So why does this feel so fucking bad?

“Oh,” you moan in pain, nearly doubling over. A feeling like a million exposed nerves being set on fire stops you from falling to the floor, instead you push off Cooper and struggle to your feet. 

“Alright, come on,” he grabs your arm again and you have the ridiculous urge to just shove him off you. Your head is swimming,  you feel like you could float away. You look down at the knife again and finally realize just how large it is. One of those hunting ones that was about the width of your hand curled into a fist. 

Well, fuck.

“Hey,” he snaps when you stumble away from him again. “Sit your stubborn ass down, you need help.” He yanks on the straps of your shirt, holding you up and dragging you to a chair, you don’t have much choice as he forces you to sit. Though, the motion causes a wave of excruciating pain to flare through you. 

He kneels in front of you and rips your shirt open, you’re in too much pain to complain about it right now. He hums low in the back of his throat as he takes in the wound. With no warning whatsoever he grabs the knife by the handle and yanks it out like he’s ripping off a fucking bandaid. 

You nearly scream, lurching forward and shoving him away from you. The sudden shock of pain has left you half blind and panting like an animal. “What the fuck was that?” You force out through gritted teeth. He plants a hand on your shoulder and presses you firmly against the back of the chair. 

“Need to get you a Stimpak.” He takes your hand in his and presses it against the wound. Where blood was once oozing, it’s now gushing. You hadn’t realized just how much keeping the knife in had kept the blood at bay. With how rapidly it’s leaving you now you’re afraid. 

You’re afraid that you might not be able to make it back from the edge with just a Stimpak. You can already feel your fingers going cold, pretty soon you won’t be able to flex them and then you’d lose feeling in your arms too. 

“Hey,” he uses the grip he has on your hand to press down on the wound. You groan but he keeps the pressure steady. His eyes bore into your dazed ones, some odd expression in them. “You don’t get to give up. Keep pressure on this, understand me?” Your head flops forward in a lazy nod. 

He could have been gone for a minute or an hour, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Your head is foggy, coherent thoughts replaced by loopy ones. You’re struggling to remember where you are or what you’re supposed to be doing. 

Just as your hand slips from the wound, he comes back. He grabs your hand and places it back, holding it there with his own. You appreciate the way he warms your fingers back up, but the rest of you is freezing too. Maybe he’d share his jacket. 

The thought of him sharing anything makes you laugh and he gives you a frustrated look. “Don’t go losing it on me. Not yet at least.”

You lean forward, face nearly pressed against his and grin. “You know, I haven’t heard a thank you yet.”

He scoffed, opening the Stimpak with one hand and preparing the injector. “Yeah, for what?”

“Saving your life, dick.”

You’re caught off guard when he slams the needle into your stomach, your lips part with a silent gasp and you wince at the cool rush of medicine. He grins at you, “Well, thank you for being the only dumbass to get herself stabbed in a gun fight.”

The medicine works fast, you learned that from when he’d shot you. You can already start to feel the pulse of blood slowing and your head clearing up slightly. “Asshole,” you hiss, leaning away from him. But his eyes stay trained on you, on both of your blood covered hands and where they still rest, linked together, on your stomach. 

You find yourself taking advantage of his distraction to really look at him. It bothers you, how after everything, his eyes are still so pretty. It’s the first thing that drew your attention when you were younger. Those eyes of his had you swooning from the first time you saw him on the big screen. 

He catches you but you can’t find it in yourself to care. There’s something odd in the air, a lingering tension from the kiss you’d never discussed. From the silent partnership you’d never voiced. You’d nearly gotten yourself killed for him tonight, the thought finally seemed to be dawning on him. 

His eyes drop to your lips and he leans in. He doesn’t get very far, lips just barely brushing yours before you’re jerking back in surprise. You’re bleeding out in his hands and he kisses you? Your hand is up and cracking across his cheek before you can think about it. 

His head whips to the side with a satisfying crack. He lets out a breathy chuckle, using his free hand to soothe the area you’d hit. He stretches the tension out of his jaw and shakes his head before he looks at you again. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed you. You definitely shouldn’t be further entertaining his ideas that he holds any sort of possession for you, but you’d just realized what that look in his eyes had been earlier. He had been worried about you. 

Cooper has always been the one who protected you. Not the other way around. And as twisted as he’d become, it still relatively remained the same dynamic today. You’d caught him off guard earlier, putting yourself in danger like that for him. And he had been worried about you. 

You grab him by the collar of his jacket and drag him forward before he can decide what to do with the fact that you slapped him. Your lips meet again and he hovers over you on your chair. The hand on your stomach pushes harder against you, deepening the pressure and making you groan into his mouth. 

He doesn’t waste time, deepening the kiss and letting his other bloodied hand drift into your hair. His fingers curl around the strands and he yanks your neck back, manipulating you how he wants and bending you to his desires. You melt into it, into the complete control you allow him to momentarily wield over you. 

You let your mind go blank and just focus on him. You can pretend, for now, that you’re in his old house. You’re coming back after a date at one of those fancy restaurants that he hates, but he takes you there anyway so you can have an excuse to dress up. 

He’ll whisper I love you and drag you to the couch. You’ll start there, his kisses traveling lower until he’s dragging you back to his bedroom. You’ll feel valued, cherished, loved. Cooper will take care of you. 

He parts slowly from you, still keeping a firm grip on your hair. It takes a moment for your eyes to flutter open again. You’re sure you look like a mess, staring up at him with glossy eyes and swollen lips, completely drenched in your own blood. 

“Don’t think about him when I’m the one kissing you, darling.” Your eyes widen and he lets you go. He shoves back from you and paces towards his bag. Any warmth in his eyes, any care, was gone. 

You want to say something to drag him back but the moment has passed. It’s not like he was wrong, you were pretending he was someone completely different to make yourself feel better. 

But you couldn’t make yourself feel guilty when you remembered half the reason you needed the comfort was because of who he was now. He comes back with a needle and thread. He lets the needle hover over the men’s fire for a moment before he approaches you with it. “Stimpak will only do so much, need to sew you up.”

You nodded and looked away as he knelt down and pressed the needle into your skin. You barely felt it,  could barely pay attention to him when your thoughts were on what it was like before. What he was like before. Sometimes it makes you sick to your stomach to look at him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[ataraxiaspainting]

O Fatale Imperium, O Fortuna!

Part I of III - Power and Control.

Yan Sunday x F Reader.

Synopsis: At the heart of what used to be a town, your fellow villagers wait on their knees to be blessed by a kind stranger.

Warnings: Yandere themes, non-consensual body transformation, religious themes because it’s Sunday, unhealthy relationships, major spoilers for the main Penacony quest in Honkai Star Rail, manipulation, descriptions of poverty, descriptions of physical illnesses, minor character deaths, and drugging.

Word Count: 3k.

shoutout to my friend @harmonysanreads for proofreading some of it! i really appreciate her and all the stuff she writes so please check her out! <3

*~*~*~*

"Requiem aeternam dona ets, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ets. Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion, et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem. Exaudi orationem meam, ad te omnis caro veniet. Requiem aeternam dona ets, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ets."

- Introitus, Mozart's Requiem.

*~*~*~*

Jenovath, the planet of three truths – the closest neighbor of Penacony, the planet of dreams. Two moons rotate in a clockwise motion while the other two move in the opposite direction. The youngests, Jenova Nativitas and Jenova Vita, have almost always been a fated pair – one gifts humanity with vegetation while the other gifts them with life in other forms. Both have always been honored within your village – the most famous example being a large statue of the goddess Jenova at its center holding them in her gentle hands – unlike the other two planetoids. 

Jenova Mortem and Jenova Copulatio; both unwelcome gifts from Jenova’s son a millennium ago.

In your childhood, you remember the sun’s warmth atop your skin as you explored the forests around your village. Now Jenova Morteum and Jenova Copulatio have combined into one, and now this planet’s source of light is gone.

The plants died first. The herbivores next. The carnivores around the same time. There are no more blessings from Jenova Nativitas or Jenova Vita, only curses in the form of disease and disorder. Black coils inhabit the bodies of the older generations, the same ones who were cursed by their goddess’ envious only child.

The younger generation is left fighting for the scraps of a world forgotten by the rest of the universe. You may be older than some of them – you have no clue how people still have kids in times like this – but in reality, you’re just as lost. You’re just as clueless when it comes to begging whatever few travelers are left for necessities, and you’ll probably die soon just like everyone else who has come before you.

“Such unnecessary pain.” The stranger murmurs, kneeling to you. You don’t look anywhere aside from the makeshift knife in your hands. Your palms bleed since the handle is non-existent. After all, it is just a piece of glass you managed to take off of another abandoned lodge cabin meant for visitors.

The robe on his head does little to hide his real appearance. Golden eyes, a face as pale as sand, and what looks to be two halovian wings blending in with his gray hair.

Your body isn’t as damaged as the other people nestled in this part of the town – while you only have small black markings on the back of your neck going down to your midriff, most of the others have large excesses of skin on their faces, hands, and feet. Their ability to talk, walk, and touch things have been severely limited due to Hirona’s inflicted evil – meanwhile, you're only limited in the ways you can cover your markings because most of the clothing you once had has been sold.

*~*~*~*

Instead of sleeping on stone tiles – or a cardboard box if you had gotten lucky with your findings in garbage disposals – you lay awake, nestled between freshly ironed sheets and a mattress you feel is softer than a cloud. On the bedside table, there are a few gifts from the staff. Nothing too fancy with the crisis at hand, but the kind gesture is more than enough in comparison to what you have been given on the streets recently. A basket of cut bruised fruits, two red roses in a glass vase partially shattered on its top, and a little card with the manager’s signature on the back thanking the stranger – Sunday he told you was his name – for his patronage and blessings. Just an hour prior, he had presented you to the receptionist. She started to cry when she looked upon your skin, and soon some of the other staff members came to see what the commotion was about.

In just moments you two were presented with a freshly clean room – so clean you had nearly slipped on the wet flooring. You would have fallen if Sunday were not right behind you. It would be a terrible thing to have your curse undone and then proceed to break a few bones.

Sunday calls to you from the other side of the room, standing beside his own bed to read the note in his hands. “Miss [First], would you like some of my favors? I noticed yours are of… lesser quality.”

He’s observant from what you have seen thus far. After your healing, he had walked with you to the nearest clothing store – it was quite far, as evidenced by his offering for you to stay closer to the area he found you at while he went to secure the goods. He somehow knew your size and noticed how even your socks didn’t fit you as nicely anymore.

“I don’t mean any offense by the way; I’m also just not quite hungry at the moment.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, freeing yourself from the comforter. “I don’t mean to take more than I can give back. You have done so much already for me, for the people on Jenovath.”

“I argue that my efforts are just beginning.”

You turn your head a bit to the side, your grip on the warm pallet fading as you urge yourself to get up. “Are they?”

Sunday nods, putting a hand on his chest as he closes his eyes. The note falls with his other hand to his side. “After all, I have only cured about twelve people total thus far – including you. There is still much work to be done, so you can take as much as I throw.”

Your gluttony gets the better of you – you don’t ask for his permission again.

*~*~*~*

“How did it feel, kid?”

The man in front of you has given you no warning before he speaks. Instead of ever using his voice, the bottles and shakers and cups do the talking for him most of the time – and the strength in his body that almost anyone can notice right away. You would have to be a fool to start a riot in Cooper Caprum’s bar. The Great Bubble is no place for transgressors. 

“What are you talking about, Mister Caprum?”

“That boy – ‘Sunday’ I heard his name was.”

The two glass cups mix liquids without a mere ounce of Cooper’s strength. Everything he holds in his hands belongs to Jenovath’s much more successful neighbor; or more specifically one of its most popular companies. SoulGlad Soothing Soda. SoulGlad Redsunset Sauce. When the concoction turns a deep violet, you’re tempted to revoke the offer you made to him.

“Ah, so you know Mister Caprum already?” You nearly jump at the sound of Sunday’s voice coming from right behind you. “That’s lovely to know.”

He points to the stool beside you; it’s much less stable than the one you sat on. 

“May I join you two?”

“Of course,” You reply, switching your seating before he can fall. “Take mine-”

Since you took his place, it’s only natural you’re the one to hit the floor. The new grip on your wrist is tight, almost like an embrace. Once you are back to being upright, Sunday goes to brush the dust off of his sitting. 

You’re certain there is nothing, but Sunday somehow still sees dirt – and you decide to make nothing of it.

You sigh, pulling out your wallet in case this bet doesn’t work out in your favor. “One thousand, right?”

Cooper nods his head like an eager child whose parents agreed to get him a puppy in exchange for good grades. “Mmhmm… and one secret.”

“A secret?” Sunday inquires, raising one of his wings in confusion.

“Alright,” You shake your head, placing the agreed-upon amount of credits on the table. 

Cooper copies your gesture. “Which cup would you like to start with, Missy?”

“Small. Then… I’ll hopefully make my way up.”

…

You had lost the bet early on; you weren’t able to even finish the original small glass you had selected.

Cooper managed to drink the whole thing on his own – all with a chuckle and wink every few gulps he took. But he has been a bartender for twenty-four years, so you hardly find it surprising. He must have had countless odd combinations thrown back at him the moment the client didn’t approve of it, either made by him when experimenting or being told to do so by the client. From the few pictures left on the hotel’s walls, you assume that this is where he has gotten his strength; kicking people in the nose the instant they don’t want to pay their tab. 

He didn’t have as much body hair and not a single noticeable muscle, no tattoos but plenty of uncovered scars. 

“Two thousand now – do you want to keep going?”

“I think she’s had enough,” Sunday interrupts, putting his arm around your back to hoist you up with him. “We’ll go back to the room now, thank you.”

Cooper looks down expectantly at the space in front of you, only the original thousand credits placed upon it. 

When Sunday notices, he seems to resist grumbling and takes out the same credit amount from his pocket. “Here.”

“Thanks for your patronage, Mister Sunday.” Cooper chuckles, the cigarette in his mouth starting to lose its flame. “Come back again soon, kid.”

*~*~*~*

From his gaze alone, you can tell Sunday disapproves of your lost wager – it’s fair, you think, for him to feel only condemnation.

However, Sunday now disapproves of most activities you try to do now. He’s behind you whenever you enter the bar, reminding you of how much of a lightweight you are and how easy it is for Cooper to persuade you into things you normally would not do sober. He dislikes the preferential treatment he is given over you by most of the staff, demanding for you to be treated with equal respect.

“Miss [First] Alloy is the first person I have healed from Hiroth… please don’t treat her like she is nothing but lowly trash.”

Sunday does not sleep much anymore either, preferring to go into nearby houses to bless the cursed. 

You can hardly remember what he looks like without such heavy eyebags, almost as dark as the smoke that comes out from Cooper’s cigars. 

One day, he came back with a strange cut on his cheek – a cut too shallow for a knife but too deep for a fingernail. 

Your savior tells you not to worry about him – to focus on taking care of yourself because ‘there is no other care within this universe similar to it’ – but you can’t help frowning as you wipe the golden blood away.

*~*~*~*

“I can’t,” Sunday repeats, his arms still crossed as he looks at the three faces before him. A boy no older than six, a girl no older than five, and a woman who has her daughter’s blue eyes. “I have other matters to attend to. I apologize, Mrs. Caprum. Your husband gave you false hope.” When Mrs. Caprum tries to beg again, he unravels one of his arms, putting a hand up and shaking his head.

As Sunday has said over and over for the past hour, Cooper’s wife and children are beyond saving.

The boy has purple skin – clotted and puffy like balloons – covering his vision.

The girl is afflicted with a similar swollen spot on the top of her lips, preventing her from speaking.

Their mother’s entire skin was a sickening plum color with only a few areas smaller than a freckle remaining untouched. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words that come out of you are true, heartfelt, just like how Sunday has talked to you before. You look down before he does, not wanting to take in such a scene any longer. 

Sunday has told you he is not all-powerful. He has told many people that countless times, not that they listened to him. 

“Bullshit,” Cooper snaps – in an instant, Sunday’s scarf is grabbed and he is raised just an inch or two above the ground. “You can heal them – stop lying to me, you bragged all fucking night a week ago about your powers.”

“I do not brag, Mister Caprum.”

After the two stare – one with disappointment, the other with hate – you catch Sunday before he falls.

*~*~*~*

The next time you see Cooper, it is him sitting down at the bar. The Great Bubble has had a closed sign next to its front door for about twelve days now. 

Cooper took the time off, not paid of course, after Sunday’s denials. Sunday kept working to heal other people… but not the Caprum family.

“They’re dead.” The bartender murmurs when you’re just close enough. “My Sarah, my little Julia and Victor. They’re dead because of him.”

You don’t know how to reply; instead sitting on a wobbly stool that looks just as damaged as Cooper’s does.

You hold onto the table’s edge to keep a steady balance while Cooper rests his elbows atop it. Your mind – so silent now that Sunday has gone out on business yet again – wanders to find another purpose.

Perhaps you can help someone instead of relying on luck to do it for you.

“It’s probably not going to help… But,” You begin, looking at the stone’s large cracks instead of how skinny Cooper has gotten. “I can tell you the secret I promised you. Both of them.”

You try to follow a path similar to your savior’s – a path full of rejoicement and triumph. 

“I-”

I was a part of House Sterling. 

The rag covering your mouth prevents you from speaking.

I was the eldest daughter but was unwanted by my father. 

The sweet smell prevents you from screaming but also prevents you from speaking your truth.

As soon as my mother died, I was on the streets.

Your eyelids droop like you haven’t slept in a long time – so similar to when you were fending for yourself, for your sanity, for your hope-

*~*~*~*

“Ah,” Sunday looks down at you from the chair beside your bed – he closes the familiar book you see him carry everywhere. “You’re awake.”

You try to speak with all your might, but something is stuck within your throat – the passage of airflow and saliva is kept open, but words cannot seem to come out.

You taste something floral and sweet sticking to the roof of your mouth. Earthy not like a mushroom… but like tea that has been steeping for much too long. It takes a few more moments for you to learn how to breathe strictly through your nose as something tickles you every time you inhale the air.

“Mister Caprum has been put under arrest.” He leans in, his hair nearly covering the entirety of his eyes and forehead from sight. The smell of cleanliness does little to deflect your senses from the inside of your mouth. 

There is a hint of blood coming out from the lump in your throat. 

Or is it from the supposed pacifist?

“You need not fear anymore.”

Maybe it is from both of you.

“I shall take care of all your burdens and woes.”

Maybe it is from neither of you.

“You don’t need to lift a finger anymore, Miss Alloy.”

You try not to force yourself to even whisper to him – even though you have so much to say, so many questions to ask him. You remain silent as Sunday takes the wrist closest to him, holding the palm against the right side of his chest. 

“I was horrified.” He admits, forcing a gentle smile as he now stares down at himself. “I had thought I was… going to lose you. I thought maybe Mister Caprum wouldn’t treat you differently because of what had happened. I thought wrong, it seems.”

That explains only half of the story. Why can’t you talk? Why does your larynx feel like it is being squeezed until it eventually pops? Why is there a minty aroma being mixed in with the scent of blood?

It doesn’t hit you yet – Sunday attempts to tell you the answers you wish for as nice as he can.

“I regret letting you know someone so… advantageous.” You feel his heartbeat. It’s slightly above yours, moving up and down in a way akin to a rainstorm’s rhythm. Bum bum. Bum bum. Bum bum. “He takes your money, uses your trust, attempts to take your secrets, and he almost took you.” 

The pulse quickens faster than you can process his words. Dun dun dun. Dun dun dun. Dun dun dun.

“I’ll miss your voice. I’ll miss a lot of things from you,” Your vision somehow gets more blurry, more hazy. Ah. It’s simply your tears – one of the few things Sunday doesn’t plan to take from you. After all, everyone cries. “But it’s for the best. I’m sorry it had to go this way.” 

He is genuinely sorry. So very sorry. You know he is. However, it doesn’t make the thorns digging into your throat any less painful.

“Please don’t hate me.” He sounds near tears himself. Maybe that is why he doesn’t see your sadness as something to alleviate – he cannot even stop himself, much less stop you or anyone else. “Hyssop flowers are beautiful.”

*~*~*~*

“Kyrie eleison.

Christe eleison.

Kyrie eleison.”

- Kyrie, Mozart's Requiem.

*~*~*~*

a/n - ahhhhhhh chapter one’s done! if anyone wants to leave any suggestions or theories, i would be happy to hear them!! aya out… only for now of course!

[princesssmars]

thinking of karlach who once her engine cools off goes fucking ballistic. nsfw, fem! reader, me being horny for karlach because who isn't. baldur's gate 3 spoilers! i've only finished act one so i start improvising shit.

now, for a woman who has not been able to have even a hint of physical contact for ten years, you have to give her her flowers with how well she seems to deal with being incredibly emotionally and sexually frustrated.

but once she joins your party that hold she had over her body and brain starts to crack. fast.

hell, it started happening before the two of you became romantically involved. while she was drawn to you from the moment you said "yes" to helping a stranger kill a building full of people, she also had eyes and constantly wondered how everyone in the party was so attractive. astarion was never not flirting with someone, wyll was incredibly kind to her, and she could tell when shadowheart was admiring her physique...

but after a few weeks of traveling, fighting, and making friends for the first time in years, eventually during those quiet nights at camp she finds you invading her mind her mind when she rests in her tent to fall asleep, kind of like the parasite, but in a good way.

she thinks of a joke you you made when the two of you were eating by the fire that made her snort like a pig, the way you explored a dungeon and when you found a magical war axe immediately turned to her and gave it to her with a smile, how you so quickly stood up for her when wyll was adamant on killing her because of her past.

your kindness, your intelligence (she's amused when you act like a dumbass and fail when trying to persuade someone), just everything about you, it was only a matter of time before she asked you to join her when everyone fell asleep one night, talking about how you thankfully return her feelings. it takes a turn when you bring up how her condition leaves her pent up, and as you're whispering the sinful things you cant wait to do to her and she do to you.

it hits her full force that oh, she does actually want to fuck your brains out.

after that night everything you do starts to turn her on. like, horrendously. eating a snack on the road? all she can focus on is the way your lips move around the fruit. dancing to a song volo is playing? she's becoming entranced by the way your hips and arms move to the music.

once when the sun was set and the moon was high she headed down to the lake, figuring the rest of the party had already cleaned themselves when she started to undress on the sand, standing still as a statue when she spots you in the middle of the lake, rinsing out your hair when you turn around to look at her.

she can see the water falling from your hair to your shoulders, dripping down over the peak of your nipples, some falling down your chest to between yours legs-

when she comes back later after running off, the ground where she stood was scorched.

but until her engine got fixed, her nights were spent inside her tent rubbing at her clit and fingering her cunt while pretending it was you. the only thing that makes it better is when she can tell you about all the naughty things she thinks about you and seeing you squirm.

once dammon gets another piece of infernal iron and gives her the final upgrade she needs to have physical contact, she at least has the courtesy to take you to a rented room in an inn before she ravages you.

shes tossing you on to the bed and wondering if she should slow down, take it slow with you for your first time together to make it all the more special, but you're staring at her while she's contemplating and youre taking off your top and then youre pants and then youre pulling her by the arm on top of you and she realizes she can save the softness for later.

there's so much kissing, pulling, biting and moaning that after both of your first two orgasms she starts to feel dizzy. she swears shes never felt a greater pleasure than when you were cumming on her fingers, or when you brought her hips up to your face and made her ride your tongue.

she reaches down to your bag that was throw haphazardly on to the floor earlier and finds the toy you bought, the tiefling smiling so brightly her fangs are on full display as she aligns the double sided dildo with your entrance, nearly going cross eyed at the way it slips inside of you before she sticks the other end into her.

she throws your legs over her shoulders, hold your hands in hers, and starts thrusting so quickly its almost like she's afraid she'll die if she stops.

and she is. she has never felt as good as she does in this moment, fucking the toy into you before feeling it do the same to her every time she pulls her hips back.

shes thinking about how much she loves you when she feels your right hand claw at her back.

shes wondering how someone can be so damn beautiful when you arch your back and nearly scream out her name.

she can barely contain herself when she thinks about how she gets to fuck you like this for the rest of her life when her hand leaves yours and grabs onto the wooden bedpost.

your moans of ecstasy reach a pitch and her eyes are taking in every detail as you come undone, to the heaving of your chest and the fluttering of your lashes. its your gentle whisper of her name and a gentle kiss to her lips that tips her over the edge, grinding her hips faster to the point it starts to hurt and she feels her hands tightening and tightening-

her high feels like it lasts forever before she comes back down to earth, breathing heavy with a dopey smile on her face when she looks at you. she's confused by the look on your face, similarly blissed out but your cheeks are bunched up in that way that means youre trying to hold in a laugh...

its only then she starts to feel it : a large chunk of the headboard is in her hand, snapped almost clean off from the rest of in im the height of her euphoria. she cant help but laugh which makes you finally laugh which just makes you laugh harder.

she drops the wood and shakes her hand of any splinters when your hands are wrapping around her neck and pulling her back into you.

she doesn't feel that bad about it.

i've resorted to getting ideas from both dreams and those thoughts you turn into stories while trying to go to sleep im like a genius. i put this in the queue posted it and it only showed up on my blog whats with that.

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Rumours - Lando Norris

<word count - 7287> |part 1 - Nerd|

"Hey, I managed to get your wood pieces cut up yesterday. Don't worry, I did them the right size this time," Lando told you, sitting down opposite you at your table in the library. The two of you had been meeting quite often, now exchanging your ends of the deal you had made due to your maths test results. 

"Thank you. Don't forget that you still have to sand them and glue them, yeah?" you double checked, knowing that he had remembered but would pretend to forget to do it. Lando had been trying to wriggle out of his half of the deal, but you weren't letting him. 

"Yes ma'am," he said with feigned formality, saluting you. "And I want my maths done. We hand it in today, yes?" he asked, also knowing that you had already done it. Lando had seen you doing it the other day, and had to keep his friends from seeing him smile at you. 

He knew they'd make fun of him for being your friend, so he often found himself sneaking off to come and see you in the library. It wasn't that he was ashamed of being your friend, he just didn't want to face the backlash from his friends. 

Plus, he hadn't forgotten the hurt written all over your face when Max had made those comments about you nearly a week prior now, and he couldn't let you go through that again. He didn't know why, he had harboured a soft spot for you. 

Maybe it was because you weren't outwardly trying to flirt with him, maybe it was because you treated him normally, maybe it was because he liked you more than he liked everyone else. He found your sassiness endearing, and a welcome surprise. 

"Of course, but you're still going to learn how to solve quadratics at some point, you know that, right?" you told him, pushing the papers that were his homework over the desk and towards him. You had gotten pretty much perfect at plagiarising his handwriting so the teacher wouldn't be able to tell it was actually you doing the work. 

You and Lando had agreed that you were allowed to get a few of the harder questions wrong, just so it didn't seem like he had become a random genius overnight. He didn't want an expectation to be put on him once he actually had to do his own homework again, so he was fine with you messing up sometimes. 

"You'll teach me, I know you will," he smirked, and he was completely right. You would teach him, just like you had been pretty much all of his other subjects. You helped him with everything at this point, and he was more than grateful - even if he would never tell you that. 

The friendship that the two of you had formed was quick, to say the least. This time a week ago, you would have avoided Lando Norris at all times. He was cocky, arrogant and a downright dick. But now? He was lovely. 

Those short, daily meetings to check in on the progress that you were making on your ends of the deal were some of your favourite parts of the day - and they were his too. It was nice for both of you to just let loose and have a little giggle, even if you were meant to be being silent in the library. 

Neither of you really knew how you had become friends, you just sort of... had. After you had opened your results together, it was just how you were. It wasn't some slow and steady thing, it was more like an instant connection, and immediate understanding of each other. 

"You're right, I will. I need you to be better than Max," you said, still not liking Lando's best friend after the far from tasteful comments he had made about you. Lando had said that Max had apologised to him for it, but he had never directly apologised to you. 

Lando completely understood the resentment. If anything, he encouraged it. He hadn't helped, he knew that, but at least he had apologised. He tried to get Max to say sorry to you, but he had always refused. "I will be. How that idiot is in top set is beyond me," he quietly chuckled so that the librarian wouldn't tell you to be quiet. 

"You and me both," you agreed, just looking at him. He had always been handsome, even when you thought he was a massive dick. But now? He was even more handsome. That happened a lot of the time, really. 

If someone has a good personality, their looks are suddenly elevated by the tenfold. If they're a complete and utter arsewipe? Then they could be the most dashing guy in the world yet they'll look average at best. 

Now, looking at Lando, you thought he was gorgeous. If only you knew how he saw you. He had never really paid you much notice, not until now. Not until you had been stuck on the bus together. You were pretty at a glance, but the more he looked at you, the more he truly believed you were the prettiest girl in school.

Anyway, now wasn't the time for admiring each other's good looks. The pair of you had maths next period, and you didn't want to be seen together again. Lando was pretty sure that no comments would be made if you walked in at the same time, but he understood why you didn't want to run the risk again.

He'd go and find Max to walk with him, and you'd get to maths first like you always did. Bidding Lando farewell, you took yourself through the corridors of your school and down to the maths row. All of the classrooms were identical, save from a few student-made posters messily blue-tacked onto the walls.

Your teacher smiled as you walked in, not surprised to see you in early in the slightest. Eventually, everyone filtered in, Lando sending you a small smile as he walked behind Max to their seats on the back row. 

All of you had your books out and were ready to start, but your teacher didn't make any headway on actually starting the lesson. "OK everybody, before we begin today, I do have a few changes to the seating plan," she said, earning a chorus of groans from the class. 

You weren't so bothered, though. Anyone would've been better than sitting between the wall and one of Lando's dumb friends. Well, maybe anyone apart from Max, but you didn't think your teacher would do that to you. 

"We'll start with Max, can you swap with Lilly on the front row, please?" she asked as Max huffed, clearly not impressed with being put on the front row. Lando also wasn't overly enamoured at the swap, since he certainly didn't want to sit with Lilly. 

She had always flirted with him, and he didn't need even more of it for 5 hours a week. But, he was thankfully put out of his misery. "And since you have been absolutely smashing your work as of recent, Lando, you can come and sit next to Y/N. I think she could be a good influence on you," she said, and you had to stop a big, goofy smile from spreading across your face. 

Lando had been doing well since you had been doing most of his work, but you didn't even care. You were just grateful that you'd get to spend more time with him. Max watched with a disgustingly mischievous smirk on his face. "Miss, are you sure that's a good idea? You remember what happened last ti-" he started, and your teacher's face instantly turned thunderous. 

But, before she could get so much as a word in, Lando pipped her to the post. "Max, drop it." he sternly said, sending daggers at his friend as the class let out a series of 'ooos' and 'get told, Max!'. 

Lando paid no mind to them, since he had seen the way your face had dropped as soon as Max had opened his mouth, and he hated the way his friend made you feel. "Max go and stand outside," your teacher instructed, and Max stood with a sigh and took himself out of the classroom.

She read out a few more seat changes, then put the starter activities up on the whiteboard. They were just some simple equations, so you got them rattled out and finished within a minute. Your teacher walked outside, obviously to talk to Max and probably give him a detention.  

"Hey, you OK?" Lando whispered, still scribbling down his working out for some of the sums. Honestly, you were just grateful that Lando had stood up for you and stopped Max from saying something more than hurtful about you.

"Yeah, thanks for that," you nodded, flashing him a small smile. Lando was going to protest and ask again, but he didn't want to push you. If you said you were fine, he'd believe you. "Plus the three, not minus," you prompted, pointing at the line of working out on his page. 

"Shit, course. Thank you," he softly chuckled, changing the numbers on the paper. He was slightly annoyed at himself for making such a dumb error, but he was glad that you were there to correct him. He found himself completely agreeing with your teacher: you really were a good influence on him. 

You made him want to work harder, you made that competitive fire burn brighter within him. You had pushed him to get an A the first time, and after that, he had wanted more and more because the pay off of hard work was so refreshing to feel. He was used to average grades at best, but now the disappointment was something that didn't sit right with him. 

Your teacher walked back in shortly after, with Max in tow. He packed his stuff up and hurriedly made his way back out of the classroom, undoubtedly to detention. The rest of the lesson went by without a hitch, and it was nice to be pretty much forced to sit with Lando. 

You'd spend time with him either way, of course, but it was nice for the two of you to get a couple of extra hours a week that you wouldn't have to spend being quiet as mice in the library. The bell rang, signalling the end of the day as you all flooded out of the doors and out of the front gates.

You were waiting at the bus stop for your bus, and you saw Lando and his friends waiting too. You couldn't make out the words you were saying over the slight gusts of wind and the music in your ears, but you could hear witterings of your name. 

"I stuck up for her because Max was being a knob, she didn't do anything," you heard Lando protest, his voice slightly raised. He sounded... angry? You looked out of the corner of your eye to see some of them prodding at him, stupid grins plastered on their faces. 

They were clearly teasing him, and it was pretty obvious that Max had told them how Lando had stuck up for you during maths. In some ways, you felt bad. The only reason he had said anything was because he knew how upset you were the first time around, and he felt so guilty that he had let it slide. 

"She's over there, go ask her out," another one one jibed, pushing him in your direction. Lando's face looked dejected, since he knew that it wasn't easy to get his friends to shut up. They'd keep going until he said something that they wanted to hear. 

"I'm not asking her out, OK?" he sighed, just as the bus rolled up to the stop. 

Just like everyday, your bus driver had the same, dead inside expression on his face and he clearly wanted to be anywhere but driving that goddamn bus. He didn't even bother looking at your pass as you took yourself back to your seat in the corner. 

It was one of the unspoken rules of the bus: everyone had their seats, you never moved, never differed from the norm. The older you were, the further back you sat. The year 7s had to sit at the front, and they'd be met with yells and arguments from everyone else if they didn't.

Lando's friends scrambled to the other seats on the back row, leaving the one next to you free. It was obvious that it was on purpose, so he kept his mouth shut as he sat next to you. It wasn't that he was sitting next to you, no. That was never the problem.

The problem was that he was really worried that they would start to pick on you now that they had it in their heads that he liked you. Well, he did like you, as more than a friend. That much was clear to him right now. But he didn't want you to face the brunt of his friends teasing because he did in fact like you. 

It was just a stupid little crush, that was it. Nothing serious. Nothing serious at all. Did his heart flutter whenever you smiled at him? Yes. Did he feel volts of electricity when your hands accidentally brushed together? Yes. Was his day instantly made better when he talked to you? Yes.

But it was nothing serious. 

He just laughed along mindlessly to his friend's jokes, not really paying attention. Eventually, the bus trundled to a halt so that you could get off. Shuffling past Lando, you walked as quickly as you could so that his friends hopefully wouldn't notice.

"Hey Lando, this is your stop, right?" Max piped up, pointing at you getting off the bus. "Not going to see if she's better than last time? I'm sure she's had some practice."

Lando refused to stay anything, his face like stone as he let you peacefully get off the bus. "Was she seriously that bad that you really don't want more?" another one of his friends added. 

"I knew you guys were dicks but you're really taking the piss," he mumbled, suddenly getting out of his seat and swiftly striding down the aisle of the bus. "Stop, please," he said to the bus driver, who pulled over as Lando hopped off the bus and ran down the pavement to where you were. 

"Hey, sorry. I couldn't deal with them being complete twats," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and standing beside you on the pavement. For some reason, he couldn't meet your eyes, his fixed on the floor beneath his feet.

"I get it, don't worry," you agreed, not really sure what to do. Inviting him back to your house was completely off the table, but you didn't just want to walk away and leave him there by himself. "Is your mum coming to get you or...?"

"Yeah, I'll send her a text," he nodded, pulling his phone out of his blazer pocket. He shot a quick text to his mum, and she responded within a few seconds, saying that she was setting off as soon as she could.

Lando noticed that you made no move to leave and go home, instead you stayed by his side. You both stayed silent, unsure of what to say. It hadn't been this awkward between you since the bus ride the week before, and even that felt more comfortable than this did. 

"Just... do me a favour and ignore what they're saying, yeah? It's just them trying to be funny, don't pay any mind to it," Lando said, hoping that you weren't bothered by what his friends were saying. The last thing he wanted was for you to be upset by what they were saying, since he valued your feelings a lot more than he thought he ought to. 

He also highly valued your opinion of him more then he deemed necessary. He didn't want you thinking ill of him, or of his choice in friends. He didn't want you thinking that he was like them, or that he would say things like that. He didn't want you thinking that he didn't care.

Because he did. More than he'd ever care to admit. 

"Yeah, sure," you nodded, not fully convinced. Any time you'd ever been seen with Lando in school by other people that weren't the library lot, you were chastised for it. Yes, it had only been twice, but that was enough to convince you that being around Lando inherently meant that you were going to be hassled. 

Of course, you didn't want it to be like that. Life would be so much easier if you were allowed to just be his friend, and nothing else. You'd help him with maths and whatever other subjects he needed, you could sit together in class without having the mick taken out of you, and you could just enjoy his company. 

Lando could tell that you weren't swayed by his words, and he didn't blame you. His friends would likely make comments for the remainder of the year, and he'd just have to take it in his stride. 

Soon enough, Lando's mum pulled up at the bus stop, getting out of the car to come and greet you. "Y/N, it's lovely to see you again," she beamed, and the smile on her face was enough to quell the worries and slight annoyance that you felt at that moment. 

"Likewise," you nodded, spotting the same scarf around her neck that she let you borrow when the picked you up the week prior. 

"How has your day been, sweetheart?" she asked, even though her motherly instincts could instantly tell that something was wrong. She had also clocked how Lando would barely make eye contact with her or you, and he was fidgeting with his fingers. 

"Good, yeah. Lando now sits with me in maths, so that's... fun." you trailed off, looking for the right word to describe it. Lando sitting with you wasn't the problem, it was the consequences of it. 

"Then I'm sure you can keep helping him out with getting those A's," she smiled. "Now Lando and I have to dash, dinner is nearly ready." 

"Sure, it was nice to see you again. Lando, I'll see you tomorrow," you mustered up one last small smile, before turning and starting the short walk off to your house. Lando clambered into the car next to his mum as she began the drive home. 

"What happened, Lando?" she asked her son, not having the patience to wait any longer to find out what was bothering the both of you. He stayed silent, just staring at the road ahead as she glanced at him. 

He knew her silence meant she was waiting for an answer, and he also knew that lying to her would get him absolutely nowhere. "Just my friends being di- they're being idiots." he corrected himself, his mum chuckling at the slip up. 

"What have they done? Did they say something about Y/N again?" she pushed, waiting for Lando to cave and tell her everything. It never took her long for him to crack and pour out his soul to her, but it would take a bit of prompting. 

"It's just because I've been moved to sit next to her in maths, and after last week they all think I have a crush on her and stuff," he mumbled. And there were those pesky motherly instincts again. 

"So you don't have a crush on her?"

"That's not the point," he rushed, wanting to brush over the tricky topic of his feelings for you as quickly as he could. "The point is is that the comments they make are too far and it upsets her. She says it doesn't but I know it does," he sighed, his mum giving him some more silence to continue if he wanted to.

"I try to get them to stop but they just keep going and it's getting on my nerves." he complained, slumping back against the passenger seat of the car. 

"You've got to try and ignore them, Lando. I know it's not easy when they're being nasty, but it's the best you can do. If you're not affected by it, then they might stop and then it'll be better for both you and her." she said, fully knowing it was easier said than done. 

Lando was strong, she recognised that, but he was already getting worn down by the teasing from his friends. "Yeah, sure," he reluctantly agreed, trying to take his mind off of the whole situation. 

He contemplated texting you to see if you were alright, but that was when he realised he didn't have your actual phone number. He had your Instagram and Snapchat, but not your number. He felt like he was supposed to have it, but he never really thought to ask you.

Maybe he would tomorrow, if he saw you again. He had to tell you about his plans for your DT project anyway, and he had some science stuff that he needed help with as well. 

The next morning, Lando was on the bus as it rolled past your stop. You weren't stood there with your headphones in, shivering because of the biting cold like you usually were. The bus driver didn't even think twice as to why you weren't there, but Lando did.

Thankfully, his friends didn't notice your absence, or how bothered he was by it. He hoped you'd be in school, since he didn't want to go through maths without you. Also, he was wanting to come to the library. It was part of his routine now, and he didn't want to break it. 

He didn't see you in first or second period, but he didn't have any classes with you until later. Going to the library at break, he didn't find you in your corner table, and he really was thinking that you weren't in school today. 

Meanwhile, however, Lando was completely oblivious to the rumours that were spreading about the two of you. The more tame ones were that you both had crushes on each other, and the much worse ones made your skin crawl. 

It was basically all just what Max had said to you last week, complete with the high-pitched, borderline pornographic moans. But it wasn't just him saying it. It was nearly everyone you walked past from your year, all because of how popular Lando was and how notable you weren't in the social hierarchy. 

It was driving you crazy, comment after comment from people who you had never even spoken too. Constant taunts of his name, over and over and over. You tried to hide in all the places you thought possible: the toilets, spare classrooms, corners that no one was usually in. 

Yet you couldn't escape the seemingly unavoidable torment, all because your bus broke down a week ago. You couldn't tell whether you were upset or pissed off, the emotions all swirling together in a maelstrom in your mind. 

You knew Lando would have gone to the library to look for you, but you didn't want to risk even being near him. It was at the point where you were even dreading maths, your favourite hour of the day, just because you'd have to sit with Lando.

The whole experience was so jarring, since one minute you were happily able to mind your own business, but now? You were the center of attention for all the wrong reasons. 

Finally, it was lunch, and you swiftly strode past the canteen where everyone was eating lunch. They'd all be occupied for a short while, so you'd finally be able to find some solace. You also had some of Lando's maths homework to do, even if that was one of the last things you wanted to be doing right now.

Lando was sat with his friends while you walked past, all of them looking and pointing. It was at this point where he started to realise what was going on, and he was catching wind of all the rumours that were being spread about the two of you. 

Guilt sat heavy in the pit of his stomach, the feeling of complete helplessness weighing him down. He gave it a few minutes before saying he was going to the toilet, and none of his friends actually caught on to what he was doing. 

He walked towards the bathrooms, before ducking out of sight and darting up the stairs to the library. There weren't many people in there as his eyes scanned the surroundings. There were the usual people that occupied the room, and you - sitting in the corner, furiously scribbling away at that familiar, crumpled sheet of his maths homework.

For a moment, he just stood there and watched you. You kept crossing things out and punching numbers aggressively into your calculator. This was a far cry from your calm disposition, and it worried him. You had obviously heard the comments, and he knew that people would be saying things to you directly. 

He walked over, pulling out the chair in front of you and sitting down. You eyes flicked up, before focusing back down on the pages on the table. "Go away, Lando," you whispered, the sharp tone of your voice catching him off guard.

He didn't have chance to respond before you chimed in again. "I don't want to be seen with you, so please leave me alone."

Now that hurt. 

You didn't want to be seen with him. This would upset anyone, so he wasn't surprised that you weren't happy about it, but completely ceasing all contact and interaction with him was painful for him. He didn't want to be isolated from you all because the kids in your year were bored and had nothing better to do other than spread lies. 

"No one will come in here, it doesn't matter," he replied, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. You still had your eyes focused on his homework, your pencil still moving over the paper. 

"And if they do, they'll just say even more shit and I don't want it," you rushed, a single tear falling onto the page and staining it. You wiped them away, trying to stop more from falling from your eyes. 

Lando's heart did nothing short of break as he sat there, feeling completely powerless. He didn't know how to comfort you in this situation, he didn't know how to help, how to make it better. He hated that he was the root cause of all your upset.

"They won't, I'll make sure they won't," he rambled, needing you to believe him. You both knew it was a lie, and he'd never be able to stop the constant teasing for you. He wished he could, but that was simply all it was. A wish.

"Please just leave me alone." you whispered, thrusting the crumpled, tear-stained sheet of maths homework towards him. "And don't worry about my DT stuff, I'll do it myself." you mumbled as Lando just sat there for bit. 

You didn't look at him, just down at the wood of the table. He didn't know what to say, how to get you to believe him. With a resigned sigh, he pushed back from the table, picking up his homework. He folded it and tucked it into his blazer pocket, stepping away from you.

"I still want to be your friend, despite what they're all saying. And I hope I can be," he told you, before walking away and out of the library. He had never felt so unsettled after a conversation ever, and now he felt so down and dejected. 

Mindlessly making his way back to his friends in the canteen, all that he could hear were your words echoing in his head. Sitting back at the table, his friends' attention all turned to him. "That took you awhile." 

"You and Y/N go for a quickie?" someone else laughed, all of his friends bursting out in fits of laughter. Lando just sat there, face like thunder. God, he was getting pissed off. You were upset, his friends were being horrendous, and he had had enough. 

"Will you lot just fucking shut up? Your jokes are tasteless and downright childish. It's not funny, I don't feel like laughing and neither does Y/N, so just drop it and find something else to obsess over." he snapped, and they all just looked at him. 

For a short moment, he thought they were just going to bite their tongues and sit there. Maybe, the normally cool, calm and collected Lando losing his cool was just what they needed to mature for a moment and reflect on how other people felt, not just what seemed humourous at the time. 

But, reality was far crueler than that. "God is she really that bad? Why do you keep going back if you keep getting disappointed?" That was his final straw. 

"Fuck all of you, honestly," he spat, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking off. It would only be a few minutes before the bell went anyway, so Lando took himself off to maths. As he arrived at the room, he found that the door was locked. 

Peering through the window, he saw you, sat there in your seat with a few tears trickling down your cheeks. Your teacher knelt down in front of you, balancing by holding onto the desk. Her face had sympathy written all over it, and it was clear that you were talking about what was happening. 

You kept wiping the tears away, but more stubbornly made their way out of your eyes. He felt like the convalescence was eating him alive from the inside and out. He wished he could take it away, make everything in your life as perfect as it should have been, but he couldn't.

Lando couldn't take watching you any longer, so he lifted his hand and wrapped his fist against the wood of the door. Your teacher stood and let him in, before pulling him over to the side. You still wouldn't look at him. "I know we've just moved you, but would it be alright if I moved you back onto the back row?" she asked.

He said nothing, just nodding and begrudgingly going to sit in his new seat. You didn't even want to sit with him. Lando pulled his phone out of his pocket, not caring if your teacher got mad. She noticed, but didn't say anything. "Lando phone away when people start coming in, please."

He put it away as soon as he asked his mum if she could pick him up, since he didn't feel like getting the bus. She responded with a swift 'yes', and he put his phone away as instructed. 

The end of the day couldn't come quick enough as maths droned on and he was finally able to escape. As he walked past the bus stop, he noticed that you weren't there. He figured you had done the same thing as him: asking one of your parents to pick you up to avoid the treacherous bus journey.

Wordlessly, Lando climbed into his mum's car as she looked at her son's face. For the first time ever, she couldn't tell how he was feeling. His face was completely blank, practically unemotional. She had never been this worried about Lando. 

"Sweetheart, what-" she started, before noticing the tears brimming up in his eyes. She would have pulled over, but she didn't want anyone from school seeing. "Darling what's wrong?" she asked, still reluctantly driving. 

"They just... they just won't stop." he said, his voice cracking with the words. "I just want them to leave me alone, leave her alone. She doesn't even want to be my friend anymore, I had to get moved away from her in maths, and it's just all shit," he rambled, a few tears rolling down his reddened cheeks.

"Oh, Lando..." she softly said, her heart breaking at the sight of his tears. He was never one to cry, or get overly emotional about stuff. He was a typical teenage boy in many aspects, and his emotions were no exception. He liked to keep things to himself, only letting is feelings show when they were hitting him in overwhelming bouts.

"Does she think you're saying things about her?" she asked, not wanting to upset him even more. 

"No, I don't think so. She just said she doesn't want to be seen near me when I went to go see her in the library like I normally do, and she was crying before maths to our teacher." he explained, and she was at a complete loss on what to do. "The stuff they say to her is just... God it's awful..." he mumbled, wiping away his tears. 

"Sweetheart I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but is that Y/N walking home?" she asked, and the question caught him off guard. Funnily enough, he looked out the window to see you trudging home. 

You had your hands stuffed in your pockets with your headphones plugged in your ears, your breath appearing like mist in front of you. That was when it dawned on him that your parents hadn't come to pick you up, you had taken it upon yourself to make the nearly hour long walk home in the freezing winter temperatures. 

"Yeah. Yeah it is," he confirmed, suddenly conflicted. His mum would obviously want to give you a ride, and he did too. He didn't want you walking home in the biting cold, but he also didn't think he could take seeing you upset, or you seeing him upset. 

But his heart won out. "Can we take her home, please?" he quietly asked, and his mum nodded, pulling over onto the pavement so that she could get out to talk to you. Lando got out to hop in the back, wanting to give you the front seat with his mum. 

"Y/N? Sweetheart? Do you need a ride?" she asked, approaching you as you pulled your headphones out of your ears. She could see the redness around your eyes, undoubtedly from crying.

"No, no. But thank you," you weakly smiled, the pained expression on your face making it impossible for her to just let you go.

"Lando told me about what's been happening. I understand why you don't want to be near him right now, but there's no one around, I will get you home and warm as quickly as possible." she reassured, hell bent on not leaving until she had you in the car. 

"OK," you agreed, walking to the car and getting in the front seat. Lando had already cranked up the heating and put the heated seats on for you, the leather warming underneath you. You knew he was on the backseat, but you refused to acknowledge him. 

Deep down, you knew you were being unnecessarily harsh towards Lando. He hadn't done anything wrong, and he had tried to be there for you in the best way he knew possible. Thankfully, he knew you weren't pushing him away because of him directly, it was because of what being around him brought you. 

He was sure that you still liked him, and he didn't take this personally. Yet it didn't stop him longing for you to be his friend again, to banter and joke with you and to just spend time with you like he used to. 

From his bag, he pulled out that same navy sweater and handed it to you, and you accepted it with a small smile in the rear view mirror. Your fingertips brushed against his as your fists closed around the fabric, the cold of your hands stinging his skin. 

You shrugged your coat off of your shoulders, pulling the jumper over your head. It was still too big on you, the sleeves stopping up to your knuckles. If you were standing, it would hand down to the tops of your thighs.

The drive to your house was silent, the only sound being the heating flowing through the vents as well as the occasional ticks of the indicators. After a short while of driving, you pulled up outside of your house.

Lando waited in the car as his mum escorted you to the door, a warm expression on her face. "Come here," she quietly said, opening her arms out to you. Without a second thought, you let herself fall into her embrace, softly shaking with silent sobs. 

"I know it's hard darling, I know it is," she whispered to you, one hand reaching up to stroke your hair. "It'll get better, I promise." she tried to reassure. 

For Lando, it was one of the worst scenes he had to bear witness to. He had seen you crying more than he had seen you smile as of recent, and it was killing him inside. He wanted to get out of the car and hug you as well, but he didn't want to run the risk of upsetting you even more.

Once you were settled in the house, his mum finished the drive home and let him have some piece. In his room, he sat at his desk, just mindlessly staring into space. You were all he could think about, and he couldn't shake you off. 

The sight of your tear-stained face was clouding his mind like an early-morning fog that he couldn't blow away. His eyes fell upon your pieces of wood for your DT project on his desk, as well as the maths homework he wouldn't be able to give you to finish. 

At this point, the deal didn't matter. Sure, you still had 3 weeks of homework of his to do, and he still had to do your workshop stuff for another week, but that was the least of his concerns. But he still wanted to do it for you. 

Lando had skipped dinner, not feeling hungry enough to go downstairs to eat. He also didn't feel like being held to people's questions and talks about what everyone had been up to in the day. He just needed some time alone. 

Just before he was going to take himself to an early bed, there was a knock at his bedroom door. "Yeah?" he called out, the door opening to reveal his mum.

"How are you doing?" she asked, entering and coming to sit next to him on the edge of his bed. 

"I'm... fine," he lied, not wanting to delve into the complexity of his feelings. He didn't want to have to voice his deeper rooted mindset on you. He couldn't tell if he was upset that now you'd never consider being anything more than his friend, or if he was more saddened by the fact that you didn't even want to be his friend anymore. 

He had been grappling with his feelings for the past couple of days, shocked at how quickly they had settled into his mind. Lando had never developed such a strong admiration for anyone in his entire life - even if every crush he had ever had was based off of purely superficial factors. 

But you weren't like that. Yes, he thought you were one of the prettiest girls he had ever laid his eyes upon, but it wasn't the driving motive for his feelings. He liked your personality, your humour, how goddamn smart you were. 

Seeing you thrive in the environment you worked best in was so fulfilling to him, and it was one of the many reasons he held you so dear to him. Yet he didn't know what to do about his feelings. He didn't want to ruin your friendship by telling you, but he didn't want to miss the opportunity to have something real with you. 

You were special to him, oh so special. He liked the idea of you as his girlfriend. Walking you to class, studying together, getting to sit together whenever you wanted and the comments wouldn't get to you because you'd be his. Maybe you'd even be able to sneak in a few kisses when no one was looking. 

Despite being the most sought-after boy in highschool, and the closest thing to an american 'jock' that a british secondary school had to offer, he still hadn't really delved into anything relationship-wise. No kisses for the sake of it, nothing. Hell, even Max had kissed a girl at a party once, but Lando never had.

"I'm really proud of you, you know," she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him closer to her. "You did the right thing today, even if it wasn't the most pleasant option for you," she continued. 

"I know you want her to be your friend again, but you've just got to give her time. People will forget about it and move onto someone else soon enough, but you've just got to wait it out and be there for her when she wants you, which she will. You're both very overwhelmed and neither of you know what to do, but it'll all work out." she reassured, kissing him on top of his curly locks.

"It doesn't bother me what they say to me, it's the fact that she's so upset by it... that's what makes it worse," he quietly admitted, leaning into his mum's comforting embrace. They sat there for a while, just hugging. 

"You need to get some sleep, sweetheart. You've just got tomorrow then all weekend, yeah? We can do whatever you want, with whoever." she told him, wanting to make his weekend as good as possible. 

"I've got homework to do," he sighed, thinking over all the assignments that he wouldn't be able to have your help with. Glancing back over at the desk, he saw the remnants of your DT project sitting there, his mind now set on doing this for you. 

"You can do it on Sunday," she told him, trying to sway him into just having fun for a day. She wanted to cheer her son up after the shitty few days that he had gone through, and he deserved a bit of respite. 

"But I want to finish off Y/N's project... I promised..." he whispered, the words tugging at his mum's heart strings. She had never seen her son so attached to someone, so desperate to please them and make them happy. 

She was proud of him, proud of the man he was becoming. It was obvious how much he cared for you, and she really hoped that you'd allow him back in again, than you'd allow him to be your friend and maybe more again. 

"How about you ask dad to help you with it on Sunday? Make it really special?" she suggested, and she noticed the slight light sparking in his eyes at the idea. 

"Yeah, I think I'll do that," he nodded, already running through the different possibilities of what he could do on your project to make it best in the class. He may have been struggling, but it wasn't going to stop him from trying to make you happy.

No matter what anyone said, how they made him feel, how they forced you to push him away, he'd always try for you. You made him a better version of himself, a version that worked hard and cared about more than just getting through school and being cool while doing it. 

You made him care about his grades, how he spoke to people, his actions. You made him better. You made him want to be better. For you. All of it was for you. 

A/N - I know, I've not posted anything in a week, I am sorry. I have been working on this one all week, and I have started the next part for y'all. Something about writing highschool Lando just hits different. It would be the same if I did Charles, Carlos, Max etc, but they would be in a british highschool because that's what I know best. Anyways, have a wonderful day/night, love y'all! 💖🤓

tag list: @anvi-sarai @robotchickenmerp @cheriladycl01

|masterlist|

[kimhargreeves]

Saved Again-Sanji x Fem Reader (One Piece Netflix)

Summary: You've been Luffy's friend for years. Being the first member to join Luffy's crew, together they are off to become pirates,.later on a certain chef has his eyes on you. And a fond memory of you and a boy after a shipwreck comes to mind when arriving at the Baratie.

(A/N: I'm so excited for the One Piece live action do I decided to write this!! I'll start on a Part 2 once the series is released. I absolutely love Sanji and he's my favorite of the Straw Hats. I relate to him a lot too since I was training to become a chef as well…anyways the one shot might be slightly changed once I watch the series.)

(A/N: Oh and also the reader is often confused as a boy but Nami and Sanji know she's a girl.)

"That's why I'm gonna be king of the pirates!!" Luffy exclaimed enthusiastically, even though we were in the middle of nowhere.

I turned around and frowned looking at him being too cheery and loud as usual. "Can you be any louder?' I glare before pulling my head out of the small boat we were in and I continued to throw up out into the ocean.

I heard a hum coming from Luffy and saw him tilting his head a bit. "Are you sure you're okay?"

This is the downside of wanting to become a pirate and sail across the Grand Line. Well, not many people get sea sick and start to pour their guts out.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead and sighed. "If only Coby didn't accept in becoming a Marine. He would've maybe given me some of the medicine he was carrying."

"He did offer some yet you said you'd be alright without it." Luffy reminds me making me groan.

"Don't make me throw up on you." I warn.

"Will you two shut up already?" I glared and looked back at the green haired man who I forgot had joined us.

"Huh? Why don't you make me, Zoro? Our friend here might be dying." Luffy said patting my back a bit too rough.

Zoro looked at us with a bored expression on his face and went back to closing his eyes. "You guys are insufferable, would've been nicer if I was still tied up."

I point and glared at him. "You should be thankful that we saved your ass."

"Luffy was the one who did. You're too weak to save anyone anyway, kid."

"I'm not a kid! I'm older than you think believe it or not!!" I shout getting defensive and forgetting that I had be throwing up.

"Then why are you acting like a kid?!"

"Guys will you stop arguing for once?" Luffy said stepping between us and calming Zoro as well when we saw an island up ahead.

Idiots are they really dumb and don't know I am secretly a girl. The reason why I like to crossdress if for fun, but mostly because I've seen the way pirates who are men are more respected.

I once had cut my hair short but decided to let it grow and use a wig instead, besides being in disguise had helped me with stealing from people.

Luffy with his devil fruit power stretched all the way until his feet hit the sand and he looked around in enthusiasm.

"Wow this island seems so cool! But why is it so quiet?!" He asked loudly.

"Maybe this is an island inhabited with ghosts." I muttered and heard Zoro scoff and began to grab his swords when the boat hit the sand below us.

Zoro jumped off of the boat and began to follow Luffy. "Hey, (Y/N). Are you coming or staying?"

I raised my head and tilted my head looking at Luffy. "You guys can go on ahead. I'll catch up with you."

He nodded and I saw both guys beginning to walk further into the island. Slowly I got up on my feet and jumped out of the boat as well. I was deep in my thoughts imagining what it will be like to travel across the world and get to know other famous pirates.

Luffy's dream has always been to become king of the pirates and his number 1 person he's always looked up to was Shanks, maybe Gold D. Roger in second place.

As for me..I really don't have a dream. I've just been following Luffy around. I don't have a family. Shanks was the one who raised me along with Luffy, I came along later in the picture and don't have any memories of my past, only a few glimpses here and there but maybe it's just me reliving someone else's dream.

"So he's also a devil fruit user?"

I stopped walking and ran to hide behind a building and I looked over and saw a group of pirates, my eyes were set on the one between all of them. Buggy the clown. I've seen his Wanted poster.. wait!

My eyes widened and then I glared when I spotted Luffy in a cage. Are you serious?! He got caught..huh? I looked and saw someone else with them too, a red headed girl.

Where is Zoro anyways?

I frowned even more when I saw he and Luffy were caught. God damn it. It's up to me now, now all I gotta do is find out if this girl is an enemy of ally.

I got out of my hiding place and prepared to face the gang of pirate clowns…

"Hang on!!"

Someone shouted and tried to reach for my hands but I was pulled away by the harsh tides of the sea. My eyes and lungs began to sting, I felt like it was the end for me. Just a few minutes ago I was with my family, are they dead? Will I die as well and meet them again?

I couldn't swim so I felt myself sinking lower into the dark cold sea. I wanted to cry but couldn't and right when I was ready accept my death I felt someone grab onto me and I was being pulled up again.

I gasped along with the person who had saved me. A man about the same age as my dad saved me, I continued to gasp and began to cough up the salty water I had in my lungs.

The sky was dark with clouds covering the sky, it was heavily raining with thunder.

"Don't die just yet kid! Hold onto this." The man exclaimed.

The man could swim with ease and he had placed me on top of a wooden piece of what I assumed was part of the ship that had exploded. I looked to my right and saw a boy my age, with blonde hair and green eyes, his eyes seemed scared as well.

Are we the only survivors?

My answer was clear the more we got away from the shipwreck and landed on an island. The man easily picked us up and placed us on his shoulder, but the more he continued to walk the more I felt he was struggling, it wasn't until we made it inside a cave that I realized he lost his leg.

I was about to comment on it but didn't when the man seemed angry at something. The boy and I exchanged looks and didn't say a word, we only saw the man lighting up a small fire place as we continued to hear thunder and lightning.

I don't know who this man is, this boy surely isn't his son…mom..dad…my eyes began to sting and I began to cry out loudly with tears running down my face along with a runny nose.

The man didn't say anything and the little boy seemed to stiffen and I saw a few tears forming in his eyes as well and he began to silently cry…

By the next morning the man, the pirate who saved us said he wanted to be alone so he left the boy and I a large bag of food. "We refuse to eat this because you're a pirate and pirates are bad people!!" The boy had shouted earlier.

The man said almost nothing and left me alone with the boy. The boy and I looked at each other and we both didn't say a word about the man.

"Umm do you think we can make a boat somehow and leave the island?" I quietly asked nervous and shy to ask this stranger for help.

"Does it look like we have a way out of this island?! The boy shouted glaring at me. "What would a girl know about sailing anyways?"

I began to cry again and I did the first thing that came to my mind, and I had punched him. "All I want is to see my parents again!"

The boy seemed surprised by my action and began to hold onto his swollen cheek. "H-hey don't cry. You're gonna make me cry again!"

It was too late. He was crying again….

It had been many days until the three of us were rescued. An odd boat with some friendly men were the one who saved us, the man who rescued the boys and us took the boy in as his own in a way, and he was about to send me off to live a normal life with someone who was willing to raise me.

The man somehow got a nice dress for me to wear, as a last send-off he had done a dessert for me. A strawberry cake I came to love at first bite.

He along with the men on the ship all were outside ready to say their goodbyes to me. I even saw a man or two begin to cry.

"I always wanted a small girl."

"You can't even feed yourself properly how are you supposed to raise a kid." I heard one of them say to another.

"You ready, kid?" I heard the man ask making me turn to look at him. I shook my head and the man sighed and patted my head once. "You'll soon understand why I'm sending you off. You'll have a proper life."

My eyes wandered over to the man and over to the small boy I was saved with. The boy stiffened when I looked at him, and I saw his pale cheeks turn to a pink color.

"I-I…" I didn't know exactly what to say, that's until he spoke up.

"I d-do hope you enjoyed the cake I made with help! Next time if we meet again I'll bake you a whole lot more..also…if we meet again I'll make you my wife!!" He exclaimed.

The men behind the boy groaned and one of them lightly hit his head. "That's no way of a send-off!"

I shyly smiled at all of them and the boy….

"Usopp!! Nami!! Are we there yet?!"

"How many times do we have to say, no!!"

I squinted my eyes when I opened them. "That was a strange dream." I muttered to myself and glared at the three who woke me up.

Few days have gone by since he fought Buggy and his crew along with a few more pirates. Usopp was the new crew member. He's a bit odd and a scaredy cat but he means well. If it wasn't for him. Luffy wouldn't have his new and proper ship, officially presenting himself as a pirate.

The sailing ship was huge and fitted with us do well. Luffy named it the Going Merry. A fitting name for a ship.

I looked to my left and saw Zoro fast asleep, I felt envious that he could sleep through this much talking and noise. I made sure my wig was still in place and I got up to join Nami up front. At least it's nice to have another girl around.

"So…you don't have trouble with sharing a room filled with guys?" I asked and saw Nami giving me an odd bur serious look.

"No?" She squinted her eyes looking at me and looked back at the tides.

Weird…It's a shame I can't talk about girl things with her.

Luffy said he was searching for the last member to our team. Luffy is Captain, we have a navigator..well kinda that being Nami, the main fighter being Zoro, Usopp as the sniper and I fix anything on the ship

Since none of us are cooks. Luffy suggested on finding a chef. I offered to be the one to fill everyone's stomach, but everything I cook always ends up burnt.

The rest of us began to get things done on the ship until a fight began with another ship and the Going Merry crashed into a ship. My mouth fell open when we crashed and accidently directed a cannon ball into the ship that wasn't even attacking us.

"Crap…Luffy!" I shouted and saw him smiling shamefully.

All of us walked closer to the deck and saw the great damage the other ship received. "We better head in there and talk to the person in charge. And you are going to apologize." I said grabbing onto Luffy's straw hat and he quickly grabbed it back and placed it on his head.

He said nothing and began to follow us. We got onto the other ship and read the ships name, The Baratie.

I looked around and this seemed familiar. "You okay?" Nami stopped and asked glancing back at me.

"Yeah.. everything's fine." I said still looking around and ran over to her side and began to follow the rest of the crew.

We all entered the ship and wow was it beautiful and extremely fancy. "Wow..this is something else. It doesn't feel like we're in the middle of the sea." I said in awe and stared around.

Everything looked so expensive. I saw people around sharing their meals and couples smiling at each other and drinking fancy wine. Not to mention the smell, I wonder how the food must taste!

I was practically drooling when I saw a huge meal in a table. Nami had grabbed the back of my clothes and dragged me away from a couple who was staring at me weirded out.

"Get a hold of yourself, (Y/N)." Nami muttered and went to sit down on an empty table.

I nodded at myself then went back to checking the place out. This seems so familiar…I started to walk around and peeked over and saw many chefs cooking the meals and they seemed to make it so easy.

"I have an order for a large plate of seafood rice, potato pallie and medium sized bowl of sea pork soup. I need it done in less than 10 minutes!" My mouth began to water even more.

"All have it done in 5." Someone said on the other side with a British accent.

"(Y/N)!" Someone hissed my name and I quickly went over to sit next to Nami and Zoro. Luffy came in as well while we sat down and patiently waited to talk to someone.

I had excused myself after waiting for a bit and went to the bathroom. When I returned I saw Nami still sitting down and she raised an eyebrow looking not pleased when a man began walking towards her.

I felt my heart race when I saw a tall figure standing just a few inches away from her. A handsome man with blonde hair with one of his eyes being a bit hidden by it. He was wearing a dark suit with a blue and white striped shirt under it with a black tie and matching dress pants.

"Would the lady like something sweet?" I saw a smirk spread across his face and Nami just stared at him and rolled her eyes.

Who is he?? And does he know Nami? The man was clearly flirting with her.

"You gotta be joking." I heard Nami ssy. She then turned to look at me.

I didn't know what to do or say. I simply stared at her confused then looked to see the man look at me, he glanced for a second then once again and was now looking directly at me. He immediately walked away from Nami and began to walk towards me.

I began to take a few steps back and I gasped when he took hold of my hand with both of his hands and saw him get down on one knee.

"You are the most gorgeous being I've laid my eyes on. A sight no other I've come across in the Grand Line.."

Thank goodness Nami couldn't listen but it was quiet clear to anyone that this man was flirting with me.

"Y-You've got it all wrong!" I said trying to pull back and felt my cheeks turning red. I can't let anyone know at the moment that I was crossdressing as a guy!!

"I'm never wrong. My eyes never fail when I see a beautiful lady as yourself."

If I weren't in this situation I would be falling on my knees. He's so cute and handsome! My lips began to quiver and I felt my entire body freeze. I've never met a man who shameless at flirting with a stranger.

The man rose up to his feet now towering me and smiling down at me. "I-I…"

He smiled and Introduced himself. "My name is Sanji."

[thesummerstorms]

Okay, but what if Lucanis does buy Rook de Riva an important (mage)knife.

He gets knives, he has a good weaponsmith, but mages don't use their knives as much for stabbing/slashing directly as channeling elemental magic to stab with, so he goes to Emmrich and asks for the simplest, most paired down explanation of crafting materials' effect on magical frequencies that is humanly possible, specifically as it applies to knives.

Emmrich reminds Lucanis that he is in fact a stave user, but Rook would be a good person to ask.

Lucanis grits his teeth because he can tell from the older man's smile that Emmrich is having some fun at his expense. Of course Emmrich knows it's for Arsinoë. Lucanis hadn't wanted to be that obvious, but he can admit that it is.

Unfortunately, even when sincere, Emmrich is incapable of simple. Poor Lucanis knew this going in, of course and decided on Emmrich anyway because Neve would catch on too quickly and spoil her own gift and Bellara was equally incapable of simple and more prone to distracted tangents. It doesn't mean he's any more prepared to make sense of all this, and in the end he has to take Emmrich to meet his weaponsmith directly.

(The resulting "collaborative brainstorming session" almost scared Lucanis, put his favorite weaponsmith in a mind to possible shift specialties entirely, and cost House Dellamorte the price of a fully functional forge. It's still worth it.)

The end result is a beautiful piece of everite that feels vividly like the air in a storm in Rook's hands yet looks deceptively crystalline and fragile. It immediately becomes her favorite, unlike the vanished knife he gave Viago all those years ago, and from her shy smiles, he likes to think this time he's been understood.

Altogether, things are going well for once. If he feels more pride than maybe is reasonable every time he sees the everite blade in her hands alive with magic that cuts through a Venatori, then that's between him and Spite.

And Arsinoë. And Neve. And honestly everyone else because he's so terrible at hiding it.

All is going well, for once.

Until Tearstone Island, when he wakes up to Neve's anguished face, purple shards like crystal that cut through his gloves as he reaches for the snapped blade and severed hilt, his blood mixing with the sand, and-

and no Rook.

[tightjeansjavi]

Hi!! Love your writing!! Can you write a cowboy fetish joel miller with boot riding 🥺🥺

Hi nonnie! Thank you for sending this in! It scratched my brain just ✨right✨ and I hope it does the same for you! I couldn’t just do some boot ridin’ without some plot ;) enjoy 🤠

Dinner & Diatribes

~word count: 3.7k~

Pairing | Cowboy/bounty hunter! Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you’re the kind of love that Joel Miller has been dreaming of all his life

Warnings: smut,fluff, angst, cowboy in shining armor vibes, unprotected piv, boot ridin! dick slingin, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, implied age gap, dom/sub vibes, sir/mister kink, implied abuse (not by Joel) Joel is a bounty hunter during the Wild West, reader is a runaway bride wanted for murdering three men, filthy language, pining, protective! Joel, assumed unrequited love, swearing, AU that might not 100% be historically accurate but I tried! reader has no physical descriptions such a skin tone or body type, readers nickname is Chickadee, +18 minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything!

Joel Miller knows that keeping a bounty for himself ain’t the way to go about things..he knows that there’s consequences for his actions, an imminent problem would surely arise if he didn’t bring you back to the town you fled from. Wanted for the murders of three men. A wild untamable thing on the run is how the sheriff described you to Joel. And the most important detail of all; I don’t care if you bring her back alive, or in pieces.

And then Joel found you, tracked your trails for miles and miles through the barren rough terrain of the Wild West. You didn’t even put up a fight when you heard the distinct sound of thundering hooves drawing nearer and nearer. You were exhausted, dehydrated, and on the verge of collapsing to the dusty earth while vultures circled ahead.

This didn’t mean you gave up entirely when Joel Miller had you circled, cornered and lasso at the ready. That’s when he took notice of your state, your attire. A once glittering wedding dress now hanging on by threads of shredded fabric. The bottom tooled fabric was now a dirty sand color, blending in with the dirt. Remnants of your eye makeup cracked and stained beneath your eyes and cheekbones that were once painted in a pretty pigment.

He watched from the saddle of his horse as you sank down to your knees, awaiting your inevitable fate to be delivered. “Have you come to turn me in, Mister?”

His head cocked to the side, eyes studying your vulnerable form intently. You couldn’t see his face as it was obstructed from your view with a tied bandana, but even from where you sat on your knees, you could see that his eyes were a deep shade of brown, dark and mysterious.

He dismounted his horse swiftly, silently, boots tearing up dusty patches of earth with each heavy step he took. The spurs on the back of his boots chimed through the air as he stopped in front of you. His broad frame casted a shadow over your kneeling form. His hands were encased in worn leather, and he smelled of tobacco smoke, saddle soap, and musk.

He crouched down, hat tipping forward while one leather clad hand reached for your jaw, thumb brushing across your skin as he tilted it upwards, forcing you to look into his eyes. He saw your grime and dried blood stained face up close. Your eyes flickered nervously as he turned your head to the side.

“Ain’t you gonna get on with it and turn me in? What’re you draggin’ this out for, huh? You caught me, mister. Go and collect your fuckin’ reward.” You spat defiantly into the dirt, a glob of salvia landing on the toe of his boot.

His grip tightened around your chin, jaw ticking sharp like a knife, eyes narrowing in on your face and the subtle wobble of your severely cracked and dry lower lip.

“What happened to you?” He finally spoke. His voice reminded you of fire crackling, ominous thunder and heavy rain. Thick, gravelly, deeper than the Grand Canyon itself.

“What’s it matter if I tell ya, huh? You gonna take pity on me or somethin’ mister?”

He was silent again, appearing deep in thought as he continued to study your face, searching through the grime and dirt for any clues..then, he saw it; The eyes of someone that suffered abuse. His grip around your chin softened

“Stand up.” He commanded.

You struggled to your feet, confusion etched in your features, the obvious sway in your step before two strong hands grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

“We’ll have to move fast.”

“What’re you—” You were still confused, head spinning from his words and malnourishment.

“I don’t turn in folks that killed outta self defense, Chickadee. And certainly not a woman that killed her abusers.” He gave you a curt, tight nod. “Better you than I cause I woulda tied those sons a bitches up and dragged them through the fuckin’ desert.” He rasped.

“You’re..not turnin’ me in?”

“No. Ain’t morally right for me t’do so.” He said softly.

And that’s how you ended up riding through the countryside with Joel Miller to protect you. You’d patch up his shiners, his wounds, keep his belly full with hearty stews that kept him strong and alert. You’d clean his gun, shine his leather till you could see your reflection in the fabric. And in return, he protected you. He never asked for any sexual favors, or for your hand. He viewed you as his equal, his partner.

It hurt sometimes, to flirt with the man you owed your life to and for him to brush your attempts off everytime. As if you were a pesky horsefly, or insignificant gnat. Yet, you couldn’t help it. Joel was handsome, ruggedly so and you’d often find yourself fantasizing about kissing him, feeling his fingers touch you in places you craved to be touched in. To feel his caress on your skin, the bite of his leather, the scrape of his scruffy beard. The stretch of his cock inside of your wet cunt.

You were driving yourself mad with want for a man that didn’t want you back, or so you assumed that was to be the case.

That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Joel Miller was on the edge to finally just give in when he caught you one night with your skirts hiked above your thighs with your boot clad feet firmly planted in the dirt. Under the pale glow of the moonlight above, and the glittery shining stars, he could see your hand between your thighs, touching yourself and moaning his name.

It felt wrong to watch you, to invade your privacy and your modesty. But he’d be damned if he’d go another night without feeling the hug of your pussy around his aching cock. Or to feel the taste of your kissable lips on his tongue. Damned. Damned. Damned. Fuck, he couldn’t survive another second without knowing what it was like to be loved by you.

For years he had pushed you away despite knowing the pain it caused both you and him. A man could only last so long pretending to not love a woman that he’d throw his life down for in a heartbeat. That’s the kinda love Joel Miller had been dreaming of all his life.

Your head snapped at the sound of a twig snapping behind you as your hand stilled between your thighs. Your heartbeat rattled wildly in your rib cage at the fear and excitement of being caught.

Oh, please. Please let tonight be the night.

“Don’t stop on my account, Chickadee.” He drawled deeply before stepping closer to where you sat.

The heat rushed to your cheeks like a wildfire spreading, your stomach clenched inwards as you began to touch yourself once more, eyes staying locked on his own.

When he was close enough, you used his shins for support as you rubbed your swollen clit in tight, fast circles.

“No.” He shook his head. “Slower. Take your time, darlin.’ There ain’t no rush. Let me see you.” He rasped, before slowly sinking into the dirt behind you. His strong thighs corralled your own almost possessively as his hands gently grasped the hem of your skirts, pulling them up higher. You felt the brush of his beard against your cheek when his chin came to rest along your shoulder. “Nice and slow for me.”

“I’m—sorry, Joel.” You whispered ashamedly through the cool darkness of the desert night. You slowed your fingers, dragging them through the building slick that pooled between the seam of your cunt.

“Sorry for what, Chickadee? Sorry for touchin’ yourself? For moanin’ my name? Why would you be sorry for that?..” His deep tone sent sparks flying through your body as you leaned back into his strong chest.

“Because—you don’t want me, and this is wrong for me to do. To touch myself and moan a man’s name that doesn’t desire me the way I desire him.” A whimper was clawing up your throat, begging to be released, but you wouldn’t allow it.

He dropped the fabric of your skirts briefly only to dip his hand between your thighs and place his massive palm over the top of your hand, guiding your fingers over your clit once more. “This man desires you plenty, Chickadee. I was only tryin’ to protect your modesty..and our hearts.” He whispered against your ear, lips ghosting across your exposed skin. “Been wantin’ to love you all these years we’ve spent together.” He admitted. “I’m a terrible, rotten man for keepin’ you starved this long..” he trailed off, pressing open mouthed kisses at the spot where your jaw met your neck. “M’sorry.”

Those were the last words you ever expected a fucking bounty hunter to whisper..let alone to you?

A shuddered breath slipped past your parted lips, just for him. Your head lolled to the side, granting him easier access as your lashes fluttered shut. “I’ve felt like..such a fool, Joel. A dirty little fool for a bounty hunter.” You took your lower lip between your teeth, biting down harshly and drawing blood to the surface. You let him take full control of your hand, letting him guide and manipulate your fingers to play with yourself just right.

“Shh..I know now, Chickadee. M’sorry, truly. But I’m here now, ain’t I? M’here. Here forever if you’ll have me. I understand if I've bruised and neglected your heart far too many times..I can accept your rejection if it is coming.”

You could detect the edge of sadness in his tone, the acceptance already settling into his bones and heart.

“Joel, please kiss me.” You nearly begged him, dying to finally know what his lips would feel like on your own.

“Why didn’t ya just say that sooner, Chickadee.” He chuckled. “I wish ya woulda just grabbed me by the breeches years ago and knocked some sense into my thick skull. Woulda taken your ache away a long time ago, darlin.’” He said in a hushed whisper. “But I know you were afraid..can’t blame ya for that. Not really. ‘Specially since I ain’t the nicest of men to come by.”

He was taking too long, and you were an impatient woman.

“Joel.” You huffed, fighting the urge to curse him out before you decided to take matters into your own hands, finally. Tomorrow was never promised, not when you and Joel were constantly on the run.

He kept rambling on until he felt the soft touch of your fingertips brushing against the patches in his scruffy beard and the magnetic pull drawing him in closer, closer till he could taste your mingled breath on his lips.

Here in the middle of the desert, with nothing but the moon and stars as a source of light, you finally knew what it was like to kiss Joel Miller. You learned his lips quickly, liking that they were both soft and a bit chapped. As you licked slowly into one another’s mouths you could taste the faint remnants of tobacco on his tongue. It was a bruising kiss, one that both ignited the fire deep within you, and sent a delicious tingle curving down your spine.

So, this is what the girls back home were all talking about. Being kissed by a real man.

And then you found yourself straddling him in the dirt, saying fuck all to your modesty because you had never wanted a man more than you did now. And you wished that your mother could see you now. To see what her perfect little daughter had turned into.

Fuck you, mother. Fuck you for forcing me to marry that monster.

Joel brought you back down to earth with both his lips and his words tattooed on your skin. He caged you with his body, acting as a shield from the chilly night ear that sent goosebumps rising.

He worked your blouse open, growing more frustrated by the minute when the clasps wouldn’t automatically give. He was desperate to feel more of you, all of you because he knew then that you were his, and he was yours. And if you’d end up being the death of him, so be it. At least he could go out being loved rather than unloved.

“You gonna fuck me now, mister? Gonna take what belongs to you, Joel?” You mumbled against his lips in a chasing kiss, growing more desperate as the seconds ticked by.

“Gonna do more than that, Chickadee.” He rasped. This was a promise, and a man such as Joel always kept his promises.

The howl of a Coyote far off in the distant sent uneasy nerves rolling through you, because the realization hit you then that you and Joel were out in the fucking wilderness, and you suddenly felt bare and exposed.

“Jus’ a coyote, doll. He’s singin’ to the moon. We’re safe here, I promise. Ain’t ever gonna let somethin’ happen to you again, Chickadee.” His strong calloused, yet gentle hands came to cup for your face. His deep brown eyes met yours through the pale glow of the moonlight casted over your faces. “I swear on my life, you will always be safe with me.”

and while the lone coyote sang his song to the moon, Joel Miller had you singing your own song, just for his ears too.

After that night spent together, you never had a night where you slept alone. Joel was always there. Holding you, kissing you, fucking you into a blissful state.

He still feared for your safety, and you feared for his. This would never change, but you refused to live in fear for the rest of your life.

It was a boiling hot day under the blazing desert sun. You and Joel were moving west towards California. Hearing about the gold rush there sounded like as good of an opportunity as any. Not even just for the gold, but the prospects of a new life. Joel had dreams of owning a ranch, sheep specifically and living out his days with you by his side.

“Come join me for a swim, cowboy.” You were sitting side by side under the one single tree along the river's edge. Your two horses were drinking their fill after traveling for days in these conditions.

Your cowboy had his arms crossed behind his head, biceps bulging under the thin fabric of his shirt. His hat was tipped down over his head. You only witnessed Joel being fully relaxed on a few occasions where he would let his guard down for just mere minutes.

“Mmm. That’s alright, doll. Y’go on and enjoy yourself.” He said with a lazy sigh.

“Just a quick one together? Please?” You reached over and gently lifted the brim of his hat just enough so you could see his closed eyes.”

“Chickadee..” he said in a low warning tone, peeking one eye open to look up at you before he shut it once more.

“You’re no fun.” You huffed while releasing your gentle grip on his hat.

“M’plenty fun, doll. I gotta keep watch, anyway. Can’t do that if I’m stark naked in the river with ya. What if someone tries to sneak up? Won’t have my gun at arms reach.” He sighed.

“I know, Joel.”

Maybe when we get to California..he won’t have to worry about all of that.

He sat up turning his body to face you before his palm came to rest upon your cheek in a gentle caress. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, tugging it down gently before he leaned in and kissed you sweetly. “Now go on and cool off, Chickadee.”

You kissed him back with the same amount of sweetness before you pulled away and gave his nose a light boop. His face scrunched inwards before he reached around and gave your ass a light and playful swat that sent you giggling as you rose to your feet.

You shot him a seductive wink before you raced down to the river's edge, kicking up a cloud of dirt with your boots.

Joel watched from afar with a hooded gaze as you stripped down from your skirts and blouse followed by your unlaced boots. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when your one boot wouldn’t give right away and you nearly tripped before finally getting it off. He kept watch as you dove into the crystal clear waters and reameraged moments later.

He reached into his pack, pulling out an apple and pocket knife while you splashed around like a kid on Christmas. He cut off a small slice before biting it off on the edge of the knife, chewing thoughtfully as he leaned back against the sturdy tree.

When we get to California..I’m going to marry her.

He didn’t want to end your fun so soon..but it was time to get moving again. He brought his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, whistling to let you know that it was time to pack up.

You had been floating peacefully on your back with your eyes closed when you heard his whistle that immediately tore you from your daydream state.

He was just about to stand up from where he was resting against the tree when you emerged from the river. You reminded him of a goddess. Bare, beautiful, skin sprinkled in water droplets that were kissed by the sun. You looked unreal, and he was the luckiest man alive.

“C’mon, Chickadee. We gotta head out.” He called for you when you were within earshot.

“I’m coming!” You bent down to gather up your clothes before the idea struck you. “Can I dry off first, please?”

He let out a grumbled sigh before he ultimately nodded his head in agreement. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt..

“Jus’ till ya dry off, doll.”

With your clothes and boots gathered up in your bare arms, you approached him casually, setting everything down on your nearby saddle while he watched you with piqued curiosity.

“I was thinking about you out there..laying on my back and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin..” you trailed off.

“Is that so? Hmm..what were you thinkin’ about, Chickadee?” His eyes slowly trailed down your bare body. From the swell of your breasts, down your tummy and thighs and what lay between them.

“Want to take a guess, cowboy?” You asked teasingly.

His brow raised as a grin tugged along the corner of his lips. A game is what you were playing, and he was the willing participant.

“Based on your tone, I’m gonna guess it’s got somethin’ to do with..my cock?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner while his hand casually came to rest between his own thighs. Oh, he was playing alright.

“Mmm..perhaps I was thinkin’ of ridin’ your cock right under the shade of this tree..but that would be too obvious, Joel.” Your eyes drifted down to where his hand was before the traveled down the expanse of his strong thighs and ending at the toe of his leather boots.

He caught onto your drift almost immediately and you saw his pupils begin to darken. “Y’wanna ride my boot? Is’that it? Well, ain’t you a filthy thing, Chickadee. You wanna get ‘em all shined up for me? Drag that sweet cunt of yours over them?”

His eyes stayed locked on yours in a challenging stare while he palmed himself through his pants to relieve the growing tension.

“I do, sir. I really, really, really want to ride your boot.” You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks because never in your wildest dreams did you expect to take part in debauchery such as this.

“On your knees then, girl. Kiss ‘em for me.” He fell right into character with a flip of a switch.

You found yourself lowering onto your knees without a care in the world about the dirt while you bent down over his boots, pressing a kiss to the leather, dragging your tongue down the stitched seam.

“That’s it, doll. Get ‘em nice and shined up for me.” He said while popping the button on his pants open and pulling his cock free from the confines.

“You gonna touch yourself while I ride your boot, mister?” You were sitting upright again before you crawled closer, letting your hands rest along his thighs as you positioned yourself right above his left boot. The imprint of your kiss had already begun to dry from the scorching heat.

“Yeah, doll. I’m gonna fist my cock while you ride my boot like the dirty Chickadee that you are.” He spat into his palm before he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock just as you lowered yourself over the expanse of his boot, taking your lip between your teeth when you dragged your clit right across the smooth leather.

“Fuuck me. Ain’t that a sight. Look at you, fuckin’ filthy girl. S’feel good, Chickadee?”

You rolled your hips forward slowly at the rate that he was pumping his fist. A soft whimper slipped past your lips while your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Feels so good, mister. So—so good.” You moaned freely with each steady roll of your hips, chasing that high. Nothing would ever compare to Joel’s cock. You knew this, he knew this, and you also were aware that this little game would only last so long.

And then he watched you lose yourself completely on his boot with each roll and grind of your hips against the dampened leather. Crying out his name, nails digging into his covered thighs, head thrown back, tears nearly flooding your eyes.

He had the same sense of urgency and realization that nothing would ever compare to the warm hug of your pussy around his cock. That’s when the game ended as his strong arms came to lift you into his lap by your thighs. His lips met yours in a bruising kiss filled with intermingled moans and teeth clashing together when he finally slipped into your warmth.

California could wait a little longer, he wanted to savor this moment for as long as it lasted because now he had the love that he had been dreaming of all his life. Right here in his arms, cock buried to the hilt under the shade of this very tree. Right here with his Chickadee.

That’s the kinda love I’ve been dreaming of

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